


In Willing Sacrifice

by GeMerope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Grey Harry Potter, M/M, Necromancy, Post-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-25 05:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 68
Words: 620,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeMerope/pseuds/GeMerope
Summary: When Harry Potter has the opportunity to erase Voldemort before the Dark Lord can resurrect, he finds out that walking a fine line between his own morality and the good of this world is more complicated than Harry could have ever imagined. While unable to let go of his past, he discovers a whole different side of magic too, and a different side to the man who shows him this. Slow Burn, eventual HPLV.Russian translation available on https://fanfics.me/fic138424. Many thanks to AliVVe for making this translation possible!Spanish translation available on https://www.wattpad.com/story/219112860-en-sacrificio-voluntario. Many thanks to Leddwinchester for making this translation possible!





	1. The Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! As already announced in some other stories, I also really wanted to move this one to AO3.  
When I started uploading this story on AO3, I had 48 chapters ready. By now, I caught up and post new chapters instantly here and at FFN, so there's no discrepancy between this version and the FFN version.
> 
> This story mainly started as a self-indulgent fic so I could finally write a story that completely covers Harry's fourth year, since I love Goblet of fire, yet never got around to writing something of that book. I'm also a huge fan of Barty Crouch, which MIGHT become evident here haha. The story is at this point long past the fourth year however and will go up to sixth or seventh year.
> 
> I hope that you will all enjoy this story, I am certainly having much fun writing about it, especially since it allows me to explore theories behind magic much deeper than ever before.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry potter Universe 
> 
> Lastly, a huge shoutout to my Beta Riafya. She also writes awesome HPLV stories and is on AO3.

_Prologue: The Catch_

The owl flapped her wings silently, amber eyes scanning the ground in search for the prey she’d hunted for nights now, waiting until the strangely smelling creature was alone.  
She heard a rustling sound and dived, grabbing it in her claws before flying away with the still struggling rat.

XxX

Harry Potter lay on his bed and rubbed his scar. He’d had a strange dream last night, one that he couldn’t quite recall… It had had something to do with Voldemort, of that much he was sure.  
Nagini had been there as well, and then Voldemort’s cold voice, muttering softly… He jumped when something scratched at his window, sighing in relief when it was just Hedwig.

“Shh, be silent girl,” he whispered after he’d opened the window. “Uncle Vernon would kill you if you woke him up… Ew, Hedwig, did you really have to bring your food here?” The owl hooted and ruffled her feathers, scooting closer and sticking out the leg with a brown, still squeaking rat. “Hedwig, get that away or eat it. Don’t push it in my face,” Harry said with a disgusted expression, but the owl was persistent and pushed the animal against his hand. Knowing she wouldn’t be ignored, he pried the rat from her claw, holding it tightly. It clawed at his fingers, and Harry got the strange feeling that he had seen it before. Suddenly it felt as if his head had been pushed in ice-cold water. It missed a toe, and Harry remembered in a flash how he and Ron had chased it. “Wormtail?” he said, holding it up until he could look it in the eyes, where both fear and intelligence that couldn’t be from an animal were to be seen. –though it came close, Pettigrew had never been the brightest tool in the shed.-

The rat struggled and Harry hurried to his trunk until he’d found a small cage, -really, he had too much junk in there…- and put Wormtail in it, grinning smugly. Hedwig landed on his shoulder and he petted her.  
  
“Great catch girl… would you like some bread?”

The owl affectionately nipped his ear with her beak before taking the offered crumbs.  
  


_Chapter one - Discoveries_

“BOY!” Harry heard and cringed.

“Yes uncle Vernon?”

“What is… **this**? I tolerated that, that **bird**, but I will not have **vermin** in my house!”

“Oops,” Harry muttered. He really should find a way to bring Wormtail to the Ministry. He wondered whether or not he should tell his uncle what it really was. Maybe he should try. He was not planning to release the rat.

“I can’t set it free,” he sighed, facing his uncle who had the cage with Pettigrew in his hands.

“And why not?” his uncle sneered.

“You might want to close the window in case the neighbours hear,” Harry grumbled, and uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes but did as Harry said. He walked to the window and shut them so that the glass trembled under the force before he turned around, his little pig-eyes narrowed. “Well? Is this more of your freakishness?”

“Not mine… but that’s no rat, that’s a wiz… one of **my** kind. And he serves someone very evil. He escaped me last year before we could send him to prison,” Harry explained, taking a step back when Vernon approached him.

“That’s a… human? A criminal human?” Vernon spluttered with disbelief, eyeing the cage he held in his meaty hand.

“Yes. Hedwig caught him. No idea how she knew it was him… but she was very persistent to push him in my face,” Harry grinned, before remembering who he was talking to and trying to look guilty.

“And what will you do with this… **criminal**?” Vernon asked, a vein beginning to throb in his reddening neck.

“I wanted to send him to the Ministry to get him a trial. However, I can’t revert him to his human form as I’m not allowed to use… **that**… out of school.”

“I don’t want to have some criminal of **your kind** in my house. What’s he done anyway?”

Harry was silent for a while, making sure the loathing was to be seen in his eyes as he looked at Wormtail. “He got my parents killed. He betrayed them. And to top it off, he killed thirteen Muggles. Non-magical people,” he added in explanation, kind of wondering why his uncle hadn’t blown up yet. Maybe because Petunia and Dudley weren’t at home?

“Where is this Ministry of yours?”

“Uhm… Somewhere in London… but I’ve never been there and I’m not sure how to get there either.”

“I want that thing out of my house, boy. I don’t care how, but you’ll get him out of here Right. Now.” His uncle said, taking a deep breath, which make him look even more like a giant whale.

“Done… sure.” Harry said on a light tone. “No problem… really. I’ll just uh, take the knight’s bus or something…” He said, thinking about last year. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting punished already…

“Well? What are you waiting for? GO!” his uncle shouted. “And don’t come back until you’ve gotten rid of it! Be glad your aunt is out tonight!”

Harry grabbed Wormtail’s cage and hurried out of the room, grabbed his shoes and put them on before remembering that he would need his wand to call the Knight bus. No chance that he would get that if he asked. Harry peeked through the door opening again and to his relief Vernon had sagged down on the couch and put the TV on. Silently, he took a hairpin from out of the pockets of his jeans and picked the lock of the cupboard. He’d done it many times before to get his study books, so in a few seconds it was open already. He searched around in the darkness until he’d found his wand and some money. His uncle hadn’t moved, and when Harry was done, he closed the cupboard again and ran out of the house, his heart pounding with joy that he had an opportunity to contact the Wizarding World before the end of the holidays… In fact, it was only the end of the first week… He had half in mind renting a room in Diagon alley and not returning, but without magic he didn’t think he’d get far. Besides, with Voldemort still roaming about somewhere…

He waved his wand when standing on the sidewalk and a few seconds later, the three-deck bus appeared out of thin air with a loud bang.

“My my, it’s you again.” The lanky conductor, Stan Shunpike said, smirking “Harry Potter! Or would you rather be called Neville again?” he grinned.

“Hey Stan. Harry is fine… I’m not fleeing right now.”

“Good. Come in. Twelve sickles. Three more-“

“-if I want to have a cup of hot cocoa, yes, I know. I’ll just pay for the ride, and no, I don’t need a toothbrush. Can you take me to the Ministry of Magic?”

“The Ministry? What do you need to go there for?”

“Uhh… I need to get to the Auror department… or anything that deals with criminals. I didn’t know how to get there, so I called the Knight’s bus.”

“Wonderful idea! Take a seat, take a seat! Hey, Ernie!” Stan shouted over his shoulder. “Guess who we have on the bus again? It’s Potter!”

Harry groaned, handed over a handful of sickles and warily sat down on a seat after checking if there was really none that was actually attached to the bus. –which indeed, wasn’t the case.-

“How do I get into the Ministry actually?”

“The visitor’s entrance? You need to get in a telephone booth, dial 62442 and follow the instructions which the operator’s voice gives you.”

“Thanks.” Harry said, gripping the side of the bus as they made a sharp turn. He heard a few chairs tumble over behind him and hoped he wouldn’t get sick.

XxX

“Bye Harry! See ya again soon!”

“Sure…” Harry replied, much less enthusiastic while stumbling out of the bus. “I’ll see you in a few hours I guess. I still need to get home. 62442 right?” he asked, eyeing the red telephone booth in the alley he now faced.

“Yep.”

“Thank you. Bye!”

He waved once but the bus had already disappeared around the corner while a few lampposts jumped out of the way to not get hit by it. Slowly, he walked into the alley and entered the telephone cell together with the quivering rat. He threw a coin in and dialled the number, jumping when a cool, female voice sounded.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, visitor. State your name and reason for your arrival.”

“Harry Potter. I need to speak to the Aurors.”

A clanking sound came from the change tray and a square button fell out with the words ‘Harry Potter, Auror department visitor’. Suddenly, the telephone booth began to move and went down like an elevator until it hit ground. Stepping out of the booth, he gawked at the room. In the middle of a large square a fountain stood with golden statues, and constellations moved over the ceiling. On both sides of the corridor he was in were fireplaces, and even at this time, Ministry workers constantly floo’d in and out. Not quite knowing where to go to, he spoke to the first wizard he could find.

“Sir? Sir, may I ask something?”

“Don’t bother me boy, I’m late for work.” The man said in a grumpy voice, but his eye widened when he saw Harry’s face, and for once, Harry was glad that he was famous. “M… Mr Potter?”

“Just Harry, Sir. Could you please tell me where the Auror department is? I have information about a criminal.”

“Yes, yes… it’s at the second floor, together with the Law Enforcement. The elevator is there,” the man said, pointing at the other side of the Atrium with a bright, disbelieving smile on his face.

“Thank you, Sir.” Harry said in a polite voice and walked away, grinning as the man mumbled: “Merlin’s beard, I met Harry Potter! I’ve got to tell my wife!”

Harry made his way over to the elevator, squeezing in just before the doors closed, pressing the button beneath the sign: ‘_second_ _floor._’ The lift shot up with a dazzling speed that rivalled the Knight bus’s until it came to a halt with a shock. He got out, glancing at an information board that told him that he was on the right floor, and proceeded to walk down the corridor. He tightened his grip on the handle of the cage with Wormtail, who was running around and squeaking in terror right now. “You get what you deserve for betraying my parents, rat.” He growled from under his breath, but it did nothing to shut the creature up. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door of the Auror office.

“Come in!” a woman’s voice said, and he stepped in, eyeing the stacks of paper with curiosity. They were so high that he was sure it was magic that held them upright. Then, he turned his attention to the woman, who had short, lilac hair and clothes that wouldn’t have been out of place on a rock concert.

“Hey. Uhm, I have information… it’s about Sirius Black’s case.” Harry said, watching in amusement as the woman stumbled over her own feet and rammed into the desk in an attempt to avoid the stacks of paper while approaching him.

“Black? Really? My name is Tonks, by the way. Nymphadora Tonks, but I prefer my surname… I bet my mother was high when she made up my first name,” she cheerily said, and Harry laughed, instantly liking her.

“I’m Harry, Harry Potter. I prefer my first name though. Last one is a bit too well-known.”

“Harry Potter?” she gawked. “Wow, really? Oh, sorry… I’m a bit of a fan.” She grinned, offering her hand and in the process swooped a few pencils off the desk. “Woops. So, information about Black? Wait, I’ll call Shacklebolt. He leads the hunt. HEY, KINGSLEY!” she shouted, and a tall, dark man entered the office, looking a bit annoyed.

“Yes?” he said in a deep, bass voice.

“Harry here has information about Black.”

“Harry who?” Shacklebolt asked.

“Harry Potter,” Harry answered, taking the seat Tonks offered him.

Kingsley’s eyebrows shot up and he gained an interested look, conjured a chair and sat down. “Really? What kind of information, Mr Potter?”

“Harry, please,” Harry corrected. “I came to tell you that I have the proof that Sirius Black is innocent.”

A deafening silence fell, and Shacklebolt frowned. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“He’s innocent. He was accused falsely.”

“He killed thirteen Muggles, and betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who boy,” the man said in a slow tone, giving him an odd look.

“It wasn’t him. Do you know who Peter Pettigrew is?”

“Sure I do. Was a victim of Black as well.”

“No sir. Sirius was a victim of Peter. I… well, I’m not sure how familiar you are with the story about the night my parents died?”

“I knew them well.” The Auror said, which surprised Harry.

“You knew them? Really? How? How were they?” he said with excitement.

“They were great people Harry, and I’m sure they’ll be proud of you… I was a member of a… group, which your parents were members of as well, led by Dumbledore. We stood against You-Know-Who during the first war. I know that one day, Dumbledore told them to go into hiding. Their house was protected by a Fidelius Charm, and Black, their trusted friend and Secret keeper, ratted them out to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Pettigrew followed him and accused him, after which Black blew up the street. Everything that was left of Pettigrew was a-”

“A finger, yes, I know. Do you know the spell to force an Animagus back into his true form?”

“Naturally, why?”

Harry put the cage on the table and stared at the rat, which was running around in circles. “Because this is Peter Pettigrew. Sirius convinced my parents to take another Secret keeper, because he himself was targeted by Voldemort, and Peter was not. However, Pettigrew was a spy of Voldemort, and, quite literally, ‘ratted’ them out. In a clever attempt to escape, he cut off his finger, blew up the street while Sirius was chasing him because he was the only one alive who knew of the change in plans, turned into a rat and escaped through the sewers. He’s an unregistered Animagus, like my dad was…”

It was silent for a long while, but finally, Shacklebolt moved and opened the cage, holding Wormtail in a firm grasp to prevent his escape. “Tonks?” he asked, and Tonks pointed her wand at the rat. A flash of light later, Peter Pettigrew lay on the floor, looking around with wide eyes, finding himself at the receiving end of two wands. “I recognise him indeed.” The Auror said, trembling with hate. “I had not ever thought him capable of such betrayal. This is… I must admit that your story didn’t sound very believable, but this…what do you want to do with him, Harry?”

“Give him a trial. I want my godfather cleared and **that** piece of shit in Azkaban for twelve years before getting the Kiss if that’s possible… the same he condemned Sirius to.”

“We'll do what we can.”

“Can I… Can I speak to him first? I have some… private questions for him.” Harry said, his mouth a grim line. Shacklebolt hesitated, giving Pettigrew a wary look. For a moment, Harry thought his request would be declined, which would have been understandable since it most likely was not everyday practice to let a child speak alone to a criminal. ''Please,'' he pressed. ''It would mean a lot to me.'' Both Aurors exchanged glanced, Tonks giving a slight shrug.

''He did bring Pettigrew here,'' she spoke. ''The rat doesn't have a wand and the only way out is through this office, so if he escapes we’ll be waiting for him here. I'd say that if anyone can handle stuff like this it would be Pot- sorry, Harry.”

Shacklebolt hummed, still looking unsure. ''Is it true that you killed a Basilisk with a sword, Potter?'' he finally asked. Tonks' eyebrows shot up, it looked like this was a story she hadn't heard before. In truth, Harry was also quite shocked that anyone out of Hogwarts knew. Dumbledore had done his best to hush everything to not have even more panic break out.

''Yes. A friend of mine had been dragged down to... its nest, and would have ended up as its meal, so I couldn't do nothing.''

The man slowly nodded, giving Harry a smile. “Then I'm sure you'll manage one unarmed man. You can use my office. ''

“Thank you.” Harry murmured, glad for once about his lucky achievements, and he glared at Peter. “Get in there, now.” The man got to his feet, trembling, and walked through the open door, followed by Harry who threw it shut. “Sit down.” he remained standing as Peter shrunk in on himself, sitting down on one of the chairs in the office, which was much tidier than the mess outside.

“Harry, I…”

“SHUT UP! I ask you questions, you answer them truthfully! I won’t have your pathetic excuses!” He didn't know where this sudden rage was coming from. It bubbled in his veins, pent-up emotions that he'd wasted on the wrong person last year and that had returned with double the force now he had the person responsible for his parents' deaths in front of him, at his mercy at last.

“But-”

“Quiet.” Harry hissed, and the rat shut up. “Now, I only have one question for you, really… I know that you returned to Voldemort… oh, stop the whimpering!” Harry snapped. “The one thing I want to know is this: Where is he? Where does your Master hide?”

Peter grew pale and trembled, silently shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t… I can’t… he’ll kill me…”

“Where. Is. He,” Harry hissed in between clenched teeth, planting his hands at the desk and staring at Wormtail.

“I can’t…” the rat whispered, violently shaking now.

“Oh, can’t you? Pathetic… so you could betray your friends to their enemy, but you can’t betray that enemy to their son?” Harry said, raising his voice.

“I…”

“TELL ME!” Harry shouted in fury. “If only to honour my parents, your… former friends or whatever you see them as now.” He tried to calm his breathing as he stared at Wormtail over the dark wooden desk, suddenly remembering a part of a conversation he’d had. “I call upon your life debt to me,” he said, suddenly emotionless. “Answer me truthfully, and your life debt to me is considered fulfilled. And besides, I think your Master’s wrath is the last thing you need to worry about when you are in Azkaban.”

Pettigrew was silent for a long while, still quivering, but at last, he answered in a whisper: “Riddle manor… Riddle manor, Little Hangleton. He had us move to there a few days ago.”

“If this information is false, Wormtail, I’ll personally make sure you’ll receive that Kiss immediately.”

“It isn’t,” the rat whispered.

“We’ll see.”


	2. The Dark Lord

His breath quickened as he opened the wooden door that was half-hidden under long tresses of ivy. Voldemort was here somewhere… he wished he’d been less stupid and written Sirius about this before rushing off, or informed the Aurors of the information he'd received from the rat, but he also had a feeling… he had to do this alone. There had to be a reason why he was the damned boy-who-lived, else the previous years of his life, his victory over Voldemort's younger self and the Basilisk, had accounted for nothing. It had been laughably easy to find Voldemort's hiding place after getting the address from Pettigrew. It truly showed how weak the man still was, unable to protect his own residence with any sort of shields or spells. The last time they had seen each other, Voldemort had been barely more than a ghost. Now... Harry had no clue what awaited him now, only that it was a good sign when Pettigrew was the only Death Eater who had been near Voldemort. It spoke of weakness that none of his other followers had been called back.

He had no idea yet how he was going to kill the dark wizard, but he hoped a quick **_Diffindo_** to the throat would help… why did everyone always make such a fuss about duelling? It was dark in the house, and there was a layer of dust on the wooden stairs, something he was grateful for because it conveniently muffled the sound of his footsteps, even if the steps creaked under his feet. A sudden, ridiculous thought entered his mind, and he grinned, wondering why the hell he was worrying about the Ministry finding out about him using magic while he was about to face the most evil dark wizard in history… A streak of light from under a door told him Voldemort’s location, and he prepared himself, wand at the ready as he pushed the door open.

Harry stepped inside, holding his breath. He scanned the room, expecting to find a man, or at least a ghost-like shadow like in his first year. Yet, he saw neither and furrowed his brow. He turned the chair, but that too was empty. Was the Dark Lord somewhere else in the house? Had he gone out? Before he could turn and leave the room however, he heard a whimpering sound and tracked its source to the couch, which he’d previously thought to be unoccupied. His attention was drawn to a small bundle, which he had passed off as crumpled blanket before. The whimpering sounded again and carefully, fully aware of that it could be a trap, he unfolded the black fabric with trembling hands, gasping with horror and stepping back the instant the blanket fell away, revealing… something.

_~Na… Nagini…~_ the thing whispered, and in that instant, Harry realised that what he saw before him, no…** who** he saw before him, was Lord Voldemort himself, reduced to something that was barely human, and, from the looks of it, not very healthy. _~Nagini…~_ it said again, more fervently this time.

Once Harry got his stomach under control and was certain that he wouldn't retch -from disgust or nerves, he wasn't entirely sure-, Harry finally took it upon himself to assess the situation. Voldemort was harmless. Well, as harmless as he was ever going to be… This was his chance to end the Dark Lord once and for all. He raised his wand at the embryo-like, white body to fire the cutting curse. The wood trembled in his hands as he brought it closer to that fragile, long neck. Then, red eyes opened and stared at him without focusing, their stare feverish.

He was ill, Harry concluded with shock, and the teen hesitated, cursing his good nature. He tried steadying his hand a few times again, mouthing the word without actually saying it before groaning loudly. He couldn’t do it. While Voldemort was anything from innocent, he just couldn’t find it within himself to murder an ill man, looking like an underfed baby. Putting down his wand, he stared at Voldemort, wondering what the HELL he should do.

A sound behind him made him jump, and he scrambled away with fright as a large snake slithered through the door opening._ ~Master… you called?~_ she said –it was clearly a female voice-. Nagini glided over the floor to the figure on the couch, affectionately nudging the head while her tongue quickly flicked in and out of her snout.

_~Wormtail… where… is~_

_~Shh, master, don’t speak, you are not well… The rat hasn’t returned still. However, there is another one of your servants in this room~_

Harry wanted to vehemently protest against that, but decided to keep his mouth shut, not really in for a fight with a twelve-foot long snake that was possibly venomous.

_~Who?~_ Voldemort whispered, sounding as if he was struggling to keep conscious.

_~You do not know him?~ _Nagini said, suspiciously flicking out her tongue as she approached Harry with an almost hypnotic stare._ ~It’s merely a hatchling… the stuff on his head is black… hair, yes? Green eyes… I cannot say more. You know I can’t distinguish humans well… they all look more of the same to me, even after you gave me human vision.~_

_~Food.~_ Voldemort groaned, thin fingers clutching the blanket.

_~He could milk me in Wormtail’s stead…~_ she suggested. Harry had no idea what this ‘milking’ was. He was positive though, that Voldemort hadn’t heard her anyway, for he made a pained sound in the back of his throat and Nagini inched closer to him again, hissing soothing words.

The whole scène seemed so… off. He’d always heard how unnatural and cold and** evil** Voldemort was, yet here he lay ill on a couch, being comforted by his familiar. He knew that, if he wouldn’t do anything, there would be a large possibility that he got fed to the snake, so quickly, a plan formed in his mind. While he might not be able to kill Voldemort now, he was sure that he could pull it off if the man was healthy. The consequence that thought led to made him shudder with disgust, but he was also… excited for some strange reason.

_~Nagini… tell me what to do to make him… better,~_ he calmly hissed, and she snake immediately snapped her head to the side to give him a penetrating, bewildered stare.

_~You speak?~_

_~Yes.~_ He decided that it would be better to not give her any explanation for it, lest he screw up and stumble over his own words as he tended to do. Nagini didn't seem to care either way.

_~Master is dying… the rat didn’t come back. Master will not last much longer without someone to feed him. I would do it, but alas, my body is not very suitable to brew a potion with… You can, yes?~_ she said, a tone of hopelessness in her voice that made Harry’s stomach twinge with guilt.

_~What potion? ~_ he asked.

_~You need my venom. The instructions are written down, and the ingredients are all in the room next to this one. It takes a few days to brew, but my master had Wormtail make a few extra bottles in case something happened. They’re at the desk.~_

Harry got to his feet and exited the room. This was his last chance to back down. He could run away and leave Voldemort to rot. From what he'd just heard, Voldemort would wither away on his own, starve to death with no-one to care for him. The thought made Harry disgusted with himself. Just like he could not kill an ill or sleeping opponent, he was also not such a coward to let an enemy starve to death rather than face him. No, this was his fight. This was what was expected of him. He should be the one to kill the Dark Lord… not leave the man to die. Besides, the man had proven last time that he died that he could return to life again… what said that wouldn't happen again? If Harry left, he would have absolutely no way of verifying whether Voldemort's spirit wouldn't sneak off anywhere else again.

The room he entered looked like a study, and both Muggle and magic books adorned the walls. It seemed that Voldemort wasn’t here for a long time yet… Harry grabbed a vial on the desk with a green, opaque draught in it and returned to the other room. He stepped over Nagini, his hands trembling a bit under the scrutinizing gaze of the snake. _~And now? ~_ he asked her, kneeling down next to the couch.

_~Pour it in his mouth. You need to massage his throat to have him swallow it. He is too ill to do it himself. ~_

Repulsed, he touched the rudimentary, white body, surprised when it wasn’t scaly or slimy or anything… it just felt like skin, albeit very cold skin. He helped Voldemort to a sitting position. The blanket fell off completely, and for the first time, he could fully see what served as the man's body now, and had the urge to flee and spit out his stomach contents. He had the shape of a crouched child, except that Harry had never seen anything looking less than a child. He was completely hairless, and skin was stretched straight over the bones at some places. His arms and legs were thin and feeble, and the feet looked more like large, clawed things that weren’t wholly formed yet. And of course, there was the face…

Not willing to touch the slit in the head that served as a mouth, he pried the top of the vial in it, letting the potion drip in the man’s mouth, gently massaging the throat to have it go down as instructed, a bit nervous under the snake’s glare that could have rivalled a hawk’s.

_~Good… now cover him and watch over him. I haven’t eaten in days and need to go hunting. ~_

_~Is there anything for me to eat in the house? ~_

_~The kitchen is downstairs, along with some Muggle money Wormtail brought to buy groceries in the village with. ~_

_~Thank you. ~_

_~What is your name, servant of my master? ~_

_~Harrison. Harrison… Black, ~ _he said, cursing himself for not thinking of something better. Once Voldemort would get even slightly better, he would immediately know who he was. He just hoped that the snake would buy it.

_~Black? Yes, I know of you… several servants of my master were Blacks…~_ she said thoughtfully, and then slithered away._ ~Goodnight, Harrison.~ _Harry released a shuddering breath. She’d been fooled… for now.

_~Goodnight, Nagini. ~_

* * *

Nagini had been gone for half an hour now, which had felt like an eternity, and Harry stared at the fire, his wand idly twirling in his hand. Now and then he glanced nervously at the couch to verify that Voldemort wasn’t awake. He rolled his tense shoulders and glanced at the door. Nagini would return shortly, he knew. He wondered if there was a chance for him to go back to the Dursley’s to get his clothes and the like, but he didn’t think it would be possible. If Nagini found out that he had left Voldemort alone, she would be furious and possibly swallow him in her anger, and asking her wasn’t an option either. If she said no, then he wouldn’t be allowed out of the house at all anymore, and she could hardly buy his groceries… well, at least he had both his wand and money. He was glad that he had been so thoughtful as to exchange some of his Wizarding money for Muggle, and he had both now, plus the money Wormtail had left. His wand, though, was of little use here. He didn’t want the Ministry to know he was here. In the past two years, the Ministry, and the Cornelius Fudge especially, had not exactly won him over with sympathy. Who knew what would happen if they interfered here? He did curse himself for not thinking long enough to take his invisibility cloak, which would have been a real asset.

The silence was getting the better of him and he jumped up, aimlessly walking around the room, flipping open random books, sitting down and standing up again, pacing on the rug in front of the hearth until he remembered that was where Nagini usually lay when she was in the house, as far as he had seen from his short, almost flash-like visions that he'd had in the past week, ever since he'd returned from Hogwarts. In the end, he sat down on the very same couch he’d avoided for the past hours, and studied Voldemort’s face while the Dark Lord was asleep. What a strange thought, that before Harry lay the man who killed his parents. Yet, he couldn’t seem to bring those two facts together, this man and the murders… he looked too peaceful for that, although Harry knew it was a mere illusion that was sure to change when the other would wake. While sunken in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the snake that had returned, and he jumped at the sound of her voice.

_~It is odd to see him in such a state,~ _she whispered softly, and Harry blinked once the words had sunk in.

_~Harmless?~_ Harry questioned her, but she made a strange sound that he identified as laughing.

_~That too… I meant… well, weak. It worries me.~_

_~You’re… worried?~_ Harry said in astonishment.

_~Of course, young Black. He took care of me when I was on the verge of dying… yet now I can do nothing to aid him but give my venom, and it makes me feel hopeless… helpless.~_ She said, sad and desperate.

_~You care for him?~_ Harry said, his disbelief apparently too evident in his tone, for she heaved her impressively sized upper body from the floor and glared at him.

_~Do you doubt that, speaker? Oh, why am I even talking to you, you humans are all the same. All, except for** him**,~_ she hissed venomously, and crouched back.

_~I’m sorry.~ _Harry apologised, more than a little shocked. _~I just hadn’t thought… I mean, everyone always told me he was, well… not nice to be around.~_

_~Maybe you spoke to the wrong people,~ _the snake softly said while draping herself over the couch so she could give her devoted attention to her… master? Friend? Sensing his confusion, she continued. _~I see him as a… a parent, I think. Yet sometimes, I get the feeling it is I who should protect him as if he is my hatchling…~_

_~Why are you telling me all this? ~_ Harry frowned. _~It is not like you know me…~_

_~You speak. That is enough for me. It has been too long since I had contact with anyone but Marvolo.~_

The teen was momentarily confused, but then she gestured to Voldemort, and he remembered the man’s full name_. ~How long do you think it will take for him to be healthy again? ~_

_~I don’t know. He hasn’t had the potion for three days. He first has to become accustomed to it again. A week perhaps. ~_

Harry became sombre at the thought that he had to spend a whole week here. Trusting that Nagini would stay here and made sure no harm came to the man, child, whatever Voldemort was now, he walked out of the room, even less at ease when the snake began to hum slightly as if she was trying to sing the thing a lullaby. He was shocked by the amount of genuine care the snake had for Voldemort, as he had to have done something to earn it, and it changed the image he had of the man to an extent he didn’t like.

Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts for now, he explored the house, surprised by how large the manor was. Whoever had lived here –and judging by its name it had to have been inhabited by family of Voldemort at one point at least,- had been filthy rich… It made him wonder for the first time why the man had grown up in an orphanage. By the memory the diary had shown him, he’d gotten the idea that it had been about as bad as the Dursley residence. If he’d had relatives who could afford this… why hadn’t he at least had funds left to him?

Harry found the kitchen and opened several cupboards and a fridge which unfortunately did not work but was still stocked full, used as another cupboard of sorts. It seemed he wouldn’t have to go shopping in quite some time. On a closer inspection though, he saw that several fruits and vegetables had gone bad, but there was still enough left to last some days with. Taking everything out that he couldn’t use anymore, he put it in a bin and brought it outside. He hoped Voldemort would get better soon, because he was pretty sure that the waste collection service didn’t stop by this house anymore, and he didn’t want to get flies everywhere. Here was to hoping that Nagini would keep the rats and mice away.

After, he made himself something warm to eat, and found it again a miracle that there was still gas and water here even if the electricity had gone. Could Wormtail have made sure of that? He didn’t see the rat filling in forms and talking to gas companies. The image made him snicker, and the absurdity of his situation made him laugh even more. Here he was, Harry Potter, unable to defeat his greatest enemy because he happened to be ill, munching on some bread, rice and veggies in a run-down kitchen, thinking of Wormtail paying gas bills. He had to be going crazy for sure.

His sniggers died down until only silence hung around him, though a smile was still twitching at the corner of his mouth, especially as he imaged the Dursleys wondering where he was and how they were going to get something to eat. He supposed that Aunt Petunia’s cooking skills had had to be improved since he’d spent the years at Hogwarts. He wasn’t there to make their meals now anymore. Even when she had cooked while he’d been there, he hadn’t been allowed to taste those meals, so he honestly couldn’t remember how her cooking skills were. Speaking of cooking, he suddenly wondered whether or not Voldemort really only needed that potion. It seemed not enough to feed anybody, no matter how small. Was that why he was so thin, perhaps? Wouldn’t he need nutrition, or water at least? Just in case, he made some porridge. Perhaps it would get him out of illness sooner so Harry wouldn’t have to stay here for such a long time.

Carefully, he made his way up the stairs again. He’d been down for more than an hour, so he hoped that Nagini wouldn’t be angry at him. When pushing the door open though, he saw that the both of them were asleep, thin arms wrapped around a part of her body as if holding a stuffed toy. Harry shook his head and put the porridge down on the low table before sitting down on the floor. Nagini occupied most of the couch, and the only other chair was the one he’d seen Voldemort sitting in, in the dreams he’d had the last few nights.

The fireplace was empty, and as the cold of the night started to seep through the room, he decided to find out how it worked, glad he’d made some campfires before on nights when he’d been thrown out of Privet Drive number 4. This hearth didn’t seem to work differently from a regular campfire, thus, he put some wood and paper in before carefully lighting it with a match. With concern, he looked at the box of matches, which only held five still. If he wouldn’t find any other boxes he’d have to venture into the village anyways. While he hadn’t heard before of Little Hangleton, the Knight bus knew where it was, so there might live some witches and wizards here. He wouldn't be happy to run across any, if only because that would mean more people who were in possible danger with a Dark Lord on their doorstep.

Harry was very glad about that Stan hadn’t asked what he was going to do here and why he didn’t want to be taken back to his home, and he hoped that the guy would keep his mouth shut about it to other passengers. At least it was summer, so he would not be missed, and he was fairly certain that the Dursleys would never go to the police if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, because normal people had no business with the police for anything. At least, that was what his uncle had shouted at him through the door of the cupboard at age ten when he’d suddenly found himself in another town and went to the police office to be brought back home.

He finally got the fire going, his matches now down to four. He thought that, if he just put enough wood in it constantly and tried to keep it on rather than restart it tomorrow, he might last a week with that, but he couldn’t be too sure. He jumped as a body slithered up next to him, Nagini having been attracted by the warmth of the fire.

_~It might be good to lay him in front of here,~_ she hissed, her eyes blinking languidly as the heat washed over her. _~It is pleasant.~_

Harry nodded mutedly, not thinking it would go over well if he would deny her that request. With not very carefully hidden revulsion, he wrapped Voldemort in his blankets again to hide as much of him from sight as he could, red eyes blinking open slowly for a moment and closing again as Harry picked him up. With tense arms, he carried Voldemort over to the fireplace, having half in mind throwing the thing into the fire, but knowing that he would be done for too if Nagini would the teen sat down again on the floor, holding the embryonic body as far from himself as possible without the snake noticing. He looked down in horror as Voldemort began to stir and turned his face to the fire, moving in the blankets until he’d found an apparent comfortable position, a content sound slipping past the slit of his mouth.

What** was** he doing here anyways? Why couldn’t he just… finish it? The man himself hadn’t had any problems trying to kill Harry when he was a baby, so wouldn’t this be the perfect revenge? He tried to keep telling himself that it was because the man was ill, or because he might come back anyways, or because Nagini would off him, but somehow he thought that even if all of those factors were removed, he would still be sitting here, cradling Voldemort to his chest. He sighed deeply at that realisation, although he also knew that he would have to kill Voldemort in the end. He would just wait until the man wasn’t ill anymore, lock Nagini in a room somewhere and try…

He shuddered, disgusted with what he held in his arms and disgusted with himself for seeing it as something it wasn’t: something innocent. Rationally, he knew Voldemort wasn’t innocent in the slightest, and that his current form was that of a baby did not mean that his mind wasn’t that of a sixty-something-year old. –really, how old was Voldemort anyways? He wasn’t quite sure… Riddle had been sixteen in his second year and that had been fifty years before so… fifty-eight? Probably, if those ‘fifty years’ had been an exact number and not a mere guess. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the exact date and year the diary had shown him that memory of, only that it had been somewhere in June. Even then, odd happenings had apparently reached their climaxes at the end of the school year… Perhaps that was something unique for Hogwarts, like the curse on the DADA position.

It was such a shame that Remus wouldn’t be able to teach again next year, but when looking at what had happened to Quirrel and Lockhart, the werewolf had had a relatively easy end to his career. He hoped for the man that there were other employers who didn’t mind his furry problem so much. There had to be someone out there who wasn’t as prejudiced as most parents of the Hogwarts students had been. Harry thought it ridiculous to condemn a man for a condition that affected him only one night a month, that could be somewhat controlled and wasn’t his fault at all on top of all that.

Harry’s head suddenly jerked upwards. In deep thought, he hadn’t noticed that he’d slowly started to nod off, and he’d found his face a tad too close to Voldemort’s for his liking. Shaking, he placed the man in the chair and turned that towards the fire, hoping that Nagini would be content with his excuse of needing sleep too much to hold her master.

_~Why are you letting him go?~_ she predictably hissed sharply, her eyes suddenly blazing with wakefulness.

_~I need to sleep and don’t want to topple over him,~_ he answered, waiting nervously until she finally nodded slowly in a too-human gesture. Taking care not to step on her, he walked out of the room, knowing for sure he’d seen another blanket, hoping sincerely that Wormtail hadn’t slept under it. It didn’t look like it, crumpled in a corner as it was, but one could never know. After all his years as a rat the man might have taken to rat-tendencies so much that he’d deliberately made a nest in that corner. Harry was far too tired to search for other blankets though, and wrapped it around himself, happy when noting that, while it wasn't exactly fresh, it didn’t smell like rat either, just like old blanket.

Not wanting to give the snake any reason to snap at him, he returned to the fireplace, albeit he’d have preferred to not sleep in the same room as the both of them. Nagini had slithered away from the fire again, probably having gotten too hot, and moved to the couch, leaving nothing for Harry to sleep on but the rug in front of the fire. He added another few logs, hoping it would last for a while and that he would wake up in the night so he could put more on it. Then, he lay down in such a position that he could keep an eye on the bundle on the chair. Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen the man’s wand yet, though he was fairly certain that he’d seen it in his dreams, so it had to be somewhere in the house… If he could find it and hide it somewhere else, saying that Wormtail had stolen it… He preferred Voldemort harmless.

Not that he knew the extent of the man’s powers. For all he knew, the Dark Lord was adept at wandless magic, even in this rudimentary body. But **with** a wand, he most certainly had magic, so he thought he could at least take his chances. When Voldemort came to, he would recognise Harry as his enemy anyways, so it wouldn’t matter if it’d anger the snake or not that he’d taken the wand away. Both snakes, that is.

Harry lay awake for quite a long time, constantly waking from the feeling of unease. He suddenly remembered that he’d completely forgotten the porridge, and decided to reheat it tomorrow. Even if Voldemort didn’t want or need it, he could eat it himself.


	3. A new Way of Life

Harry woke early and was pleased to find the hearth was still burning, although he knew the room would come to resemble a sauna once the hot sun of July would rise to the skies. He couldn’t be bothered, and hoped that Voldemort would die of a heat stroke while he wasn’t in the room. That would make him not personally responsible at least.

_~You humans all sleep for such long times.~_ the snake hissed disdainfully._ ~One would think you to be starting hibernation every night_._~_

_~Well, we don’t need to hibernate, perhaps we sleep long nights to make up for that,~_ Harry joked, and he got the idea that she was grinning.

_~I_ _think I like you, human of my master,~ _she hissed, slithering closer to put her head on his lap. The blanket was still around his shoulders, but he had sat up now and reached out his hand to place it atop her head, caressing her slowly when she made no objections.

He wisely decided not to comment on her statement, instead concentrating on how the scales felt under his fingers. After the incident with the Basilisk and the connection of snakes to Slytherins and Voldemort, he had lost some of his fondness for the animals, but before that he’d always quite liked them. Although he had never seen a real snake until the zoo when he was eleven, Harry had always admired their forms and the way they moved as he’d seen in books and some movies. He wondered now why he hadn’t been able to understand the snake’s hissing on there, and wondered if it had something to do with the cameras, but in the end he shrugged it off, having no good explanation for it.

_~Nagini? I was wondering… Are those potions enough to feed him? Doesn’t he need human food as well?~_

_~Wormtail sometimes fed him human food,~ _the snake replied, seeming to hesitate. ~_But he ate a few days ago, so he wouldn’t need more yet, would he?~_

_~What do you mean?~_ Harry asked, confused. _~If he eats, then he’d need food every day.~_

She gave him a strange look, which Harry could only interpret as bewildered. _~Every day?~_ she hissed. _~But that’s absurd! Doesn’t everyone eat once every week?~_

Finally understanding the problem and miscommunication, Harry quickly informed her: _~Snakes, maybe, but he’s still part human… I think. And humans usually eat every day, most even twice or thrice a day.~_

Her look of horror threw him off, and with a loud sound she slid up to the bundle of blankets in the chair, her hisses desperate. _~I didn’t know, oh master, I didn’t know. Forgive me~_ She turned towards Harry, who sat frozen on the rug, not knowing what to do with the snake’s emotional outburst. _~Make him food human! What if this is why he is so fragile? So weak...~_ She curled up around Voldemort protectively, pushing her snout against the man. A tiny fist rose from the bundle and unclenched so Harry could count five abnormally long, incredibly thin and bony fingers before they were placed on Nagini’s head.

Harry scrambled up and took the bowl he’d prepared yesterday, running to the kitchen to reheat it. Nagini’s mothering behaviour started to get on his nerves. Not that he was irritated at it or angry, but it made him frightened because of how unpredictable she could be. He poured the porridge in a semi-clean pot and heated it until it was just warm, not so hot that it would burn Voldemort. What he didn’t all do to keep the man healthy… or to make him healthy, rather. Speaking of health, he would most likely also need some vitamins, so Harry carefully diced an apple and took it upstairs as well, Nagini still curled tightly around the other.

He approached the chair and kneeled in front of it, pulling the blanket away with shaking hands until that face was once more revealed, reminding Harry of his first year, when he’d first seen it on the back of Quirrel’s head, demanding for Harry to be killed. Their roles had changed a great deal now. Harry scooped up some of the food and pushed it against Voldemort’s mouth, suddenly remembering that the man couldn’t swallow on his own. Once again, Harry repeated the actions of when he’d given Voldemort the potion and massaged the throat until the food went down before he pushed another spoon of porridge against the lipless opening. It took a long time, as Harry constantly had to put the bowl away and make sure the man wouldn’t choke. For once, he was glad that Voldemort wasn’t really a baby… He didn’t know how he would be able to handle it if the food would be spat out again.

_~Some time after Wormtail fed him, he always brought master to some strange little open chair with water in it,~_ Nagini helpfully threw in. On Harry’s strange look, she continued: _~He called it a... toilet, I believe.~_

Mentally, Harry groaned. Great, just what he needed. Bring the evil Dark Lord to the toilet. He was surprised that she hadn’t told him yesterday after the potion, but maybe all of it was kept in his system. He felt miserable only at the thought, yet knew he would just have to get it over with. Harry left the porridge for what it was, realising that Voldemort, in his small body, would never be able to eat the whole bowl, and started to feed him pieces of apple, hoping they were small enough. To his surprise, the man made a chewing motion, and it was only then that Harry noticed he had some stumps of teeth in his mouth. He retracted his fingers quickly, trying to push in one diced piece at a time and retreating before the mouth would come into contact with his own finger. Nagini watched each and every one of his actions like a hawk. Harry got the feeling that it were not Voldemort's teeth that he should be afraid of, should he make a wrong movement.

Halfway through the apple, Voldemort suddenly turned his head away and snuggled into the blankets once again, obviously having had enough. To Harry’s dismay, the process had taken so long that the fireplace had gone out again, and he knew he’d need at least two of the four remaining matches to light it anew.

_~Nagini, have you seen more of these in the house?~_ he asked, showing her the matches. She cocked her head, gazing at them, before shaking her head slowly.

_~Wormtail had a few boxes, but burnt nearly all of those sticks up when my master instructed him how to use them. He dropped most and nearly burnt the house down.~_

Harry nearly choked with laughter when realising that Voldemort had had to teach Wormtail how to use a Muggle tool, and he could almost picture the man’s frustration and the rat’s fear as he burnt up yet another match. His mirth died when he realised that he really would need to venture into the village in that case, deciding he might as well shop for some food he liked. _~I’ll need to go to the village… you’ll watch over him?~_

_~Of course. Don’t forget to bring him to the toilet. As he didn’t feed for some days he hasn’t needed to go there yet but he will soon.~_

“Yes, yes,” Harry muttered, in English now to hide his tone. _~It will most likely take a while for him to digest the food, so I’ll go to the kitchen to see what other supplies we need,~_ he told her. _~I don’t want to go there too often. It’s a small village and they might be wary of strangers.~_

On her hissed approval, he hurried downstairs, the first thing on his list being to wash his hands. While Voldemort wasn’t slimy, the mere thought at having been so close to that mouth made him feel nauseous. Having found paper and a stump of pencil, he wrote down everything he could think of that he might need, and thoughtfully added ‘rope’ to his list. He might need to restrain Voldemort’s hands just in case he could do wandless magic… He also made a mental note to search for the wand later.

The teen poured the rest of the porridge down the drain, not feeling like eating the same thing as the Dark Lord, making himself a sandwich with cheese instead, scrunching his nose when he had to cut some mouldy parts away to reach the still fresh substance. Another inspection of the cabinets by daylight made him sigh, brown spots he hadn’t noticed before covering leaves and stems of some of the vegetables. After a second cleaning, he was left with very little indeed, and he just hoped that the broccoli he’d made himself yesterday had still been fresh. It had tasted well enough…

At long last, he heaved himself up from his chair to get the most unpleasant task of the day out of the way. Much slower than before, he walked up the stairs, on a second thought first searching for the toilet himself, because he sure as hell wouldn’t use it right after Voldemort. It smelled gross, and it was clear that Wormtail’s forte wasn’t hygiene, so Harry first spent a while cleaning the bowl and the floor to make it look a tad more decent. Checking the cupboards, he was relieved to find at least more toilet paper here, though he didn’t look forward to having to use it. After doing his own business, Harry zipped up his fly and went to the fireplace room. He didn’t really know what else to call it. The study was the room next to it, and it wasn’t a bedroom either, more a smaller living room than the one downstairs, where everything was still covered in white sheets, a room Harry had mostly avoided till now.

A rattling sound on the ground floor made him walk to the stairs and peek down, surprised when a key turned in the lock and the door opened. He hid slightly behind the corner of the wall as an old man entered, shouting: “Come on boys, it’s been funny enough. I saw the fire upstairs yesterday, you’ve had your fun. Think you can fool old Frank eh? Little pieces of…” the man muttered the rest to himself, small eyes spying around. “Come out, or do I need to get you?”

Deciding that it would be best if **he** would face the man instead of Nagini, Harry stepped forwards, walking slowly down the stairs. “Excuse me, sir, I think there must be a misunderstanding.”

The old man abruptly looked up. “You’re not one of the village boys,” he concluded, narrowing his eyes even more. “This is private property boy, didn’t you know that?”

“I am a… servant of the man whom this house belongs to now,” he spoke, hoping he wasn’t talking too much bullshit. As it was the house of the Riddles, it would probably legally belong to Voldemort now… right? “I was not aware of that there was anyone looking after the house. We arrived a few days ago…”

“Yeah I saw. Fire in that room a while back as well, two nights in a row. Saw some short man scurrying around… I’m not sure why I didn’t say anything of it…” he spoke, looking suddenly confused. Harry thought the man was very fortunate. It sounded as if Wormtail had Obliviated him instead of having brought him to Voldemort. “Anyways, no fire for a few nights after so I thought he’d left. And now I find you here?”

“As I already said, this house belongs to my master,” he repeated.

“Yeah yeah, and what’s your master’s name then hm?” Frank replied, obviously not believing him. Harry cursed his inability to use magic now. Not that he had ever practised forgetfulness spells, but he at least knew the incantation…

“Tom Marvolo Riddle ,” he finally spoke. “Junior.” Frank paled for a moment, and Harry hoped that he hadn’t ever met him before.

“I didn’t know the old Tom Riddle had a son,” Frank whispered. “Middle name** Marvolo** you say? So the rumours were true then, of him running away with that girl… Merry-something… Her father’s name was Marvolo.”

“You knew them?”

“I’ve served the Riddle family for quite some time… everyone thought I killed them too, but I swear to you that’s not true!”

“I believe you,” Harry hastened to say. “Anyways… He’s returned to the house of his father now so… I don’t know for how long he plans on staying. He fell rather ill so that’s why we haven’t made the house more liveable yet,”

“Can I speak to him?”

“I’m afraid it’s contagious,” Harry spoke with a straight face. “Serpentitis. I’ve already had it a few years back so I can’t get it again. Nasty disease, that. It’s also why his other servant isn’t here anymore. He hadn’t had it so he was replaced by me. I’m one of the few who can come near him now.”

“Never heard of that disease,” Frank muttered. “You sure it’s real?”

“Very real. Very serious too,” Harry said, nodding feverously. “Skin loses all colour. Completely chalk-white, and the voice goes very high and hissy. Please don’t spread word in the village though. They might think they could get it from me, and I still need to go grocery-shopping. They couldn’t, of course,” he added quickly as Frank took a step back. “But you know what some village-people are like…”

“Oh yes, I know. Pieces of narrow-minded bigots,” Frank answered, nodding, as if he himself didn’t belong to the category of small village inhabitants.

“I’m glad we understand each other. I need to go attend to my master now. Can his return stay between the two of us for now?”

“Absolutely. Don’t want no people to come snooping eh? Blasted kids. How old are you anyways?”

“Just became eighteen,” Harry lied. “I know I look younger… after-effects of the Serpentatitis, it stunts the growth.” Frank grunted, saying something akin to ‘good luck with that’ on a grumpy tone, before he turned around again, dragging one leg slightly behind him. Harry made a mental note to aim for that leg if anything would go wrong and Frank wouldn’t keep his word. He hurried up the stairs, hoping it hadn’t been so long that he needed to clean a blanket rather than carry Voldemort to the toilet.

_~Who was that?”_ Nagini immediately hissed, having heard the voices.

_~Some Muggle,~_ Harry muttered. _~I convinced him that we’re here legally_._~_

_~I could have eaten him,~_ she 'helpfully' provided.

_~Would be suspicious if he suddenly went missing,~_ he answered, before going to Voldemort and picking the bundle up. _~Now, after... finishing up and returning him, I will go to the village.~_

_~You do that,~_ she replied, slightly uninterested.

Taking a few calming breaths, Harry walked through the corridor towards the toilet, knowing for certain that he never, ever wanted children if it meant having such helpless creatures to look after for which you had to do everything. Banning from his thoughts that this was Voldemort in his hands, he tried to think as practically as possible. As the toilet was too large, he had to keep holding the man as he did his job, and for the sake of privacy to make things easier for both of them, he held Voldemort above the bowl facing the wrong way. Even so, he looked away, wondering for which of them this was more humiliating.

When he heard nothing else streaming or falling down the bowl, he moved Voldemort towards the blanket again, which he’d spread over his knees, and put him down on his belly, taking some toilet paper to clean the other’s back. He only dared to breathe in again when everything was gone and flushed down, and he hurried to cover up the naked body again, his heart thudding loudly in his throat from embarrassment. He sincerely hoped that Voldemort was far too ill to remember any of this afterwards. With Nagini out of sight, he held the embryonic body as far away from him as possible as he brought him back to the fireplace room, only reluctantly holding him closer as he stepped over the threshold and walked towards the couch to lay him down.

Harry mumbled something towards Nagini before fleeing again, impatient to be out of the house for a moment. On the way to the village, he tried to memorise his grocery list just to replace the images of before for a while. He couldn’t say that he succeeded very well.

Little Hangleton was just like any other small country-village he’d seen before. However, even though it was sunny, there seemed to hang something dull and grey over it. There were very few people, and as the village only consisted of a couple of streets and some larger houses around it, it gave a very empty feeling. There was no jingling bell announcing his presence as he walked into the small supermarket, located at the only plaza in town, or any other sound that would notify the shopkeeper. Looking around, Harry saw absolutely no-one, and decided to just try to find what he needed and hope an employee would enter when he wanted to pay. It wasn’t long before he was done, although he noticed that they didn’t have some of the items he’d wanted. He at least had his matches and rope now, and enough food to last for a while.

He sauntered to the counter, leaning over it to look at an open door to see if anyone was there. An annoyed face looked back, pink bubblegum being sucked into the mouth of a girl as she got up and placed her magazine away. “Hey,” she said, a hello that was almost on the same level of friendliness as his Uncle's morning greetings. At least those held some other emotions than boredom, even if usually negative ones.

“I’d like to pay,” Harry answered, holding up his bag.

“Never seen you ‘round,” she said, chewing her gum while talking. Harry tried his best not to look at her mouth.

“Won’t stay long either. Visiting… family,” he said.

“What place?”

“One of those large houses…” he answered uncomfortably, waving to the outside door as she checked all of his items, the scanner in her hand giving a dull bleep with each one. He nervously shifted to his other leg, counting the money needed and handing it to her.

“That’s not very specific.”

“Well I don’t know the name of the house and they don’t exactly have street names do they?” he snapped, getting enough of her nosiness. She raised both eyebrows, never ceasing her chewing.

“Aren’t you a nice bloke,” she stated. “Here you got your veggies. Now run along, I got better things to do.”

_Sure you do_, he thought to himself, glancing at the magazine she’d left on the chair just behind that door. He looked away, embarrassed when seeing it was some girl equivalent of a Play Boy, magazines he’d found in Dudley’s room when hunting for some stuff his cousin had stolen. Oddly enough, they’d never done anything for him. Perhaps he wasn’t such a porn-type. He sighed when he stepped out in the daylight again, and decided that walking around for a bit wouldn’t hurt. He was here now anyways, and the village seemed far too** Muggle** to have magicians living here. After having walked a single street and reaching the town’s square with its pathetic fountain, which really just was one beam of water shooting a couple of feet in the air as lethargically as a fountain could possibly muster, he decided that even a room with Voldemort was better than this crap. At least that made him feel **something** instead of emptiness all around.

Swinging the bag over his shoulder, Harry went back to the accursed manor, his steps feeling as if he was wearing leaden shoes. Hardly a day had passed, and Nagini thought it would last a week… how would he ever survive? Perhaps he should send the Dursleys a letter anyways…

He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide with fear when thinking of letters. Hedwig… he’d completely forgotten Hedwig. Uncle Vernon would most likely not feed his owl, and would certainly not let her fly to hunt. A knot developed in his stomach and he considered calling the Knight Bus again, but he honestly didn’t want Stan and Ernie to remember having him constantly on their bus going back and forth to here. It might be best if they forgot the name of this village altogether. He struggled with his conscience. Hedwig or Voldemort…? Or rather, Hedwig or the rest of the world? He could, of course, just go and tell the Aurors Voldemort’s location. That somehow didn’t sit well with him.

Hedwig or his pride then…

He groaned, walking along, feeling miserable as he emptied the grocery-bags. He couldn’t just let her starve… and he could also not return and come back here without arousing even more suspicion as he already had. In the end, he took a pencil and paper and wrote the Dursleys a short note.

_Dear Aunt and Uncle,_

_As you might or might not have noticed, I left the house yesterday. I had some business to attend to, business which is going to take longer than I thought. I will be gone for at least a week, maybe longer. Could you please release Hedwig from her cage? Just tell her to seek me out, she’ll find me and then you can sleep better again as well without her making noise. I promise I’ll re-do the whole garden and clean the house once I’m back to make up for it._

_Harry_

He sighed, hating having to sound so… begging. At least Vernon would be glad to be rid of Hedwig, so that heightened his chances to get her free. He wanted to return to the village to go to the post office and buy some stamps when he suddenly remembered it was a Saturday afternoon and any post would likely not be delivered anymore until Monday. He’d been very lucky for the supermarket to be open at least, but it being weekend did explain why the village had been so quiet. He didn’t know how religious people were here, but it was around half past twelve now, so some might even be in the church that was built on the next hill.

He briefly entertained the thought of scaring the crap out of all of those Muggles to run into the church with Voldemort in his arms, asking to have him baptised. He laughed out loud at the image, and thought that it was far more likely to get an exorcism for the both of them. Still, the picture in his head was an amusing one. Maybe he’d do it on the last day here… Or maybe not, considering Voldemort would be his usual self then.

Not that Harry really knew how Voldemort ‘usually’ was, as he’d only seen him for less than half an hour and had some other flashes of his dreams, but he had a vague idea in his head of a raving, snarky madman, and settled on that it would be best to stick to that image to make what he had to do easier. He didn’t have a clue what he’d do if Voldemort turned out to be like Tom Riddle had been: persuasive, charming and sophisticated. –wait, charming should not have been in there.-

With a growl, Harry got up, chopping away at some vegetables, imagining them to be Voldemort’s head, the Basilisk and Dementors all in one, until he was exhausted. Having calmed slightly down, Harry took all the chopped bits, put them in a bag and placed them in the fridge for further use. Next, he unloaded all other items he’d bought to bring with him upstairs, then remembered Voldemort’s wand all of a sudden.

Going to the most logical room, he entered the study, hoping he would find it here. If it was hidden somewhere in the fireplace room, it would give a lot more trouble and he’d have to wait until Nagini had gone out to hunt again. As she apparently could live a week on some game, the chances of that happening anytime soon were rather small. He went through drawers and cupboards, unfortunately only finding a lot of cobwebs, dust and spiders clinging to old books and yellowed paper. The desk didn’t hold a whole lot more, although Harry found an ink supply, pens and slightly more usable paper. On top of the desk stood some empty vials and the stored potions plus ingredients, which reminded him of that he had to start brewing new ones soon, and that he shouldn’t forget to give Voldemort his daily potion.

Finally, he had to give up on his search, wand nowhere in sight. As the kitchen, fireplace room and toilet seemed to be the only other used rooms, the one which most likely held the wand wasn’t hard to guess unless it was hidden in the toilet brush. Just to have something to do, he looked at the potion formula, glad to see that it wasn’t all that hard to make and didn’t take long either. Even with his ‘skills’ he wouldn’t be able to botch it up. Just to be sure, he planned on making some while the emergency supply wasn’t gone yet. It was too late to do so now, as he didn’t plan on having to finish brewing some potion in the middle of the night, but he did want to start it tomorrow. There were still three potions left, so that would be plenty. Taking one, he went into the next room, not very surprised to find Nagini curled up around Voldemort again.

_~I need to give him his potion,~_ he commented when the snake looked up, disturbed. She uncurled herself from the small body, though she remained on the couch, watching his every move.

_~You take good care of master,~ _she suddenly spoke. _~A lot better than the other one.~_

Harry blinked, not knowing how to react on that. _~Thanks. I guess,~_ he awkwardly said, kneeling in front of Voldemort again, finding it odd how used he’d become to seeing the face already. Well, better the face than the arse… Banning such evil thoughts from his mind again, he put the vial against the man’s lips and tipped it backwards, supporting the head. He just wanted to put his fingers on the small throat when Voldemort swallowed by himself, making Harry freeze for a moment. Red eyes opened, and his breath caught in his throat, somehow hoping that the eyes that would meet his weren’t bright yet.

To his relief, they were still glazy and unfocused, the mouth opening slightly. _~Nagini...~_ it rasped. _~Where is… Nagini…~_

_~I’m here master,~ _the snake spoke affectionately, flicking the tip of her tail in front of Voldemort’s nose, the gesture reminding Harry of a parent waving his hand in front of the face of a baby. A weak hand tried to grab it, but fell back. Harry, feeling a twinge of pity for Voldemort, took the hand and guided it to the tip of the tail, smiling slightly as Voldemort grabbed it firmly.

_~Who… who are…~_

_~He’s one of your servants master,~_ Nagini spoke happily. _~I did not know that you had any speakers amongst your followers. He’s one of those Blacks…~_

The face became wrinkled, and Harry noticed with growing dread that he was frowning. _~Black?~_ he muttered, before his face cleared up. _~Regulus?~ _Having no idea who the hell Regulus was, Harry kept silent to let the man reach his own conclusions. _~I thought you had betrayed me, Regulus…~ _the man whispered, and to Harry’s surprise, the slit twisted itself into a small but decidedly happy smile. _~I am glad…~ _he never finished his sentence, as he started coughing violently, and Harry, alarmed, made him sit upright and softly slapped the back, slightly afraid it would break if he did it too harshly. He knew better than anyone that hands could be just as effective a weapon as anything else…

At long last, Voldemort calmed down. Harry, not knowing what else he could do, just wrapped him in his blanket again. The man closed his eyes again, but not before whispering _~My Regulus,~_ something on which Harry didn’t know what to say. The whole tone was so… off, that he couldn’t quite place it. He waited until the wheezing breaths slowed down and Voldemort’s face completely relaxed. One of his hands was still wrapped around the end of the snake’s tail.

_~You’re not Regulus Black,~ _Nagini told him, her tongue flicking out lazily.

_~No I’m not, but he sounded so… happy when calling me that, that I just thought I’d let him,~_ Harry said.

_~Did you know Regulus?~_

_~No,~ _he answered again, getting a hunch of that Nagini knew quite a lot about the guy. He didn’t dare to try and bluff his way out of it.

_~Hmm... he died years and years ago… before master’s first death. I never met him as I wasn’t born yet, but master often speaks of Regulus Black…~_

_~He said something about betrayal?~_

_~I do not know why my master is still so fond of him, ~ _she said unhappily. _~He did terrible things...~_ the snake went on, her head shaking slightly. _~And still he prefers to speak about all the good times they had together, of all the things master taught Regulus, and all the places they went together. ~_

_~He was Voldemort’s apprentice then?~_ Harry said carelessly, and Nagini suddenly froze and stared at him.

_~You said master’s name?~_she hissed slowly_. ~Only his enemies, those who try to show he does not strike fear in their hearts, speak that name…~_

Harry’s eyes widened and he swallowed slowly. _~I didn’t mean anything by it,~_ he quickly said. _~I just… someone once told me that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself, and I am not afraid of… of my master. He has done great things, but I know he wouldn’t hurt me, so I have nothing to be afraid of…~_

Nagini calmed down slightly, although she regarded him with wariness. _~Perhaps not,~_ she hissed. _~Unlike the rat, who had to be hurt constantly to make sure he was kept loyal… And even that didn’t work, as he seems to have fled. Master will reward you for coming to his aid,~ _she mused, relaxing at her own words. Harry, having had quite a shake, shivered slightly, once again overwhelmed by Nagini’s unpredictability. He didn’t want to push his luck by asking about Regulus again. Still, he had to admit that the man was intriguing. While Harry still hadn’t received an answer on whether or not he’d been Voldemort's apprentice, it was the most logical possibility: who else would have gotten so close to Voldemort that the Dark Lord still only tried to remember good times even after such a betrayal? It made him wonder indeed about why Regulus had betrayed Voldemort in the first place.

It was still early afternoon and, having nothing else to do, he went to the study, hoping to find a book he’d like. There wasn’t much and they were all Muggle books, dry literature and things like maps, dictionaries and encyclopaedias, obviously books bought to show off and simply have them. He found some Shakespeare stowed away in the back. Deciding that it was better than the rest, Harry brought it with him to the fireplace room. He’d left the hearth out, the room having warmed up a great deal by the sun that shone through the rather dirty windows.

Surprisingly, Nagini wasn’t near Voldemort anymore, instead having curled up on the rug. She didn’t seem to be sleeping, instead just staring at the wall. Harry sat down on the part of the couch furthest from the bundle that held the Dark Lord. He tried to concentrate on his book, but other than that he wasn’t very good at middle English, his mind also kept wandering towards the man next to him. Before, Voldemort had been some kind of unseen, omniscient force to him, something evil in this world that had to be destroyed. While he still held the belief that he was most certainly evil and should be destroyed, he was much more… tangible.

Slowly, through Nagini and also the man himself, albeit minimally, he was starting to see the man behind the monstrous image he’d had before. It did nothing to erase his memories of Voldemort, but it did give him another view on them. He had had blind hatred for this man… the one to kill his parents, the one who had tried to kill him twice, and while it was inexcusable, he could understand it from a twisted viewpoint. It had most likely not been very… personal. The man had ruled Britain at one point, enforcing his rule by erasing as many enemies of his as possible like any other dictator would do… And then Harry had been a nuisance and stopped him from reaching the easiest means of immortality and thus resurrection: the philosopher stone. Harry shook his head, not wanting to try and justify Voldemort’s actions. No matter the goal, no leader should try to retain his reign by simply murdering everyone who didn’t agree… although the story he was currently reading, Macbeth, didn’t really do much to convince him that violence was never the answer.


	4. The Nanny

Harry wiped some sweat off his brow as he added several small roots to the potion, stirring it quickly as instructed to prevent it from bubbling over. The brew should nearly be complete, and he was very glad for it. While it had looked easy on paper, it was trickier than he’d thought it would be. He put the fire lower, the potion needing to simmer for the next hour before Nagini’s venom would have to be added. He got up, cracking his back, slowly sauntering to the other room.

Last night and today had not been very exciting. Voldemort was still ill, and the day had looked much the same as yesterday. He’d fed the man and himself, took him to the toilet two times and had started cleaning the house just to have something to do. The kitchen was spotless now, as well as the pantry next to it which held several supplies and tools. He still thought the living room was creepy with all its dusty sheets, and as he didn’t think he’d use it anyways he’d left it as it was. He found a bedroom, but did not know what Nagini would think of it if he left Voldemort alone during the night, and he certainly wouldn’t want to share a bed with him.

His sense of privacy and embarrassment was lessening however, and while the toilet-part was still uncomfortable, he didn’t have any problems anymore with feeding the Dark Lord. It had become something necessary, something routine now he made sure the man got something to eat three times a day. The next meal would be the sixth time, the second dinner, and it was made considerably easier for him now Voldemort had gained enough strength to swallow by himself. He was also talking more now, still seeming to think that he was Regulus, though the betrayal that had happened hadn’t come up and Harry was trying his best to answer correctly, not knowing what would happen if Voldemort, in his feverish state, would think Harry was an impostor.

As he entered the room, he noticed the man was awake, eyes still unfocused and a trembling hand reaching out to him. A tad hesitant, he grabbed it, spiny fingers curling around his. “Regulus…” Voldemort whispered, and Harry was surprised to find that the word had been spoken in English rather than Parseltongue.

“I’m here,” he said, feeling rather foolish as he knelt down.

“Regulus,” Voldemort whispered again, smiling that strange smile of his that he only seemed to reserve for when it was accompanied by that name. “Beloved…”

Harry tensed up, his eyes widening impossibly, trying to comprehend what Voldemort had said. His mind raced while the man closed his eyes again and sunk back into the blankets, and Harry got the sudden urge to shake the small hand off. Instead, he carefully pried the fingers loose, scrambling backwards to create distance. Beloved? Regulus… Regulus had been Voldemort’s….

_~Nagini?~_ He asked, the snake giving a slight hiss to indicate that she’d heard him. _~Sorry that I start about this again but… Regulus… what exactly was he to… to master?~_

_~Didn’t I tell you?~_ the snake replied. _~He was Marvolo’s nest mate. That’s why his betrayal was also such a shock to him.~_

_~Do I look like him? Even a bit?~ _Harry said after he laughed nervously and his stomach had recovered a bit, still revolted at the thought.

_~I wouldn’t know,~ _she replied on a surly tone. _~Why does everyone always think I can distinguish humans? Besides, I told you I never met him personally,~_ she complained. _~From master’s descriptions, I know he also had black fur and green eyes, but that’s about it.~_

Black hair and green eyes… so that was why Voldemort probably mistook him for his long-dead… what, lover? Harry's stomach turned again slightly. He hadn’t ever thought of the possibility of the man having had lovers, or even about what Voldemort’s sexual preference was… He recalled Tom Riddle’s stares in the Chamber and felt a whole lot more uncomfortable now he could finally place the look he’d been given as Riddle had sized him up. It was ridiculous how vividly Harry could remember that look… and even more ridiculous that he was spending thoughts on whether or not Riddle had liked what he saw or not. Or was he reading too much into that stare? Just because Voldemort liked men didn't mean he instantly wanted every man he came across, right? Right?

Harry honestly didn't really know, the Dursleys had always made snide remarks about 'People Like That' and while Harry didn't agree with much the Dursleys said, he'd found the same attitude to prevail at Hogwarts. Or at least in the Boy's Dorms, the topic hadn't come up outside of there. Harry hadn't known what the fuss was about at first. Up until now he hadn't really experienced a romantic pull to anyone, but he was certain that he had to be straight. Otherwise he would have felt something for any of the other boys, wouldn't he have? Once again, he shook his thoughts from his head when an image of Oliver Wood in the Quidditch showers came to mind, and quickly put the vial down which he’d held in his hands.

_Concentrate_, he told himself angrily. The only missing ingredient now was Nagini’s venom, and he was very glad for that he could actually speak to her, because he had no clue how to collect snake venom.

_~Nagini? I need to… to milk you,~_ he said, slightly embarrassed at how much it sounded as if she were a cow. She slithered up to him without a word and hovered above the vial.

_~Well, hold it then,~ _she suddenly snapped, and he hurried to grab the vial, not sure what was going to happen. She carefully put one of her fangs in it and suddenly bit down, the venom trickling down the glass as she released it. It surprised him that the venom only dripped from one fang, and wondered if that was normal or if she could magically control what fang or fangs she released her venom from. When the vial had trickled full with the hazy substance, she retreated, her tongue flicking forwards.

_~Thank you,~_ he hissed softly, putting a cork on it. She did not reply, instead moving to check up briefly with Voldemort before returning to the fireplace, which was flickering merrily. Having an hour to kill, Harry thought it best to leave the two and make some dinner. His stomach had started rumbling violently about thirty minutes ago, but he hadn’t been able to leave the potion as it had needed constant attention. He went down to the kitchen, starting the mundane task of peeling potatoes, feeling very much like he was still at the Dursleys. At least he would last a while with all the chopped vegetables in the cabinets. He hoped that he could bring his letter to the post office tomorrow and that it would then arrive soon… Hedwig would make far nicer company. Now he just needed to convince Nagini of that Hedwig wasn’t food…

He hadn’t made a very difficult meal, and was done in just over thirty minutes, deciding to clean up after eating so the food would still be hot. Since he’d found out that Voldemort had teeth, he left some chunks in it, although he’d still chosen minced meat because he didn’t think the stumps would be able to chew through anything else. He sure as hell wasn’t going to pre-chew it. Not feeling like kneeling again, he just sat down and pulled Voldemort on his lap to spare his own back. Only the second after did he realise what he’d done, and he felt slightly uncomfortable with that he hadn’t given it much thought at all. To get his mind off it, he started the feeding process. Only when Voldemort had had enough and snuggled up into his blankets again, did Harry take his own plate, looking thoughtfully at the face of the other as he ate.

He looked far too peaceful to be so evil, Harry thought. A murderer shouldn’t be allowed to sleep like this, completely at ease. It made it much harder for Harry to keep his previous image of the man, especially as those small hands reached out and only stilled when the fingers were wrapped snugly around Harry’s hands. He sighed deeply as Regulus’ name was once more uttered, and he started rocking the man slightly back and forth so he’d fall asleep.

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, very glad that they were in a Muggle house for once, as he’d never understood the wizard clocks with their planets and no numbers, and he was not able to cast a tempus right now. Briefly, he wondered if Wormtail had been the one to get the old mechanical clock running again. Harry had always had alarm clocks or watches with batteries, not knowing how to operate a clock like this, with weights that somehow got the mechanism running. He saw there wasn’t much time left until he had to attend to the mixture, around five minutes, and he carefully shifted Voldemort, placing him in his usual spot again.

_~Have to go finish that potion,~ _he said, notifying Nagini before she would accuse him of leaving her master without a good reason. He took the venom-filled vial and once again retraced his steps towards the adjoining room, pleased when seeing that the potion had the same mint-green colour as the recipe said it had to be. The alarm clock he’d took from the kitchen for timing cooked eggs still had about four minutes left on it, and he already prepared the wooden ladle, cleaning it so no additional dust would mix with the potion before he opened the flask with venom. As the shrill alarm sounded, he quickly poured the venom on the ladle, adding two spoons of it to the brew as described, and stirred it counter-clockwise quickly until the colour changed to a cloudy green.

He had to lean back to avoid the steam that rose from it, not knowing if it was poisonous or not, and using a towel, he lifted the cauldron from the fire onto a metal grid and put the fire out, thinking that he’d better brew it above the fireplace next time. While he liked having an excuse sometimes to get out of the room in which Voldemort slept, it was highly impractical to constantly walk back and forth, and once the man got to his senses, he didn’t want Nagini informing him about ‘Harrison Black’ when he was out of the room. Of course, it was possible that that would happen while he was in the kitchen or at toilet, but the chance of it happening lessened slightly if he didn’t spend so much time brewing potions in the study.

It was a pity that the cauldron was so small… he wouldn’t be able to get more than two-and a half vial out of it, so he would need to brew it again if Nagini’s calculation had been correct. He could still last four days without making new, but he preferred to not run out of his stock in case he’d fail to make it once. He didn’t want to stay here longer due to Voldemort's illness getting worse from failed potions. He hoped the man was recovering… It seemed that way. Even over the past two days, his appetite had grown with each meal, and that he spoke English again now, even if it had only been two words, had to be a good sign.

Pouring the potion in some empty vials, he watched the cloudy green substance, fascinated by how the venom kept swirling around in it instead of sinking to the bottom. He glanced back at the cauldron, scrunching his nose as he remembered that he had to clean it, the chore reminding him far too much of Snape’s punishments where he’d had to scrub hundreds of cauldrons without magic, usually because someone had sabotaged his potion or because Snape had been unfair once again. If he had to choose between who he disliked more, Snape or Voldemort, his mind was made up quickly. Somehow he was convinced that he would have been able to slit Snape’s throat without feeling a single twinge of pity even if the snarky man would have turned into an adorable puppy, fallen horribly ill** and** would have been paralysed from head to toe. Harry seriously doubted that he had his own priorities straight somehow, as he found a bigoted, horrible teacher far worse than the murderer of his parents.

He left the cauldron for what it was for the moment, not wanting all of his thoughts to spiral down to Snape and potion lessons and dampen his mood even more, so he put all the new vials on the desk and took an old one to feed to Voldemort, not knowing if they had an expiration date or not. Better safe than sorry.

He crossed both rooms and, as he’d found that it was actually easier to feed Voldemort this way, once again pulled the man on his lap before carefully feeding him his potion. Thankfully Voldemort gave no indication as to having a need for the toilet yet, as Harry didn’t feel like getting up, merely curiously unfolding the blankets to get a better look at Voldemort’s current body. The first and only time he’d seen the man fully naked, he had been more repulsed by the form and the fact that it was** Voldemort** to really study him. Now, in the light of the fireplace, he noticed things he hadn’t seen before. Fascinated, he saw that he could actually see the heart slightly through the skin, and the quick movements it made against fragile ribs.

The skin wasn’t exactly translucent, instead being so white that, apart from the heart, several other dark shapes could be seen underneath the skin of the stomach, bluish veins shimmering just beneath the surface, the only thing he’d noticed before as they also ran over the man’s back. “Cold,” Voldemort mumbled, shivering, and Harry quickly adjusted the blanket, a strange feeling of guilt coming over him.

“Sorry,” he replied softly, and the head turned, eyes opening, again slightly less hazy than before. Voldemort didn’t say anything more, just seeming to take in whatever his feverish eyes could see, and Harry worried about the other recognising him. “Do you… do you need to go to the toilet?” he asked, a tad nervous about having an actual conversation with the man, but his fears seemed to be unfounded as Voldemort just gave him a non-understanding look. “Toilet?” Harry repeated, finally getting a hesitant nod. Sighing, he rose from the couch, making sure of that Voldemort wouldn’t slip from his grasp.

They returned soon after, one more awkward episode over, and Harry started to feel a bit like a nanny, though he was very glad for that Voldemort actually used the toilet instead of being incontinent and needing diapers. But honestly, his days now merely consisted of caring for Voldemort and trying to not piss Nagini off, while trying to pass all the time in between with sleeping and reading incredibly dull books. He didn’t dare venture into the village again, not wanting to make a novelty of himself that people could talk about, so all that left him with was the house itself.

The search for Voldemort’s wand had been fruitless, sadly. Wormtail had probably hidden it until Voldemort could use it again or, and that was actually more likely as Harry could vaguely remember seeing the wand being used in his dreams, Voldemort had ordered Wormtail to put it safely away every night. Perhaps it hadn’t left its hiding place since Hedwig had caught the rat as Voldemort couldn't get it himself.

Harry picked up Shakespeare once again, but closed the book after reading about a page, deciding that deciphering the meaning behind the poetic words really wasn’t for him. Why didn’t these people have something better, like thrillers or detectives at least? Was it so much to ask for? How had the people living here before passed their time?

He was curious about the Riddles, but he had not really come across anything personal. Most likely, everything usable or valuable had been sold when the inhabitants had died. It made him wonder again to whom this house really belonged. Was it Voldemort’s, or had the house been sold as it apparently hadn’t been known that Riddle Senior had had a son? Were they really here legally, or trespassing on private property? The living room with sheets over old furniture indicated that there was no-one who used it, but it could also be that it was used as a holiday home, or just property of some collector.

It was a pity that there were no old photographs, letters or anything else that linked back to Voldemort’s family. That would at least having given Harry something to do. The only other thing he could do to find out more about the family would be speaking to locals. He didn’t particularly like Frank though, and it was probably not a good idea to randomly speak to old people in the streets without even having a good reason. And more than that, he still didn’t want to leave the house if not absolutely necessary. Having nothing else to do, Harry pulled his legs up and propped a pillow between the armrest of the couch and his head, though he had to keep his knees bent to not suddenly kick Voldemort off the couch. He might wake up with Nagini chewing happily on his feet… Slowly, he nodded off, his day having been filled with all sorts of small tasks to keep himself busy.

When he woke up again, it was to chirping birds and the sun shining in his eyes. He carefully moved, his back and neck aching horribly from having been folded up on the couch for far too long. He wondered how Voldemort coped, not getting any exercise at all, just lying there in his blankets. Harry felt cold, having spent the whole night without something covering him, and he also felt dirty.

He hadn’t changed clothes in a while, and also hadn’t brought anything else than what he was wearing. However, he didn’t have enough money to buy new shirts and certainly no pants, so he would have to find out today if he could wash them somewhere. As it was an old house which hadn’t been lived in the last forty-fifty years or so, he highly doubted anyone had installed a washing machine here. He wasn’t sure, as he didn’t know when washing machines had been invented, but even if there was one, it would not work without electricity. It was time to visit a room he hadn’t seen before, the bathroom, and he grumbled when realising that he wasn’t the only one who needed a good wash.

For now though, he was quite content with sitting here, unmoving. The day brought only more chores, and he didn’t look forward to them. In his mind he checked off a list: Clean the cauldron, clean the kitchen from yesterday’s cooking, make breakfast, put Voldemort on the toilet, go to the post office, clean the bathroom which undoubtedly was dirty, shower, somehow wash his clothes, wash Voldemort, make lunch… and then nothing till he had to make dinner, toilet again, and sleep… His days were now even more filled than when he’d lived at the Dursleys’, where his days consisted of a string of chores too. The only pleasant note was that despite her threatening appearance, Nagini made for more pleasant company than his own family, which was incredibly sad now he thought of it.

After a few minutes, he groaned loudly, as he couldn’t put work off any longer. Rubbing his eyes, he collected the cauldron and brought it to the kitchen, his mood growing worse with each passing second as he saw the mess he had to clean up there.

A long, long day later, he finally sank into the clean, warm water with which he’d filled the tub. In the end he’d had to put it off until after dinner, because the bathroom had been far filthier than he could have ever imagined, and he was a perfectionist who wanted it spotless once he started cleaning. He didn’t mind mess… hell, his bedroom was chaotic at best, but he hated it when a room was filthy. He scrubbed his back and carded his hands through his hair, sighing deeply, fully content for the first time he’d been here. He pushed the thoughts of having to use this tub to bathe Voldemort after he himself was done to the back of his mind for now, wanting a few moments of ignorant bliss. It had been a miracle that there was still running water in this house. Perhaps a separate storage? Or a mistake on account of the municipality?

When he finally had to emerge, he felt both clean and a bit stronger, ready to go through this week and kill a man. Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror, fierce green eyes staring back at him. It surprised him how much older he looked than most people his age, despite his height. There were lines in his face that shouldn’t have appeared until his mid-twenties at least, a full decade too early, and there was a weariness in his eyes that betrayed how much he had seen already. It was very strange to see himself like this, even stranger that the source of most of his anguish was in the very building he stood in right now.

It was about fifteen minutes later that he lowered that source of pain in the same bath he had found such relief in before, and it occurred to Harry how easy it would be now to just hold him under a few seconds too long and flee the house. But he knew that he would never forgive himself for killing someone who had no chance of fighting back and who was still in the delirious state of fever.

He did not thoroughly clean the man, just held him in the water, hoping the caked filth would come loose after Voldemort had been in the water for long enough. He did not wish to touch him any more than necessary. He was thankful for that the water distorted the view a bit, and tried to make waves with his hands to distort it even more. The white, naked flesh was not something he took pleasure in seeing. He averted his eyes once more when he deemed that Voldemort had to be clean enough after a good twenty minutes, instantly wrapping the man up in a musty towel he'd found in a cupboard. He'd only had to brush a couple of spiders off of it. Good as new. He grinned slightly at the thought of what Ron would say about using a towel that had served as a spider nest before.

Voldemort started muttering something, a mixture of Parseltongue and English that was no more than incomprehensible syllables, so Harry made shushing sounds until the other calmed down and snuggled into his chest. _~Nagini_,_~_ he called out, feeling as if he might go insane after not speaking to anyone again in more than a day.

_~I'm here, is master alright? Does he need me?~_

_~I think he always needs you,~ _Harry answered, surprised by how true that sounded. The snake seemed pleased with that answer and slithered up to the both of them, raising the upper half of her body in the air to push her snout against the bundle of cloth.

_~You understand much better than that rat,~ _she decided. _~I do not know what would have happened if you wouldn't have come here.~_ Her words made Harry pause. Initially, he'd come to kill Voldemort, not knowing that the man was ill. Would his nemesis have died on his own if Harry hadn't arrived? Could all of this perhaps be solved if he just... left? And could he live with that thought now that he'd tried to nurture the other back to health? Probably not, if only because of the uncertainty that would forever gnaw at his conscience... Hadn't he rejected this exact line of thought already at the start? What if Voldemort **would** miraculously survive on his own? What if he would just revive again, somewhere else?

Not that that last option couldn't still happen even if Harry did the deed. He hated that such a large part of his plans would count on luck and speculation. He was only an awkward teenage boy trying to do what was right and failing miserably whenever he was faced with even the slightest inconvenience such as Voldemort's illness, which made him unable to do what was necessary. He lay the bundle on the couch again and left Nagini to take care of it, getting up to find another potion, sincerely hoping that Hedwig would come find him soon so he was not all surrounded by enemies. Nagini might like him now, but that was bound to change fast if he would ever slip up. A precarious position indeed.


	5. Death Eater

A familiar and pleasant hooting woke Harry from confusing dreams of long corridors and dark doors. For a moment after he opened his eyes, he wondered why his bedroom looked so strange until he recalled where exactly he was. The next moment he shot up and stared with a growing sense of relief at his familiar, who sat on the windowsill and seemed to hoot her lungs out to reach him through the glass. Rushing to the dirty window, Harry tried his best to let her in, the hinges rusted shut over the years, only giving way at an excessive use of force the teen didn't even know he possessed. It had been two days since he'd sent the letter, two more days of taking care of Voldemort and hovering between wanting the man to get better so it would be over and hoping he'd never recover to not have to become a murderer.

Hedwig was more cuddly than usual. He'd expected her to be miffed at him since he'd left her behind, but she looked better fed than expected, perhaps the Dursleys had offered her some food after all, if only to get her to stop screeching them awake at night. There was no letter from them in sight. Perhaps they hadn't even thought of the idea to send a reply back the 'freak' way, and he hadn't provided them with a snail mail address either. Was Hedwig showing up here their way of saying they accepted his deal without further complications or consequences? He could only hope, and would find out soon enough.

He brought the snowy owl inside, glad that Nagini wasn't in the room right now. That gave him some time to still explain to the snake that Hedwig wasn't a snack. He turned around to find Voldemort's red eyes following his movements. Harry shivered lightly, in the past days having become unsure of how much the other was aware of his surroundings. He'd stopped his feverish babbling about Regulus, but still slept a lot and tried to get close to Nagini whenever possible. Harry had not anticipated that it might be hard to actually find out the exact moment Voldemort wasn't ill anymore...

To have something to do, he asked Hedwig to stay in the room and went to search out Nagini, who turned out to be in the garden, sunbathing, a lump in her body showing that she had swallowed something that was at least the size of a cat. Harry sincerely hoped that it wasn't actually a cat, and for the sanity of his own mind tried to think of possible ways for geese or large hares to have ended up in the garden and not be fast enough to get away from the lunging snake. He was splendidly unsuccessful. On a positive note, now she certainly wouldn't want to munch on Hedwig for the remainder of his stay.

_~You left master's side?~_ the serpent hissed in displeasure.

_~My owl arrived and is watching over him, she's very intelligent and won't let anything happen to him, I promise. I just wanted to notify you before you try to chase her away.~_

_~Birds cannot be trusted,~_ she replied. _~Foolish human, go back to him_._~_ Apparently she didn't fully trust Harry to follow her order correctly, since she followed him in, although she was slower than usual while still digesting the bump that Harry tried to not make eye-contact with. He could swear that it was still moving and wished desperately to return to duller days that weren't filled with trying to tiptoe around a giant venomous snake. He failed when instantly memories came to mind of trying to escape from giant spiders, a basilisk, a werewolf, Voldemort, Devil's snare, Fluffy, Dementors, and Snape. Which one on that list was the worst out of them, he couldn't decide, but Snape was definitely in the top three. His life, even -or especially- his school life, wasn't nearly as dull as he'd hoped it to be, with maybe the occasional teenage drama instead of hungry monsters ready to chase him.

''How do I always get into these messes,'' he groaned, shutting up the part of his mind that said 'by snooping around into things that aren't your business'. Distressed hooting sounded from upstairs, and Harry suddenly took two steps at once when he recognised the sound as a panicked Hedwig. What had happened? Had Voldemort awoken? He nearly crashed through the door, halting at seeing a blond, unfamiliar man kneeling in front of the couch Voldemort lay on. Scrutinising eyes fell upon him, and he was very aware of the man's drawn wand that was now pointed at Harry's chest.

''Who are you?'' he demanded in a much braver tone than he felt. He didn't think it was a brilliant idea to show that he was just about ready to puke up his breakfast from the sprint upstairs he just did and the very real fears of either dying instantly, or after this man and possibly Voldemort finding out who he really was.

''My name is Barty,'' the other said, slowly standing up, wand lowering, and Harry realised that the others' gaze had shifted to Nagini, who coiled at Harry's feet. ''I am my Lord's most devoted follower.''

_Well shit_, was Harry intelligent thought.

''How did you find us?'' he asked instead, gesturing for Nagini to go in front of him, both to show the man that he had some power and to have her act as a shield in case spells would be fired.

''Wormtail found me a while ago with a message from the Dark Lord. He gave me a charm prepared by our Lord that would slowly lift the Imperius curse placed upon me by my insane father. I was able to finally break today and followed Wormtails' instructions. I read in the Prophet that he'd been captured, but there was no word about the Dark Lord himself so... I figured he could use some truly loyal followers instead of that wanna-be bunch of snobs who caused such a ruckus last night at the World cup.''

Somehow, Harry had completely forgotten about the fact that the Quidditch world cup was to be held and cursed himself for missing it, although he knew that that was an absurd thought to have now he had more important matters at hand. The rest of Barty's story flew a bit past him as he had no idea about what this supposed Imperius curse was or which snobs the man was talking about.

''I'm not exactly up to date, I've been taking care of our Lord,'' Harry shortly answered. ''Do you have some papers? I can't exactly have the Prophet delivered to this location.''

_~What is going on Harrison?~_Nagini hissed in distress. _~Is he dangerous or not?~_ Figuring that he was unable to hide his Parseltongue abilities around someone who seemed to want to stick around when Nagini tried to constantly have conversations, Harry quickly hissed at her that everything was okay. He saw with slight satisfaction that Barty's jaw hung slack when he finished.

''You... you speak... like the Dark Lord!'' a revering tone had entered the man's voice and blue eyes bulged out of their sockets. ''Who** are** you?''

Harry's mind reeled. He didn't** have** to give this man the same alias he'd given Nagini. Harrison Black was a stupid name to give to anyone who had any knowledge about Wizarding families considering that the only Black still alive was Sirius. That he could fool a snake with that didn't mean he should risk it with a human follower, even if that would in the end mean that he might get in trouble if Nagini would refer to him by a different name than Barty would in front of Voldemort. Not knowing what else to do, he came up with the first name that shot through his head that wasn't connected to any prominent wizards: ''Evan Prewett,'' he said, remembering that Ron's mom had been a Prewett and hoping that it would both make him pass for a Pureblood wizard and not give Barty much to work with since, just like the Weasley family, they were a vast and predominantly Light family.

''Aren't those blood-traitors?'' the other answered hesitantly. ''How come you have Slytherin's gift?''

''I do not know from whom I received the... gift, I never knew who my mother was. And not everyone in a family is the same... Didn't you say something about your father?'' Harry found he'd hit a nerve when Barty's face clouded instantly.

''Got a point there,'' the blond mumbled. ''Sorry. So you are in Slytherin then? You look as if you're still at Hogwarts.''

''Yeah,'' Harry vaguely answered on both questions at once. ''I'm glad to be in Slytherin, we have the best common room with the underwater view,'' he added to instantly make his story more believable, for once having to thank Malfoy for being such a suspicious little git that he and Ron had had to investigate him two years ago.

''I wouldn't know, I was in Ravenclaw,'' Barty said bluntly, making Harry's eyes twitch. ''Not sure if that was a good thing or not, I would have liked to be in Slytherin of course but... then again, most Death Eaters who came from there put their own arse over loyalty and betrayed our Lord... no offense to you.''

''None taken,'' Harry sighed. ''I understand what you mean. I don't think it is very dependent on house though, look at Pettigrew. He only returned because he was afraid and had nowhere else to go and he was a Gryffindor. Perhaps the whole house division matters at Hogwarts, but everyone is different and at eleven I think it's hard to judge how a person will turn out to be in later life.'' The words surprised even himself but Harry stood by them. Even the Sorting hat hadn't been able to decide between Slytherin and Gryffindor for him, and those were supposed to be opposite houses. While he loved his Gryffindor 'family', it would be childish to think everyone of them would turn out to become a good person, Wormtail was living proof of that, and Harry always suspected that Dumbledore also had some dark secrets than he didn't let anyone know about with the way he avoided answering straight questions.

''Maybe, you're smarter than you look, Evan. Can I call you Evan? It would be weird to call you Prewett when I have no intention of giving you** my** surname.''

''Sure thing,'' Harry shrugged, answered by a wide grin of Barty.

A long hiss sounded from the couch, and both men froze on the spot before Barty rushed towards Voldemort and Harry shot out towards the kitchen, knowing the impatient sound to belong to a hungry Voldemort. ''Going to make breakfast!'' he shouted over his shoulder to not let the other get any strange ideas as to why he disappeared. Once alone, he leaned heavy against the wall and tugged at his hair in frustration. Of course he should have counted on other followers turning up besides Pettigrew. Voldemort hadn't exactly been inactive after all. The question now, was whether to withdraw or to see this through despite complications.

Reluctantly, Harry admitted to himself that he really did not want to retreat, not after getting this far, not after spending days of washing and feeding the embryo-like man. To pull back now would make all that effort go to waste and still not bring any results. That was always the strange thing about his feelings: with all of his heart, he didn't want to do this. He wanted to fly to Hogwarts, curl up in his dorm bed and never think of Voldemort again. To escape from reality and the unfriendly world he'd been forced into. But then his brain fired back with worries about his friends and a stubbornness to not let other people handle this, because they couldn't be trusted with it. He'd seen how far trusting adults had gone even in the Wizarding world: Snape hadn't been able to stop Quirrel in time, none of the teachers had been able to prevent the Basilisk from destroying the school, even Dumbledore had left freeing Sirius to him and Hermione. If he left now and just informed the Aurors, there was no telling what would happen.

Then again, there was no telling of the results either with him staying here under not only the watchful eye of Nagini, but Barty as well, self-proclaimed most loyal Death Eater... Harry once more banged his head against the wall before pushing all of his thoughts away and focusing on dinner -which he'd become remarkably good at ever since he was four years old and had started to take care of the Dursleys' household-. Fifteen minutes later, he had three plates of toast, sausage and egg. Perhaps Barty would be less suspicious of him if he made food, that had always worked wonders to keep his family from getting angry...

Slightly nervous, Harry returned upstairs, juggling all plates plus some meat for Hedwig in a bowl. It would be better to feed her himself than make the villagers suspicious by having a snowy owl flying around. Barty sat on the floor, staring with obvious devotion and fascination at Voldemort. Good, that meant Harry would have to take less care of the Dark Lord.

''What is wrong with our Lord?'' the man asked as soon as Harry stepped in. ''He looks so...'' the man trailed off.

''It's a lot better already since I found him,'' the teen said defensively, not entirely sure why he felt personally attacked. ''He needs potions to survive and couldn't take them since Wormtail was caught. He can't really move himself in that body and even magic cannot brew a complicated potion from another room or summon it through a closed wall without risk of explosion.'' It may not be the brightest idea to tell Barty what Voldemort needed to survive, but he **had** to have the other man's trust and come across as a credible follower. Hiding this information could bite him back in time. It should only be a few more days until the Dark Lord would be helpless no longer, dangerous enough for Harry to fully consider him an enemy once more. He walked around to sit next to Voldemort on the couch and handed Barty a plate, who gave him an odd look. ''I need to feed him,'' the teen explained.

''That's not... never mind,'' Barty muttered. ''That food for the owl or the snake?'' he gestured vaguely to the bowl of raw meat that Harry had tried to hold at an arm's length to not let it come into contact with the rest of the food.

''Owl, try to feed it gently to her, she doesn't like it when given in a hurry.''

''Her?'' Barty questioned, raising an eyebrow. ''You're not very good with animals are you?''

''What are you talking about?''

''It's the middle of summer. That's a snowy owl. Put two and two together?'' At Harry's incomprehensive look, Barty rolled his eyes. ''Female snowy owls turn brown in summer, **that** is a male one. Not that it matters too much I suppose. They don't behave incredibly different. I would have thought that anyone from a Wizarding family would have at least basic knowledge about owls...''He grimaced slightly. ''And not be walking around balancing plates like a professional house-elf.'' The accusation kept hanging in the air as Harry refused to answer and shoved food in Voldemort's mouth, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

''Despite being a Prewett, I grew up with Muggles,'' he finally bit out, cursing himself for such basic mistakes, and still surprised at the revelation about Hedwig. He debated for a second whether to try and change her name, then discarded that as ridiculous. As if owls cared whether the names their owners called them by were assigned a specific gender.

''Not going to elaborate on that?'' Barty asked after a few minutes of silent eating. ''That horrible?''

''Sorry if I do not trust a random stranger within the first hour of meeting with my life's story,'' Harry dryly remarked. ''I'm hardly asking about your family.''

''At least I'm not obviously lying about it,'' the other stated. ''Better to say nothing at all when you're trying to hide something. Fine, I won't pry, but try to come up with a better story than being a Prewett,** Evan**. The male line died out over two decades ago. Being part of the sacred twenty-eight, any Pureblood knows that only the female line survived, and married into the** Weasleys** of all people.'' Harry tried not to react to the disgusted tone with which Barty spoke of his best friend's family. It was more difficult than he'd thought. Visions of the homely burrow, Molly Weasley's crushing hugs and Arthur's earnest work and almost childish excitement for Muggles nearly had him in tears. The thought that anyone could have negative thoughts about such a pure hearted family was unbearable.

He finished his own food after feeding Voldemort, watching with amusement as Barty tried to get Hedwig to eat, who kept snapping at his fingers instead. ''You'll get the hang of it eventually,'' he replied with cold amusement. ''Perhaps you're just not very good with animals.'' Feeling both petty and triumphant, Harry further ignored Barty, took the plates down, washes the dishes and steamed in a thousand unspoken insults to Barty.

When he finally returned to take Voldemort to the bathroom, Barty was lying rather ungracefully on his belly in front of the fireplace, reading a book. ''Don't you have things to do?'' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

In a reply, Barty raised the book higher, which had Harry squinting through his dirty glasses to read the title. He hated that he couldn't clean his spectacles. They once more had a star in them as Dudley had seen it fit to punch him in the face again this summer and he couldn't use magic to repair them. Touching the glass too much might just make it fall out for good. As a result, he had to get much closer before he could make out the golden letters 'A handbook to animate protection'.

''We may be in a remote Muggle town, but it's still a bad idea to sit here without any wards or guard. That snake might scare the Muggles to death, it isn't really effective in keeping them out if anyone really wants to break in. I don't want to end up with missing people and investigations here. Thus, I thought I might try my hand at creating some charmed golems.''

''Sounds interesting. Wish I knew magic like that. Can't exactly use it now though...'' Harry's wand sat on the mantelpiece to avoid him automatically grabbing it in need and triggering the Trace. If necessary, he could use magic to defeat Voldemort. Before that moment arrived, he couldn't risk anything.

''Right now, neither can I,'' Barty sighed. ''Not very well anyways, not on this level. I mean, I normally **can**, it's just that I haven't found any fitting wands yet. Nicked this one off a drunk witch in Knockturn alley,'' he waved a dark brown wand with white specks. ''It's decent for basic spells, that's all. Would maybe snag your wand if it didn't have the Trace on it still,'' Barty grinned, then stilled in thought and snapped his book shut. ''Here,'' A second later, Harry found himself holding the stolen wand.

''I just said I still have the...'' he began, which Barty waved away.

''Don't be silly. The Trace is a combination of spells which work only when certain events are not triggered. Firstly, there is a trace on your wand, then one on your house and lastly one on you.''

''How does that work?'' Harry asked, curious.

''If you use your own wand and it still has a trace, the spell is triggered, but blocked if certain circumstances are met: if magic is being performed in your house and it is not odd for that to happen, like if your family is magical; or if you are in a place where you are allowed to perform magic such as Hogwarts. If you cast spells without a traced wand, the trace on yourself is activated, which is stopped if there are **any** adult wizards or witches around who could have performed the spell. It's the easiest trace to circumvent to be honest, only there to discover children with accidental magic in the Muggle world, really, and has many loopholes. There have to be, since using the floo or Portkeys is also registered as using magic, technically, and they cannot have the ministry blowing up whenever parents use the floo with their kids from a place that isn't their house. So short summary, there are three trace spells that can cancel each other out and all have different requirements for activating. You using a wand that is not traced, in the vicinity of an adult without the trace, would not activate your own trace.''

''Sounds complicated. What about other people performing magic around me and it registering as me?'' Harry asked. ''There was once a house-elf who used magic at my place and I got blamed for it...''

''House-elves are not counted as adult magicians,'' Barty shrugged. ''If it was your house, and no magicians live in it, the trace for yourself and your wand do not activate at all, but the one on your house does after not finding any non-traced witches or wizards. Who else could have performed magic there, after all? That is what the Ministry thinks at least.''

''This makes my head hurt,'' Harry said. ''I got the gist of it, I guess. As long as you are here, and I use this wand, it should be safe? Why me though?''

''While the wand works decently for me, it seems to have a different affinity. If it suits you better, it would be stupid to not have you do the casting. I can instruct you. Lack of experience and perhaps power might be a problem but... worth a shot.'' Barty shrugged and went back to reading his book. hesitantly, Harry rose the wand and cast the first spell he could think of:

**_''Incendio!''_** he exclaimed, pointing at the fireplace. It would be great not to burn his hands with matches anymore.

Loud pangs sounded and Barty yelped and scrambled away as a log exploded and a shower of sparks rained down on the rug. ''Oh shit!,'' Harry yelled, his mind blanking out as he tried to recall the counter spell. Barty ripped the wand from his grip and doused the now smoking rug with water, all the while laughing hysterically.

''Your face!,'' the man nickered. ''Merlin's balls, that was hilarious. How'd you figure it was a brilliant idea to test the functionality of this wand with summoning fire of all things? Your brain-'' Barty doubled over, catching deep gulps of air in between his words, ''Your- brain- must- hah- look- like- a- flobberworm!''

''Then do it yourself!'' Harry shouted, throwing the wand at Barty, red in the face with embarrassment, wanting to crawl away, annoyed when tears of humiliation formed in the corners of his eyes.

''Oh... shit kid, I didn't mean...'' the other suddenly quieted down but it was already too late: Harry had stormed out of the room, not caring for apologies. Something squeezed in his chest as all the nasty words from his aunt and uncle came back, questioning his intelligence, his usefulness, his right to live. Another voice made itself known in his mind that sounded suspiciously like Snape, haughty and intent on shaming him even further.

_Just like his arrogant father, useless, always on an undeserved high horse-_

Not even Nagini's hissing erased his red vision. He needed to get out of here, get fresh air, he wanted...

Pain exploded in his scar, replacing his anger with agony as he fell to his knees and pressed both hands to his stern. It went as fast as it had come. Harry's limbs shook, knowing that Voldemort was not pleased with his onslaught of emotions. He'd known they were linked somehow - he'd seen visions of the man after all, in his dreams- but never had he had such strong evidence than the blood running down his face now. He only barely managed to wipe it away before footsteps sounded behind him.

''I'm sorry,'' Barty muttered. ''I shouldn't have said that.'' Not wanting to be humiliated further, Harry tried his best to get up without help. ''You want to talk?'' Looking over his shoulder, Harry eyed the man suspiciously, trying to gauge the sincerity in that offer. He'd confided before in adults who had offered help, only to find out that they'd only asked out of obligation and did not actually want to listen to sob stories. He saw genuine concern in Barty's eyes, which was disconcerting considering the fact that this might mean a Death Eater showed more honest compassion for a stranger than a primary school teacher for their students.

''I... don't know,'' he spoke, slightly hindered by the fact that he'd bit his tongue to not scream out before and it, too, was bleeding now. He hadn't spoken about the Dursleys since asking Dumbledore if he could stay at Hogwarts for summer and the man had outright refused for his 'protection'. He hadn't even told Ron much, who obviously knew something was going on ever since he and the Twins had broken Harry out of his barred room. He just felt like it was too personal, and not anyone else's burden to bear but his own. Also, many people were bound to have it much worse.

''Come on, let's make one of the rooms downstairs here a bit more liveable so we can sit down and have a chat.''

''The Dark Lord...''

''Is being looked after by a very protective snake who will not let me in his vicinity without you around. She seems fond of you. Well, you can talk to her, that maybe makes a difference.''

''You think?'' Harry replied. ''I still have the feeling she will eat me at so much as a wrong glance.'' Nonetheless, he followed the other into one of the uninhabited rooms he'd left covered in sheets. With a few wand movements, the furnishing was revealed and cleaned up, instantly transforming the room into an elaborate dining room.

''The people here didn't exactly like cosiness did they?'' Barty grumbled, looking at the polished wood with a scrunched nose. ''Looks like something my father would feel comfortable in. Whose house was this anyways?'' Harry refrained from answering that, not thinking it was a good idea to reveal that he knew anything of Voldemort's past, or even worse: to have Barty realise that he followed a half-blood, as amusing as that thought may be. The both of them plopped down on one of the rather rigid chairs. Harry ignored the small iron studs in the hard leather 'cushioning' wonderfully, dealing with worse every time he played Quidditch. Barty also didn't appear too bothered. 

''Look, I was a bit too harsh back there kid. I forgot that not everybody is as tough as Azkaban inmates.'' Finding that to be a rather odd figure of speech, Harry hesitated, not entirely sure whether that was meant literally or not. Picking up on the hint, the man continued with a small laugh. ''I often listened to the angry rants of the other prisoners back when I did my time for a year or so. It always lifted my spirits to insult them and invoke a reaction, just to make sure they would find some of their energy back, even if only for the duration of their rant. I learnt a lot about humans in my isolated cell, surprisingly. What types of people exist and how much they can take, mainly. How to use their goals, fears and wishes to either lift their mood or break them even without Dementors around.''

''Did you ever break someone like that?'' Harry asked warily.

''Yeah. Not all criminals in there are Death Eaters, you know. Not all of them adhere by the same codes as we had to abide by. For a while, there were two people in the cells opposite mine. A man and a woman, both charged for 'sexual misconduct'. Just a fancy word for.. well, I'm sure I don't need to get into detail.'' Harry was rather astonished that the man would spare him any details. From the short time they'd spent together now, he'd figured that Barty wasn't one to mince matters. ''I drove the both of them insane,'' the other said, a reminiscent smile on his face. ''Tore them mentally to shreds once I figured out their weaknesses, their insecurities. I enjoyed every moment of that. Now** those** people were really... evil.''

''Doesn't evil depend on point of view? To you, their crimes may have been unforgivable, to many others murder is worse, and we both serve one who murdered plenty. Also, sexual abuse is meant to make the victim feel helpless, to torture them mentally and emotionally. One could see it as just another form of torture, not better or worse than any other form of it. As I recall, Dementors also torment one emotionally and mentally, and I heard that torture was common in the first Wizarding war too.''

''You're right, everyone has different morals,'' Barty spoke slowly, balancing his chair on the back legs, knees propped against the side of the table. ''Everyone has to have some though, and I stand by mine. Laws may reflect the average morals of its country's people, each person will either think them too radical or not radical enough, all weighing crimes with their own personal experiences in mind. I think that sex is the lowest type of torture that can be used, and I know that the Dark Lord wholeheartedly agrees to that, which is also why it was forbidden from usage by him. Slow Muggle torture too, it is just... messy and unnecessary. The Cruciatus curse may do the same but... it feels different, one can recover from it far easier when not used for too long. The pain does not leave nearly as much emotional trauma as any other form of pain, and we had to get information somehow.''

He grimaced, then. ''Although I admit that it was overused by some, to the point of where I also could not condone it anymore. Why torture someone to insanity when you know they are not going to give anything up? I would have killed them... no-one listened... Bellatrix only wanted...'' his voice trailed off and his eyes were glassy as if lost in a deep memory. ''That's neither here nor there,'' he spoke at last, looking bright again and letting his chair fall back on its front legs with a loud bang that shook the floors. ''I didn't only learn to manipulate people in bad ways. Human contact helped me stay sane in that pit, so I often acted as a sort of... therapist for any around me who wanted to have a listening ear. Never helped much, or long, but I got the occasional thanks and it made me feel better. So, what's your story?

''I thought you promised not to pry into my past?'' Harry darkly said.

''Not in your family.'' Barty corrected him. ''You don't need to call anyone by name, but whoever raised you sure gave you issues, I can tell that from a mile away. Brooding, using sarcasm as a shield, defensive stance at any hint of critique to hide how much it hits you inside.'' It hit hard now too, and Harry lowered his eyes, suddenly fascinated with a spot on the table, a waxy fingerprint that must have been from the residents here at least fifty years ago. Voldemort's family? Or even further back? When he couldn't find any excuse to stare at it even longer, Barty not having gotten impatient at all, Harry slowly looked up. The man had resumed his previous position again, arms hanging off the back of the chair, which was tilted so the blond man could look at the ceiling.

''I went through some issues with my... caretakers,'' Harry finally managed to say. ''I don't think it was very bad though,'' he added instantly. ''Just a bit of bullying, having to do chores and getting punished more often than.. than the other kid in the house.'' Barty didn't look up, still waiting. Harry didn't really know why he was telling this to a Death Eater, who could maybe use it all against him after figuring out his identity. However, there was something comforting about having someone non-judgemental listen, someone who didn't look like he would either tear up like Hermione, give an awkward pat on the shoulder like Ron, or dismiss it like Dumbledore. Maybe Barty didn't care much. That was fine, then Harry also wouldn't hurt anyone by telling this.

''I think I was mainly jealous,'' he continued. ''Of always being treated like I came last in that house. That my problems didn't matter and were all my own fault anyways. I couldn't ask questions about who I was or where I came from, if I did I was being too nosy and got punished. I was just so curious about my parents that I couldn't help but keep nagging until they got fed up and threw me back in my cupboard-''

''Your cupboard?'' the tone was neutral, which was a relief, since that meant Harry didn't have to get defensive.

''Yeah, that is where I slept. It was a bit small, true, and dusty with spiders and such, but it gave me a place to escape to. I didn't have to sleep next to Du---to the other kid. I moved upstairs a few years ago after all though,'' he bit his lip. ''To the third bedroom, which was full of his.. -let's just call him D-, of D's broken toys. As I thought, it made it worse since I had to interact with them all more often that way and it was even harder to sneakily break the locks to get food from the kitchen at night.''

''Why did you steal food?'' the man asked, not commenting on any of the rest.

''Well, I wouldn't really... get much,'' Harry admitted, struggling. ''I can understand why, I was the smallest in the house and didn't need as much,'' he felt his walls rising up again and took a deep breath to calm his thoughts. Barty was only listening, nothing else. ''I also messed up on some of my chores so they sometimes didn't give me food so I'd do better next time.''

''When did you start doing chores?''

''Err, when I was four, I think. It started out with just dusting things I could reach... then weeding the garden, doing laundry, eventually cooking... the only thing I didn't do was clean up any of the bedrooms, I was never allowed in there. Oh, and running errands, they didn't want me to be seen outside very much unless it was to tend to the garden.''

''Oh?'' Barty spurred him on.

''Well, they all thought I was crazy, you see. The whole neighbourhood. My caretakers told them all that I was a child of criminals and drunks and that no-one should talk to me. When visitors came I also had to go back to my cupboard after finishing making the food. That was better, I think, so I wouldn't be stared at. I was only given D's old clothes and he is much bigger than me so... I looked awful.''

''Did they hit you?'' Harry licked his lips, nervous about answering. All of it sounded so... bad, when spoken out aloud.

''Sometimes,'' he admitted. ''Mostly by D, he and his buddies liked to gang up on me. The bullying I mentioned. The others didn't hurt me so frequently, only as punishment and usually just by hitting me with objects for educational purposes,'' he parroted his aunt.

Barty exhaled loudly. ''Shit kid,'' he repeated. It seemed to be a catchphrase of his and reminded Harry deeply of Sirius.

''It's not as bad as what other people dealt with,'' he mumbled.

''Did you ever tell anyone?''

''Yeah... my teachers. They listened to it and then handed me back to my caretakers since they couldn't do anything about it. One of my teachers warned me that the foster system was worse so then I stopped trying. At Hogwarts I was told that I had to live there for my own protection...'' he hung his head. ''I didn't want to worry my friends, but I guess they know to a degree. My best friend once broke me out of my room in the middle of the night,'' he smiled at the memory. ''Ripped the bars in front of my window out and pulled me out of my uncle's grip,'' he suddenly shut down, fearfully looking at Barty after his slip-up about 'bars'.

''Do you want to get revenge on those Muggles?'' was the only thing the man said, in all seriousness.

''I... no,'' Harry shook his head. ''I just want to be away from them,'' he whispered. ''They're not completely bad people, just afraid of me, afraid of the world I belong to.''

''Child abusers don't deserve to live kid... but whatever, your decision. Personally, I'd gladly skin my dad alive and the only thing he did was put me in Azkaban after he found out I was a Death Eater. Mum talked him into getting me out a year after, so we swapped places. He's the reason she died there...''

''Shit,'' Harry echoed.

''Yeah... You know what though?'' he asked, and Harry replied with a hum. ''You cannot measure your own misery by the pain of other people. Others being hurt more doesn't mean that it was okay what your family did to you, or that you need to feel guilty over wanting to get away. I learnt a long time ago that every person has different pain, that comparing it is unfair. If we start with that, we may as well say that there must always be a person who has it worse on this earth. Assholes like your uncle are then free to use that attitude to get away with starving and beating a child for being different. It's not helping you, and it's also dangerous for future kids.''

''I...'' Harry struggled with his words.

''Let me put it this way. Would you be fine with any other child going through what you did?''

''No!'' Harry nearly shouted, eyes widening at only the thought. No child deserved to be treated as if they were better off not existing.

''There you have it then. Well, I'm going to check upstairs, don't want our Lord to think we neglect him, right? Are you coming along? You can try using the wand again, I promise I will behave better this time.'' Without waiting for him, the man left the room, leaving Harry to sit in his daze. He'd just spilled his whole childhood to a Death Eater... to a criminal who had sat in Azkaban and apparently didn't have much of a problem with killing and torturing others... and Harry had enjoyed the talk. No, that was maybe not the right word, reliving his time at the Dursley's wasn't enjoyable... it had been** relieving** to get it off his chest, knowing he was being seriously listened to without being scolded or coddled afterwards. Barty's words had hit home for sure.

''What am I going to do?'' Harry groaned, burying his head in his hands. He was a mess right now, in no shape to get rid of Voldemort, and he didn't want to drag Barty in it now the man had been so nice to him. Hell, he didn't even really want to hurt Nagini... the snake was unpredictable and creepy, but she was just an animal following the weird motherly instincts she had for Voldemort. This wasn't at all how he'd planned it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to mention something about Harry's childhood: I know that in many fanfics it is exaggerated what Harry goes through, but when reviewing the canon material, I honestly have to say that I did not find that very necessary. The Dursleys did plenty wrong without having to add any details, so I only used whatever the books say that they do to Harry.
> 
> On another note: I found some different sources on Barty's possible Hogwarts House. Canonically it isn't known though, so I put him in Ravenclaw based on both his character and the fact that he managed to get 12 OWL's at Hogwarts. Perhaps not the best way of picking, considering we all know that both Hermione and Voldemort got loads of OWL's, but for story purposes, I think it's better than having Barty be a Slytherin.


	6. Awakening

Both Harry and Barty avoided mentioning their talk over the next two days. Harry mostly took care of Voldemort while Barty went out to get books and strengthened their defences. In the hours that the other was gone, Harry mainly tried to revise his plans in such a way that neither Nagini nor Barty would be harmed. Physically, at least, he knew that both of them would be hurt deeply by Voldemort's passing, which had weakened Harry's resolve, but not so much that he would give up entirely. After all, the mercy and apparent kindness that the Dark Lord had given to a chosen few did not excuse the planned genocide of Muggles and Muggleborns, Pureblood ideologies and plans for a starting a second war. Not that Harry had had much time to ask about that. Acting as a follower of the Dark Lord had the drawbacks of being expected to know some things about Death Eater behaviour, plans and more of that. He couldn't very well grill Barty on the exact agenda of the Dark.

Voldemort was watching Harry at the moment, which was slightly unnerving, having those red eyes peek over the edge of the blanket and shift from right to left as Harry paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. It was soon time for another potion... Suddenly, Harry frowned. Should recovery really take this long? It had been much longer than expected already, over a week now. Once more he was faced with the dilemma of not knowing how to recognise Voldemort being well enough...

_~Stop your fidgeting_!_~_ Nagini suddenly hissed, raising her head in annoyance. Releasing an irritated sigh, Harry complied, sitting down next to his nemesis, whose unblinking eyes were still on him... too bright, too clear... Harry struggled to keep himself composed when realisation hit him. This was it. This was the moment. Too sudden.

Carefully, he peeked to the right, trying to stop himself from shaking when he was met with a calm and steady gaze. Voldemort started moving now, the blanket was pushed away by a fragile hand, the bony back straightened as Voldemort sat as upright as possible. Harry scrambled away from the couch in horror when he realised that the man had possibly been better for days already. Nagini hissed again, yet did not react as Harry dove for his wand at the mantelpiece, not even when he turned around and pointed it at the Dark lord. She had come to trust Harry to take care of her master so much that she didn't recognise any danger.

The door was slammed open and Barty swaggered in. There was no other way for his walk, entirely relaxed and chomping on the chicken leg he held in his other hand. ''Hey Evan, could you cook again? I'm absolutely shit at it and-'' Barty hesitated only for a moment when seeing Harry's stance, but all worry was erased again when Harry hastily pretended to cast a warming charm on Voldemort and sat down with loud thudding heart. In his panic, he'd almost really cast one, which would give a whole other slew of trouble if the Ministry suddenly showed up.

His voice sounded odd and far away as he replied: ''Sure I can, do you mind if I do that later? I should really give him his potion again... would you mind getting me one? I brewed a new batch.''

'''Course. As long as you season the next chicken with a bit more chilli.'' He left again and Harry shook like a leaf, not knowing what to do. His moment of panic wasn't over yet, but his hasty act of desperation was. Unnervingly, Voldemort didn't even speak. They just looked at each other the entire time until Barty came back with the potion. And Harry knew then that Voldemort** knew**. He knew that Harry was definitely not on his side. Did he recognise him? The bangs on his forehead hid the scar currently, and the last time they'd seen each other, he'd been eleven and Voldemort hadn't been exactly sane. On top of that, they'd hardly interacted much. Did the other know that it was Harry Potter sitting in front of him? If so, he didn't let anything on, nothing even suggested that Voldemort felt threatened. His stare was almost... reprimanding.

''Should I?'' Barty asked, making Harry jump, who had not even noticed the other's quick return. The blond man cocked his head when Harry didn't take the vial that was offered to him. Hastily, the teen corrected his mistake.

''No, it's fine,'' he answered with a croaky voice. ''I just don't feel entirely well, that is all.'' He needed to send Barty away somehow... needed to get him out of here to do what must be done. Harry wasn't sure if it was still possible, but he** had** to try. ''Look, I know you said you wanted chilli on your chicken, but all I've got right now is a bit of pepper,'' he improvised. ''Although I know you don't want to interact with Muggles...'' he trailed off. ''It would really help if you got me some chilli peppers in town,'' he clarified at Barty's look.

''Oh. Right. You really don't look well though, I can maybe do with something else today.''

''No, really, it's fine. I can-''

''Stay, Bartemius.''

Harry and Barty fell silent at the same moment, for entirely different reasons. Harry just sat there, frozen with the flask in his hand while Barty instantly dropped to his knees, losing the chicken on the way, which landed in Nagini's stomach with a snap of her jaws before she lifted herself on the couch.

_~Master!!~ _Voldemort did not answer her directly, instead extending an arm to rest on her scales.

''I still require that potion... **Evan**,'' he continued, completely unfazed.

''Erhm... I... yes, of course.'' He was aware of three pairs of eyes burning into his skull as he unstoppered the cork with a dry mouth and sweaty hands. Barty's suspicious look wasn't lost to him either. However, since Voldemort was calm, it looked like neither he nor Nagini thought his behaviour was completely disagreeable. He poured the potion in slowly, aided by the fact that Voldemort could apparently suddenly swallow without a problem anymore himself. Mentally, Harry swore. The white figure shuddered for a moment after finishing, then slowly opened his eyes again.

''Bartemius, retrieve my wand, it lies in the graveyard, buried at the base of the headstone of Thomas Riddle.'' _~Nagini, accompany Barty~_

Harry's mind went in overdrive. The Muggle graveyard? **That** was where the wand had been hidden? But why? Voldemort wouldn't have had access to it there... No wonder he'd never found the blasted thing. And why was the man sending the others away without saying another word? Harry was the one holding a wand right now...

That thought flew from his mind when, the second after the door closed behind the others, Harry's wand was magically pulled from his grip, literally pried from his fingers, to land in Voldemort's hand, sparks erupting from it as it accepted Voldemort's hand. Not surprising, considering they had brother wands. He should have tried to use the one Barty had stolen instead... ''It fits rather well,'' the other mentioned. ''Now tell me who you are and what you came here for.'' Harry stood again as if the couch was burning him.

''I... I am Evan, I took care of you while ill... my Lord.''

''**Liar**,'' He was forced into a bow, an incredible pressure at the spine pushing him down onto his knees. He'd felt it before, it was the same spell Voldemort had used when Harry had confronted him in the room of the mirror of Erised. ''I have overheard more than one of your conversations with Barty, and, more surprisingly, with** Nagini**. Oh, I believe that you took care of me, but surely not out of the goodness of your heart,'' the Dark Lord sounded amused. ''I have my suspicions of course...'' he carefully examined the wand. ''Very** precise** suspicions.''

Harry's heart dropped in his shoes. Voldemort was only toying with him. ''I made sure the rat got behind bars and then came here to erase you from this world once and for all,'' he spoke, balling his fists tightly at his sides. Voldemort's hoarse laugh was not the response he'd expected.

''Indeed? And, pray tell, why did you think it would work now when I couldn't be killed the first time you caused my demise... Harry Potter?'' Harry staggered back a step as he was released from the spell. His eyes flicked to the door. ''You cannot escape from here. Sit down.''

''No,'' he replied, stubbornly. For the first time during the conversation, there was a hint of impatience flashing through the others' eyes.

''Stupidity doesn't suit you,'' the other snapped. ''Sit.'' Swallowing hard, Harry complied -for now-, hating himself for it. What would Voldemort do if he tried to wring that slender neck instead of trying to attack with magic? No, that would be a stupid idea, Harry told himself. Voldemort now had a perfectly working wand and it was doubtful that the other was bluffing about his magical powers. Even when leeching off of Quirrel's body he'd had magic of his own...

''By your logic, you cannot kill me either,'' Harry said, braver than he felt. ''I survived your Killing curse more than you did.'' He was grasping at straws here, trying to find anything that would keep Voldemort talking and perhaps reveal anything useful to escape.

''I won't kill you.''

The simply answer stopped Harry's thought process dead in its tracks.

''What? But...''

''At least, not until I have verified some important pieces of information. Depending on the result of that, perhaps not even then.''

''Well... well that's too bad, because I'll always keep fighting you!'' Harry stood again. ''You've murdered my family, threatened Hogwarts, mistreated my friends! You are a murderous bastard and I won't let you ruin this world!''

''You had an actual decent chance to vanquish me for a good while again,'' Voldemort mused, not caring much for Harry's rant apparently. ''Yet instead, you... improved my health. Why?''

''Maybe because not everyone is so thoroughly evil as to kill off babies!'' he spoke in defence.

''You could have had me shipped off to Azkaban instead. You didn't.''

Harry refused to reply further. There was no point in answering Voldemort, he didn't trust the word of the man about not wanting to kill him, one bit. He should leave here, and he needed to at least** try** to finish what he started. Without any sign of warning, Harry threw himself at Voldemort, using all of his Quidditch reflexes to quickly knock the wand out of the man's still weak grip, one hand diving for the neck. A quick snap and-

Harry was blasted to the other end of the room, hitting the back of his head hard against the wall and crumpling down at the floor. He cried out in pain as his skull threatened to split in two, spots dancing in his vision. If he didn't try to push through, he would fall unconscious, he could feel his limbs weakening already and his thoughts slipping.

''No!'' he exclaimed, digging his nails into his arms to distract himself from the pain in his head.

''You will stay here like you have done before,'' Voldemort commanded from somewhere far away. Harry tried to look at the man, which was hard as he still saw double from the hit, and blurry at that due to losing his glasses from the force of the blow. ''You shall continue to play Evan until I deem otherwise. I shall not give Barty your true identity, nor shall I tell Nagini. In exchange for your life, I will study you and require you to cooperate in several experiments.''

''I will not-'' Harry spit out between clenched teeth, ''be your** guinea pig**!''

''You really won't have a choice. Nagini would eat you for threatening me and deceiving her. Barty... he wouldn't be happy about it, but he too would murder you at my word.''

''You're a fucking bastard.''

''If you say so,'' the bored tone made it clear to Harry that Voldemort was not planning to let himself get riled up in any way. It would have been better if he'd either gotten furious or even condescending for using curse words. Like this, Harry could only stew in his own anger without an outlet. ''Oh, I will, however, tell Barty that while you are a new follower, you are no Death Eater. You make an abysmal one and it would really do to get you up to speed with my plans.''

''I already know what you are up to,'' he said, sounding triumphant. ''You want to become immortal somehow, which is why you went after the philosopher stone. You're power hungry and pose a danger to creatures, Muggleborns, Muggles and anyone who doesn't agree that purebloods are perfect.''

Even through the blur, he noticed the cold stare thrown his way. ''How incredibly surprising that my thirteen-year-old enemy who has been kept from the Wizarding world all of his life and then only spoke to Dumbledore and his chosen few, has reached such dreadful conclusions,'' Voldemort spoke, still on the same bored tone. ''To clear up a few parts of that: I am already immortal, already have power, and hate Muggles for entirely different reasons than that they might threaten Purebloods.'' Any rest of the conversation was broken off as the others came into the room again, rushing to Voldemort's feet. Harry didn't exactly notice any of the looks thrown his way due to his lack of glasses, which were pushed into his hand by Barty before he was dismissed from the room. Harry only noticed that the glass was suddenly fixed as he pushed it up his nose. Stumbling, the teen managed to get down the stairs, wondering if Voldemort had anything in place to prevent him from walking out. One step out of the front door made it clear that leaving indeed wasn't possible, for as soon as he tried going down the garden path, it felt as if a hand held his throat in a deadly grip. It squeezed harder with each step until Harry feared he would really pass out when trying to leave further.

So instead, he went to the dining room, which he and Barty had transformed even more yesterday, turning over the table to its side and placing as many blankets and pillows on the floor and against the underside as needed to transform it into a relatively comfortable sitting space. It reminded the teen of books he'd read in which happy children would make blanket forts with their friends. Groaning, he let himself fall face first into the washed blankets, cursing himself over and over again. He'd been so** stupid** in so many ways. Rolling onto his back, Harry stared at the ceiling, at the place beneath Voldemort's and Barty's feet. What would Barty think of him now? What would the man even be told?

His thoughts wandered to every topic that seemed important: from whether any of his friends would miss him, to what kind of experiments Voldemort planned to use him for, to how disappointed Dumbledore would look... Harry had failed everyone in failing to kill Voldemort when he'd had the chance. That was the simple truth. He'd been clever in catching Wormtail and finding out Voldemort's location... from there on he should have left it to the Aurors after all. His distrust in people had put the entire country in danger.

''You look like an Inferius. A drowned one.''

Harry sighed at Barty's tone. ''I have no idea what that is.''

''Merlin, how did you ever want to pass as a Pureblood? No wonder the Dark Lord got so angry with you. Posing as someone you aren't isn't going to win you his favour. Of course, I can understand that it might be a scary thought to be one of the few Muggleborns followers he has... but in the end, only your loyalty really matters, not your blood.'' Barty plopped down without asking for permission and patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly for a moment.

''Isn't blood all that matters?'' he asked miserably, surprised when Barty let out a loud disbelieving laugh.

''Are you mad? Sure, punks like Malfoy would like to see it that way, and the Dark Lord tries to keep his lot happy too. Purebloods ruling the world though? No way. Didn't you know that the Dark Lord himself is a half-blood?'' Now Harry was really incredibly shocked, turning around to stare at the man, who misinterpreted his expression. ''Yeah, we both had very disappointing fathers, you know. Remember when I asked you whose house this was? Well, turns out it was his dad's, one more Muggle who abandoned his magical kin for being 'abnormal'. I already knew of his story before, and found that the grave the wand had been buried at was his father's. It is Muggles like** that** who are going to ruin our world. Fearful, hateful, uneducated...''

''Many purebloods are also hateful, fearful and uneducated about Muggles, hating them and Muggleborns on principle too.''

''Hmm, there's truth in that. I certainly hope that our Lord can do something about the opinions of both sides. Now, I see you are in no condition to make my chicken so I shall gracefully offer to cook. I can only boil eggs and peel potatoes though, so if you don't mind, you'll get mashed potatoes with some eggs. One of the drawbacks of living only in a posh house, Hogwarts and Azkaban was that I never had the opportunity to learn the fine art of preparing food.'' Harry groaned at that, his stomach turning at the thought. Slowly, he picked himself up from the floor.

''I'll do it,'' he grumbled. ''If you can bring it to... our Lord. I have the feeling that I should rather stay away from him for a bit until we've both cooled off.''

''About that... he still cannot move on his own and said that you always help him get to the bathroom,'' Barty said matter-of-factly, as if he was talking about walking the dog. ''I would take over that job but his instructions were specifically that you should.''

''Fucking great,'' Harry muttered, getting a raised eyebrow from the other man.

''Any task of our Lord is a glorious one Evan,'' Barty reprimanded him. ''I'd give my wand arm to be able to be so close to him as you can be.''

''It's more that I will then have to wait with food even longer, I didn't mean...'' he hastily said. Barty clearly didn't believe him.

''Evan, you're a good kid, perhaps a bit too good for a place like this. Covering up mistakes isn't a great trait though. I get where you are coming from, really I do, but you should be more honest with both me and our Lord. That is a simple rule within our ranks: as long as you speak the truth, you don't have much to fear. Own up to your mistakes if you make any, it will spare you a lot of pain. If there is anything the Dark Lord hates, it is cowards and liars. Maybe even more so than Muggles.''

Harry thought it was rather hypocritical of Voldemort, considering the man had** just** told him to still keep up the pretence of Evan. Or was that only a test? As Barty moved to grab another book he'd brought, Harry contemplated on that possibility. Even Dumbledore had constantly tested him, it was only logical that Voldemort would too. If he truly despised liars then...

''I'm not Evan. I'm not even a follower.'' The confession rushed out in a single breath and he kept his eyes trained on the floor as heavy seconds ticked by.

''What?'' something dangerous slipped into Barty's tone, a growling sound that Harry had not heard before and promised pain.

''The... The Dark Lord knows,'' he hurried to say. ''I... I do not yet know if I can really tell you who I am. Since you asked me to be honest, I will try to be as much as possible. I am, right now, a prisoner here.'' He glanced up, seeing Barty's clouded face. ''I planned to... kill him.'' As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew this confession had been a mistake. A crazy gleam entered the man's eyes and a second later Harry hung upside down in the air.

''You damned traitor!'' the feral growling voice reminded strongly of a werewolf. Harry seriously hoped that Barty wasn't one. ''You snuck in here? You tried to fool me? Was your life story all a lie as well? I tried to** help** you! You, who intended to hurt the only real father I ever had!'' Barty was screaming now and red in the face. ''Do you know how it feels to be rejected? To see the person who is supposed to care for you with a face of stone as he sentences you to hell? My** Lord** was the only person to ever give me a family and you wanted to rip that away?''

''He ripped** my** family away!'' Harry shouted back, crying at both Barty's story and his own. ''He killed my mother, my father, he was the reason why I ended up with my abusive family in the first place!''

_~Silence!~_ Harry stilled at the loud hissing that echoed through the house. Barty, despite not being able to understand Parsel, had surely understood the tone of the voice at least and let Harry down, only staring him down angrily.

''It looks like we angered your** dad**,'' Harry said, still pissed. ''I shouldn't keep him waiting for potty time.''

He knew it was an incredibly low blow, yet couldn't bring himself to care. That is, not until he entered Voldemort's room and was instantly hit by a curse that made his entire body flare up in agonising pain. It felt as if his skin was being ripped to bits, his nails pulled off again and again, his entrails sliding out through his stomach. He screamed until he couldn't hear himself anymore.

He awoke on the carpet in front of the Dark Lord's sofa, apparently having been moved. Voldemort still sat where he usually did, and Barty was hovering over Harry, wand pointed at his face. ''You're a stupid boy,'' he muttered, sounding... concerned? ''My Lord, may I...?''

''You may.''

A wave of tingles shot over Harry's whole body, instantly erasing the lingering aching in his limbs. Sitting up, he looked at the blond man. ''Why?'' he mumbled. ''I thought you'd hate me now.''

''Don't be an idiot, I've been insulted worse every day in Azkaban. You think I'd stay mad at one broken kid?'' Barty snorted. ''Not your fault that you were raised the way you did and believe any propaganda Dumbledore crams through your throat. I... could have dealt more civilised with that conversation too.'' It was as much of an apology as Harry was going to get.

''I'm also sorry for the insults,'' he spoke hesitantly, only directing it at Barty. He wasn't about to grovel to the one who had just put him under a torturing spell of sorts.

Said person suddenly directed his attention to Harry: ''So, Evan... as I gather, you spilled some of your secrets to Bartemius then?''

Harry frowned. ''He asked for honesty. What good would it have done to keep lying?''

''And yet, you did not reveal your identity.''

''Was I allowed to?'' Harry asked, raising his eyebrows at the pale man. ''You are the one who told me I would keep being 'Evan' here.''

''I was curious to see what you would do with the instructions I gave.'' Voldemort didn't say much more, inspecting a pure white wand in his hands. So that was the brother wand... ''Bartemius, for now he shall indeed remain Evan. Whether or not I shall reveal his identity to you will be dependent on how my research goes. Evan shall be our...guest, yet isn't to leave the house or left unsupervised. I shall leave it up to you to get him up to speed with our agenda, he seems to be horribly misinformed.''

''It will be my pleasure, my Lord,'' Barty muttered, bowing low.

''Good. Come here.'' Harry watched as Barty eagerly shuffled closer, a look of adoration on his face, eyes sliding close as Voldemort reached out and placed a single finger in between the other's eyes. No spell was spoken out, so Harry had to quickly shield his eyes as a bright light flashed through the room. Not wanting to miss what was happening, he peered through his fingers, seeing a web of silver threads wrap themselves around Barty's head. At long last, the light died down and the threads snapped and dissolved into nothing.

''Thank you, my Lord,'' the blond spoke, voice dripping with reverence, tears streaming down his face. ''I shall never disappoint you.''

''I know,'' Voldemort merely spoke. ''Now, Evan. Time for your duties.'' One blissful moment long, the meaning of these words escaped Harry until recalling the reason why he'd gone upstairs in the first place and groaning in dread. It was going to be so much** worse** when knowing that his enemy was fully conscious. One mortifying trip later -and he was somehow entirely sure that he was far more embarrassed than Voldemort was, who seemed to take some sort of sick pleasure in his disgust- they were all sitting near the fireplace again in silence.

Nagini slithered up to his legs, draping herself over him. _~Harrison, pet me,~_

_~Oh, **Harrison**, subtle. How would you have **ever **escaped my notice.~_

Any scathing remark he wanted to make was swallowed since Nagini's fangs were far too close to his hands to risk angering her. Still, she raised her head in curiosity.

_~What do you mean Master? This is Harrison Black, one of your followers. You had many Black followers did you not?~_

_~Very well remembered dear. Yesss... such a good follower indeed.~ _Harry threw a glare, yet didn't say anything.

''So, err, my Lord, would like for me to educate Evan already? Perhaps while he cooks? I'm starving.''

In a far too human gesture, Voldemort pointed his eyes skywards. ''Off with you two.''

Glad to be away, Harry jumped to his feet and hurried downstairs. ''You got yourself into a real mess here,'' Barty grinned widely, leaning against the counter.

''You don't sound so upset about it anymore.''

''As said before, could've handled it better. Am supposed to be an adult, you know? May not look like it...''

''Your magnificent beard says otherwise,'' Harry joked, pointing at the scruffy week-old stubble that could have belonged to an adolescent.

''Funny, careful with that cheek or next time I hoist you up in the air, you'll find your pants missing. Anyhow, the Dark Lord seems fine with you for now, thus so am I. You might have some potential if you aren't so misguided anymore.'' Harry snorted in disbelief.

''What about 'he killed my parents' didn't you hear before?''

''The circumstances,'' the other answered in all seriousness. ''Considering your age, it must've been during the first war. Lots of people got killed on both sides in battle.''

''He broke into our house and struck then down before they had a chance to defend themselves,'' Harry answered tonelessly, directing his anger at the chopping block, bits and pieces of raw chicken splattering the walls. Any professional chef would have fainted at the disregard for health policies. Harry hoped a piece would hit Barty in the face.

''Just like that? Very unusual,'' the man frowned. ''With a few exceptions of specific high-target enemies being found after being in hiding for a long time, he always killed in open battles or duels. It was considered disrespectful otherwise. The only reason for those exceptions were that enemies who went into hiding were considered cowardly enough to not have to apply rules of courtesy to anymore.''

''You would also go into hiding if you just got a baby.''

''I wouldn't risk getting a child in the middle of a war in the first place,'' Barty shrugged. ''Definitely not when participating in the war in such a way that the Dark Lord would personally want my head. Admittedly, I've got no clue as to what your parents did to warrant that status. Did they fight in Dumbledore's Order?''

''His what?'' Harry frowned.

''The Order of the Phoenix, a band of Dumbledore's most loyal **friends**,'' Barty scoffed. ''More like pawns, he treated them worse than our Lord treats even his second circle. They all had to be ready every moment of the day to prevent us from gaining ground. Using manipulation and games, Dumbledore always had them right where he wanted...''

While Harry really did wish that he could vehemently protest against Dumbledore doing any of the sort, he recalled the elaborate 'traps' in front of the philosopher stone that three first years had been able to cross, and the way Dumbledore had set up him and Hermione to free Sirius, staying out of any illegal business himself. ''I don't know if they were part of this Order, sorry. I hardly know anything about them. No idea what they supposedly did. The only one who would know is sitting upstairs and I don't feel like talking to him more than necessary.''

''Why'd you even come here?'' Barty asked with curiosity. ''And why'd you stay?''

''Because I was stupid and thought I could handle all of this myself,'' Harry sighed. ''Now look at the mess I'm in. Trapped, with no way to contact anyone who cares about me.''

''That isn't true,'' Barty simply said, clapping him on his shoulder again. ''Even if I don't know your real name, I care about the kid I got to know. So, ask me anything you want and I'll try to answer you.''

''What does Voldemort want?'' Barty blinked rapidly a few times, the only recognition of Harry speaking the Dark Lord's name.

''Instantly starting with loaded questions huh? He wants to fix our world of course. Or at least a lot in it. How much do you know of the on-goings in the Ministry of Magic?''

''Not much,'' Harry admitted. ''I only know one person personally who works there and he's not exactly high up on the ladder. I've never been there either. Did meet once with the Minister of Magic. He was... far too friendly to be real that first time, and I got that confirmed when he was quite a jerk at the end of last school year. Other than that, I know that the Ministry tried to get rid of Dumbledore, but mostly by the influence of Lucius Malfoy, who is** your** man right?''

Barty's face darkened.

''Was,'' he spat out. ''As soon as the Dark Lord fell, Lucius turned on his tail, dumped a load of gold in the hands of the Minister and secured himself a job. Just one more coward whom I will look forward to seeing punished. Never even tried to search for our Lord, not believing the Lord's promise of his own immortality. Anyhow, the Ministry is coated with a layer of sugar, but beneath that all their smiles are rotten. Our laws are a product of outdated debates, mainly a result of fear and prejudice. You wouldn't believe how legal discrimination is against all kinds of creatures, even those considered light. It's a disgrace. Everything, from the hospital to Hogwarts, is regulated closely by Ministry standards, which does not give way for innovation. The single thing they have** progressed** on, is banning more and more practises that are considered dangerous due to their dark nature, even when they are not. It is to make Muggleborns feel more included since they've got no idea how else those poor children could possibly survive the** shock** of diving into another world. Absolutely stupid if you ask me. Why would we have to abolish our own history, traditions and feasts just so Muggleborns can safely celebrate Christmas with us?'' Barty huffed again, clearly looking displeased. ''So, the Dark Lord wants to set things right again. Bring the Wizarding world to an age of progress instead of stagnation. Many people aren't ready for progress though, wanting to stick to what they know and avoid any talk of radical subjects like the Dark Arts.''

''Isn't that because they harm people?'' Harry asked carefully. ''In DADA, all dark spells that we learnt to defend against were intended to hurt others.''

''It's true that many do, which is why caution is understandable. Not** all** dark magic is intended for destruction though. Large portions aren't, in fact, and could really help us all. The vision I strive for is a world in which magic is free to be explored rather than securely tucked away by its users.''

''It all sounds too good to be true,'' Harry remarked dryly, turning the meat in his frying pan. ''If this is Voldemort's vision, why would so** many** oppose him? Why have I heard tales of how horrifying it was under his rule? People not being able to trust either friends or family, afraid to lose their lives over the smallest things?''

Barty hesitated for the first time. ''I said before that many people didn't desire change at all,'' the man spoke, his forehead creased as he watched spirals of steam rise from the food. ''Furthermore, there is still a large stigma on Dark Magic. Not entirely without fault, the Dark Arts can... corrupt, when one isn't careful. People lose themselves in rampages. To counter that, the Dark Lord installed a strict hierarchy in his ranks and by default in the entire society, which many weren't happy about. The whole idea of only Purebloods being worthy in the eyes of the Dark Lord stems from this: it was only natural to place them in top positions, having most knowledge and experience on magic and our traditions. From that moment on, things spun out of control... Many Half-bloods and Muggleborns panicked and tried to put up resistance and rebellion against the Dark Lord's ideas. It didn't help that he never had the chance to officially rule either, the mass panic already started while we tried to overthrow the government. It was a right mess, ending in a bloody battle. Needless to say, our reputation by that time had taken a deep dive despite the Dark Lord's noble plans.

Every Death Eater was officially branded a criminal, yet we held half of the Ministry in our grasp so no-one actually landed in Azkaban back then. With the awkward status of only being half legal, the hierarchy was difficult to properly upkeep... Secret groups formed on either side, people tried to backstab each other, the Dark Lord tried to get more and more of the Ministry over to his side. That is possibly the moment your friends or acquaintances spoke of when not knowing whom they could trust, those were confusing times for all of us. The Unforgivables were suddenly made free game for both sides too, and for the life of me I cannot recall who started that. From that moment, it was battle after battle, hunt after hunt.''

''Unforgivables?'' Harry asked, ''What are those?''

''Three banned spells, currently all branded as dark arts but in actuality only two of them are. The Imperius curse, the only light spell of the three, imposes the caster's will on the victim, steering them like a puppet to do literally anything the caster desires, from the worst crimes to suicide. The Cruciatus... you've experienced a weak version of that one earlier today as a warning. Lastly, there is the Killing curse, which has, up until now, only left one survivor to date: Harry Potter.'' Harry shivered at the venom in Barty's voice as he spit out the name as if it was a piece of dirt.

''So,'' Harry quickly continued as he loaded the now done food onto plates. ''How did it continue after the 'mess' you described?''

''We turned more extreme,'' Barty shrugged. ''There was too much resistance from those who came from Muggle families against the supposed 'unfair' treatment, and it got so out of hand that blacklists were made of especially troublesome ones, who were always searched out first in battle to be disposed of. I'm not proud of it,'' Barty admitted. ''But our Lord wasn't about to let his own people be slaughtered either, he's not the kind of person to use cannon fodder. It then came out that our Lord wanted to not only replace the current government, instead wishing to reform the system entirely, having had the experience by then that even with new people, the government just didn't** work** effectively. He wished to rise as its sole leader.''

''A dictator,'' Harry helpfully added, only making Barty smirk.

''If you say so. I think King or Emperor make for nicer titles, essentially saying the same thing. A leader who is not democratically chosen by the people, yet who is strong enough to keep the country together and solve its problems without the hassles of layers of bureaucracy. We all stood behind the idea, his chosen followers... we knew without doubt that once **he** stood on top, everything would be cleared up. Then... he died, and it all fell to pieces.''

''Quite the story, didn't convince me very much of you being the good guys.''

''There are no good guys in war, only sides fighting for their beliefs.''

''There is no good or evil?'' Harry whispered bitterly. ''I don't buy it. There have been plenty of wars where one side was definitely evil: stripping humans of their rights, experimenting on them, slaughtering hundreds and thousands. And yes, I know very well that not everyone on those evil sides were** aware** of that happening, those leaders also had the support of plenty of blissfully ignorant good people, yet that doesn't mean that the methods used and ideologies followed by the higher-ups were acceptable. I see much of the same in your description. As much as you want to blame general confusion, you still pushed through with hunts, blacklists, secret societies, torture etcetera. You could have backed up, revised the plans and tried anew a couple of years later when noticing it wasn't going as you wanted. Still, Voldemort used the confusion to spread fear more than trying to clear up any misconceptions, didn't he? In the end, he did exactly what those Muggleborns had been afraid of: register them, hunt them, make them and their families feel unsafe. And did you reach any of your original goals of improving the world?''

''It will be different this time around,'' Barty muttered.

''After that first war? Every survivor will fight you tooth and nail, even if you'd suddenly have a change of heart and promote charity events for Muggles. Everyone lost at least someone in their family back then, how many will be happy to have that start again, other than some idiots looking for a fight and a way to crawl up the asses of some powerful people?''

''Are you implying what I think you are, Evan?'' Barty snapped, narrowing his eyes.

''No. You made your convictions quite clear, and I believe that the others who went to Azkaban with you will be too. Everyone out there though? People like Malfoy, who ran first chance they had? He'll never come back out of** belief for the cause**,'' he spoke with sarcasm. ''Even after thirteen years, people are too afraid to even speak Voldemort's name.''

''Not you. How interesting,'' Barty spoke, picking at his nails.

''I'm just saying, where do you even plan to start if you really do not want a repetition of the extremism of last time? If you truly believe that the ideals the Dark Lord has are good - which at this point I still doubt because he seems to like hurting people a tad too much- you can't just start another war like that.''

''No-one was talking about doing so either.''

''What?'' Now it was Harry's turn to look bewildered.

''Who ever said something about another war?''

''Well, he's returned right? Doesn't he want to finish what he started?''

''As you just pointed out, that would be a stupid idea. Our Lord is intelligent enough to realise that himself as well. If he doesn't want to rule with absolute fear, he won't rule at all if going about it the same way as the first time around. Thing is, he's immortal and has all the time in the world now he's put it to the test and revived. It might take decades to change the system slowly, might even take a century, fact is that it will happen how he wants it eventually. Gathering a large following is unnecessary for that too as long as he has a few key people within the Ministry up until the point that most laws will have been replaced.''

''I... I had not expected that,'' Harry replied, baffled. Dumbledore had said...

''Evan, we're not looking for another bloodbath, okay? Does that ease your mind a bit kid?''

''If it is true... then yes, yes it does. It is only... hard to really trust in,'' he spoke. Barty only gave him another grin and waved his wand over the food - which had cooled down considerably by now to heat it up again.

''We shouldn't let our Lord waiting any longer,'' he chirped. ''Let's head upstairs.''


	7. Perspectives

Harry waited on the couch, a bundle of nerves. Two more days had passed, which he'd mainly spent doing chores and talking to Barty about all sorts of things, from details about the war to Voldemort himself.

_''He's a difficult man_'' Barty had warned Harry. _''I'm sure you at least saw some of that already. He is exceptional in every way, meaning that he also gets bored very easily when in the company of us ordinary humans. He's not very** nice** either. He likes being cruel at times, relishing in defeating his enemies and, for lack of that, punishing followers who failed him or others if none are left whom he can think up a reason for. Still, when you need someone to cover your back or save you, the Dark Lord is always there for those sticking by him. He's a fantastic teacher too... he tried to apply twice_ _to teach at Hogwarts, did you know that? Dumbledore stopped it, thinking he would be a bad influence. Absolute shame for the students. Being a Dark Lord fits him more though, I think._'' After that, the man had continued his worshipping rant for a while still, as he so often did.

''Evan,'' Voldemort started. He sat on a rotatable chair now instead of the sofa, giving a more regal appearance despite his size.

''We both know who I am, you might as well use my real name when Barty isn't here.''

''Evan suits you, you do have more of your mother in you than your father.''

''Don't you dare talk about my parents,'' Harry hissed. ''Or I will leave even if it means passing out from you choking me.''

''As you wish. Still, Evan is also rather fitting... now we both carry the name of our Muggle lineage.'' If Voldemort would have thought that that would shock Harry, he was wrong. Even before Barty had told him about it, he'd known a long time already that Voldemort came from Muggles.

''Firstly, you discarded that name. Secondly, you just want to use me for experiments, don't you?'' Harry coolly said. ''I don't see a reason for why you should try to talk all amicably to me unless you're hoping on me getting Stockholm Syndrome.''

Voldemort raised one hairless eyebrow. Harry couldn't decide whether it looked threatening or comical. ''To my knowledge, I would have had to kidnap you for that. Considering the fact that you broke in here to try and kill me, it hardly counts that I am keeping you here after. We shall leave the chat for later then. Look into my eyes.''

Reluctantly, Harry slowly looked into the burning, bright red irises, not knowing what to expect. He barely saw Voldemort's eyes glaze over before an onslaught of memories hit him. He couldn't fight it, lost in a stream of passing flashes. He saw Ron and Hermione, Sirius, the Dursleys, all people who held any importance to him. He then saw all the trials he'd had to pass until now: freeing Buckbeak, getting past Devil's snare, carrying Norbert up to the Astronomy tower, fighting the Basilisk-'' the memory screeched to a halt at that and Harry was sucked into a vision of the Chamber of Secrets, looking around in confusion. What was happening? What had Voldemort done? A furious scream tore through his head at the same moment his memory destroyed the diary to save Ginny. Harry was forcefully pushed out of his own head again and was met with Voldemort's eyes only inches from his face, wild with madness.

''The diary, you** destroyed**,'' he shrieked, the lipless mouth trembling in fury. ''How dare you, how could you....** Out**! Get out of here before I rip your head off your shoulders!''

Hyperventilating, Harry bolted for the door, slamming it close behind him and kneeling down on the floor, feeling sick. It was as if the whirlwind of memories had also turned his stomach upside down. He dry heaved for a while, thankfully nothing actually coming out. Barty found him like that nearly half an hour later, still sitting on all fours, not wanting to move so the world wouldn't start spinning again. A few spells later, Harry was feeling much better, having been able to move downstairs to his blanket fort.

''That must have been intense,'' Barty remarked. ''Can I ask...'' he hesitated.

''I haven't got a clue what happened,'' Harry said, clutching his stomach still. ''I had to look into his eyes and then I was suddenly in my head and there were so many memories...'' even thinking of it made his mind warp again. ''He saw something he didn't like and threw me out of the room with the threat of murdering me if I stayed. Not the best first experiment, not looking forward to any others.''

''**Bartemius**,'' Voldemort's voice boomed through the house. Dropping everything he'd been doing without a second thought, Barty rushed away.

Harry always found it odd that Voldemort called Barty by his full first name, especially since he didn't do so when talking** about** Barty to others, be it to Harry or Nagini. Harry didn't know how much time passed as he lay there, trying to get his head to work right again. When Barty finally came back down, it was considerably darker. Harry hadn't even noticed he'd fallen asleep at one point.

''Evan, I need to leave for a while. Might take a couple of days, maybe longer. You're not supposed to go anywhere without Nagini, and have to stay in our Lord's room as much as possible.'' At Harry's miserable look, he added: ''Don't you worry, whatever he was angry about before, he isn't anymore. I told you: the more intense his mood is, the faster he tries to get it under his absolute control.'' Then, he was gone, just like that, not even taking provisions with him. Harry sighed: where he'd once thought Barty would become an inconvenience to his plans, the enthusiastic man had turned out to be his cure for both Voldemort and loneliness. It would be a few difficult days... Following Barty's orders when he felt the strain on his neck starting to tighten ever so slightly in a subtle hint, he dragged his feet up the stairs, not feeling like facing his captor again.

For once, Voldemort wasn't staring at him, engrossed in a book that floated in front of his chair, his anger all having faded. Vaguely, he gestured for Harry to sit down. Shifting uncomfortably, the teen wasn't entirely certain what to do with himself. Before, whenever he'd been alone with Voldemort, the man had always been delirious, so Harry had spent most of his time trying to watch over him. After the Dark Lord had come to his senses, Harry had avoided him as much as possible in favour of spending time with Barty, who made for much better company despite the devotion to his master. So now, he was just fidgeting, wondering how to spend his time here, knowing that he might have to stay in this room for hours on end. Considering that he was a prisoner here, he also doubted that Voldemort was going to entertain him if he'd ask for conversation, not after denying the one the man had started before.

In the end, Harry just decided to lie down on the sofa, hoping that he could pass most of the time here by sleeping.

It had not been one of his most brilliant ideas again, Harry decided, when his dreams were plagued by memories of the past days, the pain he'd suffered from the Cruciatus curse, and an image of Voldemort standing over the corpses of his friends. Harry felt rather detached from the dreams, a small blessing, as he watched them like seeing a movie rather than participating. Crackling voices sounded all around, a more annoying version of static noise. Great, and he couldn't even make himself wake up again. The teen blinked in surprise when the images shifted and he was looking down on his own sleeping form. Was he completely having an out-of-body experience now? Then his eyes caught something white moving, a hand stretching out, reaching out for the sleeping Harry's face, a bony finger brushing the fringe aside-

Harry screamed and sat up, knocking Voldemort's hand away as a searing pain went through his skull. ''What the hell!'' he shouted, giving the other an accusing look.

''Interesting effect,'' Voldemort muttered, taking a quill and scribbling something down on the sheet of parchment in his hand. ''So it is true that my touching your scar hurts you even when I do not feel any particularly strong emotions. And...'' he pensively looked down at his own fingers. ''Burns me as well. We'll certainly have to do something about that before we can continue with any advanced experiments.'' Completely confused and weirded out, Harry curled up into a ball and shoved himself against the far end of the couch, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

''What are you even** doing**?'' he asked, brain in a state of panic again, which happened far too often with Voldemort around.

''Experimenting. You yourself told me that you wish for me to stop the 'useless talk', did you not? No reason for me to explain any processes then.'' Unexpectedly, the man's tone was rather surly and made Harry feel like a small child who was being chastised but tolerated over a bad decision.

''Might have been... too hasty with that,'' he admitted. ''I'd rather know what you want from me before you suddenly harass me in my sleep.''

''Terrific.'' Voldemort spoke, satisfaction prominent. ''This will all work out much smoother when there are no constant fearful silences. Barty isn't here to lift your mood now after all.''

''Where did he go?'' Harry asked, curious.

''He's been sent out to... procure a number of objects, that is all you'll have to know for now. So, let's continue. Evan, you are aware of the fact that we have a mental link, yes?'

Harry blinked owlishly. ''You mean the visions and such? I wasn't sure if that came from a mental connection or if they were just imagined visions resulting from trauma.''

The other released a suffering sigh. ''You're not exactly the most observant person in the world, are you? We are both affected by each other's emotions, can feel them to an extent and during moments of weakness even connect our minds. All of this is tied to your scar...''

''Professor Dumbledore told me it is a curse mark, wouldn't budge when I asked further than that.''

''No, I wouldn't imagine the old fool to be loose-lipped even to those involved.''

At the insult, Harry puffed up and opened his mouth in an angry retort. He didn't get further than ''Professor Dumbledore is-'' before Voldemort cut him off.

''Yes yes, I know very well how he presents himself as the ultimate icon of everything good in the world. Spare me, I've known him for decades. Decades too** long** in my opinion.''

''Why do you hate Dumbledore so much? Is it only because he didn't trust you at school?'' Harry asked, trying to hit a nerve. ''He was right in the end, you killed a girl when you were only sixteen after all. Can't fault him for that.''

A brief troubled look crossed the other's face. ''When looking at the results only, I can understand why you would reach that conclusion... And yet, that was five entire years after I first met him and asked for help. Help he wouldn't give me for the sole reason that I descended from Slytherin. Did he tell you anything about my past, Evan? I can imagine that he would at least have revealed that much to aid you in fighting me, am I correct?''

Now it was Harry's turn to feel nervous. ''Not... not really. I mean, I know bits about your past because of... what you saw in my mind,'' he muttered. ''That you opened the Chamber to get rid of Muggleborns and got Hagrid expelled.'' He glared at the other. ''Whom had** nothing** to do with it and should have stayed there.''

''Oh yes, great idea, let him keep his monster spider in a closet,'' Voldemort bit back. ''Certainly wouldn't harm anyone either. At least I kept the Basilisk safely locked in the Chamber, controlling when and where exactly she could travel. That I myself should have been expelled does not mean that Hagrid should have walked free. He broke over a dozen school rules and put** everyone** in danger by insisting that his fluffy Acromantula was harmless. Years later and now we have an invasion in the Forbidden Forest.''

''You just wanted him gone because he is different!'' Harry yelled. ''I cannot say much about your dislike for Dumbledore because I do not know enough about the Headmaster, but Hagrid has his heart on the right place! He is friendly, selfless and always willing to help!''

The other groaned and rubbed his face, suddenly looking incredibly tired. ''I did not and do not hate Hagrid. He was honestly dangerous, having access to magic. I know that he was Dumbledore's pet project of sorts, but having a half-Giant in the school is just as disastrous as having a werewolf, which, to my knowledge, Dumbledore also tried and failed to safely do **twice**.''

''Half-Giant?'' Harry asked, flabbergasted. ''**Giants** exist too?''

The man's eyes twitched as he spoke: ''By Merlin, boy, what have you been learning for the past three years? Of course Giants exist. Not a whole lot anymore and not in Britain due to this government's racism, admittedly. One more thing I will try to right as much as possible. Yes, Hagrid is one of the few half-Giants in the world -please do not ask me how that physically works, I'd rather not think of it myself- and giving him a wand was an absolutely stupid thing to do. Do you know why?'' Silently, Harry shook his head, not wanting to believe that Hagrid could be dangerous in any way.

''Because,'' Voldemort hissed, painstakingly slowly. ''Spells depend on complex wand movements, pronunciation and will. Giants lack any type of fine motor skills and can barely speak. As you may have noticed if spending any time with that man, his genes make it literally impossible for him to be graceful and properly learn to speak or spell. Human language is five times more difficult to learn for him because Giants have very different vocal chords. When at school, even within those three years he was there, students constantly were afraid to pair up with him because his spells would have disastrous results more often than not due to a tongue-twist or jerky movement.''

''But I've** seen** him do magic,'' Harry protested. ''He uses it to better grow his pumpkins, light fires, he sped up a boat once and even gave my cousin a pigtail!''

At that, Voldemort suddenly burst out into amused chuckles. ''A pigtail, really? Quite deserved from what Barty told me. Human transfiguration is incredibly difficult and very illegal however. I somehow doubt that his spell worked correctly. Also, I'm quite surprised to hear that he's still got his wand, it should have been broken when he was expelled.''

Harry shuffled uncomfortably and ignored Voldemort's last sentence. ''He** was** trying to turn him into a full pig. Still, most of his other spells work fine.''

''Apart from the transfiguration, all spells you describe are rather simple, first- or second-year spells that do not require specific wand movements beyond pointing at an object. Those were the only ones he ever got down. Should he have attempted OWL or NEWT level spells, it just... wouldn't have worked out. Dumbledore never saw it fit to tell him that of course, giving Hagrid special treatment just to push him through the years. So many teachers complained about it too, since his theoretical exams were never even legible. I still never figured out if Dumbledore did it to be kind or cruel. He must have **known** that Hagrid would never have been able to even pass his OWL's. I was too young myself to find out Dumbledore's objectives that far back however, so I can only make guesses.'' Not liking the way the conversation had gone, Harry looked away, wondering what to say that wouldn't make himself start to believe that anything Voldemort said sounded logical. The other seemed to notice, watching with hawk-like eyes before saying: ''You have questions?''

''I really don't know what to think of all of this. The entire situation is so confusing.''

''How?''

Harry gave the other a disbelieving look. ''The first thing I learned when entering the Wizarding world was that** you** are responsible for the deaths and pain of hundreds of people, including my parents and myself. I prevented you from getting the philosopher stone, prevented you from going on another killing spree in Hogwarts, and now went here to try and finish what I apparently started as a baby, because it is expected of me that I am the 'Chosen One' or whatever the Daily Prophet comes up with next. And now, I am sitting in a room with you, listening to you lamenting about how unfair Dumbledore is to people, hear Barty speaking of how your noble goals only turned into a fucking scary dictatorship because it was 'out of control' and people became misguided? It doesn't make any common sense!''

''Not to the ears of a child who has been raised to see in black and white, no,'' Voldemort sighed. ''Evan, you have to understand, to the depth of your core, that no single person in the world sees themselves as evil no matter how others perceive them. The worst criminals in existence have a reason for what they do, no matter how little anyone else can understand their justifications. I've done and enjoyed doing many things others think of as immoral and terrible, I **know** that. For me, much of the moral dilemma falls away because I know what I am doing it **for**. People en masse are stupid and do not know what is good for them. I do, and I will make damned certain that magicians and magical creatures will never have to give way to the whims of beings lower than them, than us. I fight for the survival of our kind with a long-term plan in mind. Making concessions won't do us much good when Muggles decide to fire nuclear weapons on our Isles. We'll have to be strong, united, know who we are and where we came from. It is unthinkable to let things go on as is for much longer, we'll be** trampled**. If that means that I will have to, for a while, repress the freedom of those who cannot see the dangers, I'll gladly do so. Our country, no, magicians all over this world, will** need** me.''

''You sound so sure of yourself,'' Harry only said dully. ''I've heard this story too often in the history books, mostly in Muggle ones ironically. What keeps you from making the same mistakes as all those other tyrants who in the end fell by the hands of their people, or of their rivals who promised freedom and peace instead of oppression? What makes you better than those who cling to their power once they are on top and keep repressing their own people decades after they've won?''

''The fact that, beyond my vision of the safety of my people, I already have what I want personally. I found eternal life and have no magical match anywhere in this country, not even Dumbledore will be able to defeat me in an honest duel. Also, I have the experience now of how** not** to go at things. I did make many mistakes the first time around, tried to take on too much myself to ensure it was done perfectly, micromanaging everything, not seeing that the system I built up was crumbling around me because of it. I will not let that happen once again. I trust that Barty told you more?''

''Parts,'' Harry replied. ''Look, I'm not exactly the best person to spout your ideals to considering both our past and the fact that you are keeping me prisoner as a guinea pig.''

''On the contrary, you, as someone who was raised at two points in time with entirely different beliefs and morals than I experienced, can give me fresh insights in many of plans.''

''You want me to... **advice** you?'' Harry spluttered.

''For starters.''

He stood up now, towering over Voldemort as if that would help a bit against a man who could press him down on the floor with a flick of his fingers. ''I'll never help you achieve anything!''

''Really? Not even to make things better?''

Speechless, Harry just stood there, struggling with himself. He didn't wish to reveal anything of himself, just wanted to get out of here and never think of the infuriating creature ever again. The thought of being able to make even a minimal change for the better was tempting him though, being dangled right in front of his face by the other. ''So what, you think that** I** of all people can make you have a change of heart?''

''Awfully bold of you to assume I have a heart.''

''What?'' Harry gave the other a horrified look, staring at the man's chest. Voldemort gave a suffering sigh again. He seemed to do that often and Harry wondered if it was his fault or if Voldemort did that with everyone. He hoped for the latter to not find yet another reason to blame himself for doing something wrong.

''Lighten up, of course I have a heart, it was... never mind. Interaction has not passed that stage then I suppose.'' Without saying anything further, he rather forcefully scratched another few notes on the parchment.

''Has anyone ever told you that you sound rather dysfunctional, socially-wise?'' Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

Voldemort met his gaze with a challenging stare. ''If anyone ever did, they're dead now. Consider it a confirmation, but also realise that you are damn lucky that I refuse to take those words seriously from a thirteen-year old virgin with family issues and depression. Where were we? Yes, Questions.'' Harry gulped as the piercing glare continued as Voldemort peeked over the parchment.

''Do you... plan on staying like **that** forever?'' he asked, cursing as it came out more rudely than intended. ''I mean, not being able to move about yourself sounds very uncomfortable.''

''Worried about my comfort, Evan?''

Harry refused to acknowledge the amused tone and replied with a muttered: ''No particularly, it will be nice to not have to take care of you anymore is all.''

''I do not particularly enjoy it either. It's nothing I can change at the moment, it might take a couple of weeks at best before I can create a true body for myself. It would have taken much longer, but then you so conveniently stumbled into my house. My gratitude, now I can drop my elaborate plot to kidnap you.''

''Wait, what do I have to do with it?'' Harry asked, rather disturbed.

''You caused my death, you will have to be present for my revival, simple magical principles Evan. However would it work otherwise?'' Harry sulked as the other once more had that infuriating belittling tone.

''So you cannot fully revive if I am not there?'' he asked, a plan starting to form in his mind. It was a stupid thing to do, of course, yet perhaps his only chance to fix this situation. He'd actually wanted to use the knife he'd taken out of the kitchen cabinet for another attempt on Voldemort's life... the probability of that succeeding would be significantly lower than what he had in mind now, so it wasn't such a bad idea, hopefully. His last thoughts went out to the friends he hoped he would protect with this as he pulled the knife out of his pocket and stabbed himself in the chest.

Or tried to.

He cried out as the knife swerved away just as the tip of it punctured his skin, leaving a long but shallow gash across his chest. His focus became blurry again from the pain and Harry doubled over at the same moment the knife clattered uselessly on the floor on the other side of the room.

''You are absolutely** insane**!'' he heard, not able to place Voldemort's tone correctly within the range of astonishment and anger, not caring enough to try either. Blood was welling up and spilling over his ruined robes. The worst part was that he knew already that it wouldn't kill him. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes as he realised that he had, yet again, failed. **_''Stupefy,_**'' was the last thing he heard before blacking out.


	8. Turnaround

''Evan? Evan!'' Harry opened his eyes abruptly and sat up, hand instantly going to his chest, surprised when not finding anything. Had he dreamt the entire encounter? Then, he noticed the one who had called his name, the worried face of Barty entering his vision.

''Where are we?'' Harry tried to say, only a few slurred syllables coming out and he was pushed down again on the bed he'd been lying on.

''One of the few guest rooms in the house. You should rest.''

''Voldemort...''

''He's fine. With the return of clarity and magic, he managed to take care of himself for a couple of days with moderate success. Thankfully I needed only a couple of days to retrieve what I was sent out for. Would have taken one less, but Gringotts was difficult to trick so I needed a solid, elaborate plan. Now, **what the hell did you think you were doing**?''

''You don't sound too angry, how much have you been told?'' Harry mumbled, grabbing his head. He'd been kept unconscious for days? No wonder he felt foggy. ''Is** he** angry still?'' Somehow, the thought of that possibility made him feel worse.

''I'd say so, what possessed you to try and kill yourself? Like, for real, what was that supposed to accomplish kid?'' While the concern was touching, Harry really didn't want to be reminded of it anymore. ''Damn, you're sweating like you've been bitten by a Murtlap.'' Before Harry could stop the other, Barty had brushed his bangs aside to feel his temperature and spotted the scar. To Barty's credit, he only froze for a moment before composing himself and withdrawing. ''I... see,'' were the only words wasted on his discovery before the Death Eater removed himself from the bed. ''I'll go and have.. a word... with our Lord. Yeah.''

''This cannot possibly get any worse,'' Harry told the ceiling miserably. The grey ceiling looked miserable enough itself for him to pretend he received sympathy back. He listened to the sound of footsteps as Barty rushed through the house, then to the muffled voices that came from a few rooms away. It sounded as if the both of them were arguing, which would have been hilarious if Harry hadn't known how nasty Voldemort's torturing curse could be, which he certainly didn't wish on Barty. So, what to do now? Killing Voldemort hadn't worked, neither had running away nor suicide. He also hadn't seen Hedwig anymore since the Dark Lord had found out his identity so he had no hope of sending her to get help either. His options were depressingly low. Around zero, in fact. Perhaps if Hermione or Ron would be here they could have thought of a better plan together, Harry didn't think he could outsmart Voldemort on his own. For now, he could really only wait and see what would happen.

The argument died down within the first couple of minutes already, the lack of screams also being a positive sign. Barty did not appear in his room anymore for a long time however, not even when Harry's stomach had started to rumble significantly. He'd tried moving downstairs himself, but hadn't been able to make it further than a few steps before his legs gave way, and he refused to crawl over the dusty floors to the kitchen if he wasn't absolutely starving. It was a good thing that he was used to starvation, he'd certainly hold out a day or three without food if necessary. That led him to another nauseating thought of who had fed him while he'd been knocked out. Barty hadn't been there so... had Voldemort? He shuddered at the thought. Hopefully the man was powerful enough to spell food directly into his stomach or something like that. Surely his enemy wouldn't take pleasure in hand-feeding Harry. To distract himself, Harry started daydreaming about Hogwarts. Not anything majestic, just walking down the halls, staring at the Quidditch pit, looking at the many magical paintings... it was calming and made his heart ache with longing at the same time, a bad habit he'd adopted every time he had been sent back to the Dursleys. Would he ever even see Hogwarts again? What would happen when September came around? Speaking of which, he had absolutely no idea what date it was now... He'd left the Dursleys at the eighth of July, then spent roughly two weeks here, and was knocked out for a couple of days now. He sat up again in surprise. Had he missed his own birthday?

Instantly, Harry slumped back into the pillows. Even if so, it wasn't as if Voldemort would care about something like that. It would also be embarrassing to mention it to Barty somehow, he didn't want to take up more of their attention. The way the blond man had spat out the name 'Harry Potter' during their last long conversation also made his insides twist. At the exact moment he thought that, the door opened and a rather dishevelled looking Barty walked in. ''What'd you do, wrestle Nagini?'' Harry said, entirely forgetting that there was probably supposed to be some awkward tension between the two of them now. The man gave him a disbelieving look for three entire seconds before cracking a hesitant smile.

''I wish it was anything that heroic. I tried to shower, slipped, took down the curtain with me and had to wrestle myself loose.'' At the visuals that brought forth, of Barty flailing his arms to try and conquer the shower curtain, Harry had tears streaming down his face before the sentence was finished, erasing any ice there might have been to break. ''You're a weird kid,'' Barty said fondly. ''No wonder he keeps you around. Can you walk?''

''If I could've, I wouldn't have let any of us go hungry,'' Harry replied, wiping away the tears from his eyes. ''I think you might have to try your famous dish of potatoes and eggs. Good luck trying to sell it to Voldemort.''

''I'll blame you,'' came the nonchalant reply. ''On second thought, it's better for me to fix you so you can at least give me some instructions on how to make something more decent.'' Harry blinked in surprise.

''You don't want me to cook then?''

''Are you mad? You can barely stand.''

Affronted, Harry protested: ''That is hardly anything I can't overcome. I could sit in front of the oven, or kneel on a chair or so, or-'' he stopped when Barty came over and hauled him out of bed, swinging him over one shoulder with a single movement. Harry yelped. ''Can't you use a levitation charm at least?''

''Much easier this way, watch your head. Also, I'm cooking, that's the last thing that shall be said on the matter. As if I'd let a sick person do my work for me, come on. At least you don't seem to be feverish anymore.''

''Must have been a side effect of the spells, it faded rather quickly,'' Harry clarified as he was put down on a simple wooden chair. ''Good luck trying to find anything edible though.'' Harry cast a doubtful look at the cupboards. ''Anything fresh in there will most definitely have rotten away by now, the fridge doesn't work. I recall buying some rice so that should be usable... not sure what to eat with it.''

''One thing at a time,'' Barty cheerfully countered, completely ignoring every rule of cooking ever about the importance of timing. Harry's protests didn't reach the other, who had already stuck his head in one of the cupboards. All of a sudden, the house shook, making Harry nearly fall off his chair and for Barty to hit his head against the hard wood.

''What was that?''

After retracting under a string of colourful curses and rubbing the side of his head with a painful expression, Barty answered: ''Must be our Lord taking care of those... things I went out to get. Anyhow, how do I cook rice?''

''A bit like eggs,'' Harry sighed. ''Look on the package, it should have instructions too and say how long you need to cook it for.''

''Ah! Crafty Muggles, we should do this with potion ingredients too!''

Amused by the idea of buying beetle eyes in plastic packaging with brewing instructions, Harry agreed. Once the water was cooking and Barty found some onions that only had a few black spots on the outer shell and a couple of garlic cloves that Harry had forgotten about, he kept giving instructions to keep Barty from ruining the meal. Directing someone in the kitchen was more difficult than he'd expected it would be. Or maybe Barty was just a naturally abysmal cook. Once everything was simmering and looked safe enough, Harry started chewing on his lips to try and find a way to ask what he had wanted to since the first time Barty had walked out of the bedroom.

''What... what did you and Voldemort argue over?'' he finally asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping any boundaries. The other took a moment to answer, struggling from trying to keep the rice from cooking over. ''Just lift the lid fully to let the steam out for a moment,'' he suggested.

''Ah!'' Barty exclaimed in surprise. ''Interesting, my egg water also always went over the edge and I never knew why. Anyhow, what were you asking? Oh yeah, arguing... not sure if I can really tell you.''

''Try, please?'' Harry begged. ''You don't need to give me any vital info, just... just want to know if everything is fine with... you know.'' He struggled to put it in more eloquent words and failed. ''Stuff,'' he finished lamely.

Barty scratched his neck, sighing and nervously tapping the wooden ladle he held against the counter surface. ''It was mainly about why he wanted to keep you here, I just couldn't understand why he was so calm about having the one person in the house who killed him before.''

''And?'' Harry pressed on.

''He reassured me you're not dangerous, that he thinks you yourself had little to do with his demise and it cannot happen again. As long as my Lord is fine with you, that's good enough for me.''

''He told me he would use me to get a new body,'' Harry frowned. ''Without any details on how, of course. And that he wants to run experiments since we have some sort of mental link. I don't know what to make of it, on one hand he always sounds so dispassionate about using me to further his plans, on the other he keeps talking about his goals as if he plans to talk me over to your side. Which I won't,'' he added quickly. ''Join you I mean.''

''Why ever not?''

''He killed my parents?'' Harry reminded the other with exasperation. ''I don't just 'get over' that you know? And nothing I've heard till now has convinced me that his plans are really noble. Some stuff about protecting magicians from Muggles, forcefully taking over control of the country... there's nothing concrete in there that convinces me any good changes will come out of him ruling the world. All my interactions with him were also awkward at best and frightening at the lowest points. He tortured me!''

''I told you he is difficult,'' Barty shrugged. ''He's not one to open up quickly to others, especially not to people he cannot relate to much. You and he had quite similar childhoods from what I know, and he just cannot understand how you turned out the way you did, so caring about other people and reckless. It made him question some of his own turns in life that he thought had been inevitable rather than personal decisions up until this point. Oh yeah,'' he said, looking thoughtful. ''Now I know who you really are, I can give you some more insight in your parents if you want me to. I probably know more than most people and our Lord didn't forbid me from telling you anything.''

Perking up at the words, Harry sat on the tip of his seat. ''Yes, please!'' he said breathlessly. Anyone he'd known before, with perhaps the exception of Sirius, had been incredibly tight-lipped about them and the whole situation regarding their deaths. Knowing what they died **for** would hopefully give him some answers. The only thing that was odd to him was why Voldemort was so forthcoming with information when Dumbledore had completely shrouded it in mystery. Could he trust Barty to say the truth?''

''I told you about the Order before right? That-''

''Burning!'' Harry suddenly shouted, seeing smoke rise from the onions that was definitely no regular steam.

''Oh fuck!'' Barty said, completely distressed. It took the both of them several minutes to try and save both the onions and the pan without setting anything else in the kitchen on fire. ''Great teamwork Evan,'' the man finally grinned, dumping the empty frying pan in a bucket of cold water. ''You'd make a good Quidditch captain, the way you give instructions. So, where was I...''

''Dumbledore's Order,'' Harry helpfully reminded him, not commenting on the name Barty still called him by. It had grown on him a bit.

''Right. Your parents were both members of it, pretty much since the beginning. Your mum had been Head girl of Gryffindor and your dad a famous Seeker for the Quidditch team so they were both some of the stars of Gryffindor, you see, exactly the people Dumbledore was searching for. High morale, ties to Muggles, good academic results... only in their later years though, James Potter was too much of a troublemaker before that and Evans had been tight buddies with Severus Snape in their first years.''

''Mum and** Snape?**'' Harry interrupted in shock.

''Yeah.. not as much anymore when I went to school. If I'm not mistaken, both of them were two years above me. At the point I went there and got to vaguely know them - not too well, being in a different year and house- there was already a rift in between Evans and Snape that completely broke in their sixth or seventh year. Details are a bit vague, I didn't have much to do with either of them, sorry.''

''I didn't even realise that you went to school with my parents,'' Harry mused. ''In my mind they were always these grown up adults already and you look like you're only in your thirties.''

''I** am** in my thirties,'' Barty laughed. ''They just got knocked up when they were barely out of school. Ah, pardon the language. I just meant to say, they didn't wait awfully long with marriage and all that. Would hardly call them grown up adults at that point.''

''I never really thought about that,'' Harry said, frowning. ''I was born in 1980 so they must have been...''

''Nineteen when getting pregnant,'' Barty whistled. ''And only fifteen when they first partook in Dumbledore's battles. Not that I am one to talk, I was sixteen when I begged my Lord to receive the Mark. Was one of the youngest Death Eaters ever, although he certainly hesitated much with marking me, I was quite the exception,'' Barty grinned proudly.

''What do you mean, fifteen?'' Harry frowned. ''Didn't Dumbledore wait until they were adults?''

Laughing in disbelief, Barty shook his head. ''They weren't official Order members till their seventeenth birthday, but his chosen few already had special missions before then. Not entirely sure about Evans. As I said, she didn't completely ditch Snape until either sixth or seventh year in Hogwarts, which was the last step necessary to being accepted into Dumbledore's little elite group. Potter though, Potter and his friends were already doing dirty work at fifteen. 'Heroic actions' they called it, fighting against the Dark Lord's army at every turn.''

''Then again, you also fought,'' Harry reminded him.

''No, although granted the status of a Death Eater, I wasn't allowed in battle until I was an adult. Dumbledore, who fought both against the Dark and the rules of the Ministry at that time, had far fewer resources, which is why he found it acceptable to let children fight. Our Lord didn't have that restriction. I cannot judge what he'd have done if he wouldn't have had enough people, I fairly admit. Knowing how firm he is in his principles though, I'd wager that he still wouldn't have budged on that.''

''I never imagined my parents as teen soldiers,'' Harry spoke, regret and sadness filling him.

''Aren't you the same? Coming here on your own, merely fourteen years old, trying to take the fate of the country on your shoulders. Who ever gave you the idea that that was your job?''

''Thirteen,'' Harry muttered, ignoring the rest with as much effort as he could muster, not wanting to think of all the times Dumbledore had given him the feeling that he** had** to defeat Voldemort. ''Well, fourteen very soon. I think, got dates a bit mixed up.''

Barty cut off his rambling, kneeling down in front of Harry to look him in the eyes. ''Kid, do you really want to know why the Dark Lord keeps you here?''

Confused, Harry looked up. ''What do you mean? He told me why.''

''You really think that a man as powerful as that wouldn't be able to think of at least three different ways to get a body that wouldn't involve you? And even if, that he would need to keep you awake, healthy and with company instead of dumping you in a dungeon?''

''Then why?'' Harry said, getting irritated at having to ask again and not finding any reason himself.

''Because you remind him of himself when he was younger and thinks that you deserve a break and the chances that Dumbledore never allowed either of you to get.''

Dumbfounded, Harry sat there as Barty shovelled food on the plates, which he had still managed to burn despite instructions. ''Can I... can I have a moment and eat here?'' Harry asked softly, not knowing what to make of all the emotions that whirled in his mind.

''Sure kid,'' the man replied, handing him a plate and cutlery, completely foregoing Voldemort's previous instructions of not letting Harry out of sight. ''Take as long as you need, we'll be upstairs. We'll resume the talk about your parents later? You have a habit of making conversation spin off in entirely different directions than what we started with somehow,'' Barty smiled. ''Not that that's a bad thing,'' he added. ''Don't beat yourself up over things you can't change again yeah?''

With that, the blond left, unfortunately leaving Harry to think again. For a while, he refused to waste energy on that, just trying to swallow the food, not caring about the burnt bits in it. As he stared at the empty plate, he figured that it couldn't be put off any longer. Everything he knew about Voldemort and his followers had been completely knocked upside down in the past days, the protests in his mind that screamed it could be a trap had faded to soft, doubtful whispers by now. No-one could act** that** well. Even if he would have put it past Voldemort himself to come up with such an elaborate illusion for the fun of it, he just couldn't see Barty going along with that, no matter how devoted he was to his Lord.

He'd have to make a decision, he knew. It was clear that Harry would be here for a while longer, and while he wasn't allowed to leave, it looked like neither of them wanted to hurt him for now. Indeed, in the twists and turns of their minds, Voldemort and Barty might even think of this as a beneficial arrangement for all involved. Truthfully, Harry wasn't entirely sure if wasn't either. There had clearly been some facts that had been kept from him over the years by people he thought could be trusted. Now, any question he had was thoroughly, almost eagerly, answered. Moreover, the longer the teen stayed, the longer he would not have to deal with having to decide what to do about Voldemort from an outside perspective. With how things stood, Harry couldn't say whether he'd wish to keep the Dark Lord's location a secret or not. Leaving would only give him more decisions he had no idea about.

Thus, as it was clear that his only option was to remain here, he'd have to choose whether he would do so as an unwilling prisoner or try to get on equal ground and try to forget about the little fact that his throat was squeezed shut as soon as he tried to take a single step outside. Barty seemed ready to accept a friendly relationship incredibly easily, and even Voldemort had -albeit in a way that threw Harry off immensely- tried to be civil instead of treating him like dirt, which he certainly could have considering that Harry was held captive by the man. Wiping black strands out of his eyes and looking at the stained, old mirror on the kitchen wall, Harry stared at his scar. Somehow, it connected him with Voldemort, creating a link that the other thought important enough to research. Well, why should the Dark Lord be the only person who got answers about it?

That particular thought would not leave his mind for the following days, which he spent mainly alone. Barty and Voldemort were up in Voldemort's room and Harry had settled in the guest room for now. It was kind of nice to have a place to retreat to, and was the only room where he was allowed to be now without Barty's company. It gave his brain too much space to spin up ridiculous scenarios and plans but that was only a minor inconvenience. Then, at one point, after mulling it over and over again in his head and trying to talk himself out of it too many times, Harry finally made a decision. One that finally felt** right** despite going against all of his instincts and what he'd been taught prior.

Having reached his conclusion, the teen marched out of his safe space in the early hours of the morning, throwing open the door to Voldemort's room without knocking. Both men looked up from their books. Had they really just had a reading session here?

''Take a seat,'' Voldemort commanded. For anyone else, it might have been a request instead, but with this wizard it definitely came across as an order. ''Close the door behind you.''

After obliging without a word of protest - it wouldn't do to piss off the only person with a fully working wand in the room- Harry looked at the both of them. ''I'll cooperate,'' he stated. ''With your research. I won't try to kill you anymore either,'' he added for good measure.

''As if it would make a difference in your rate of success,'' Voldemort scoffed. ''It is, however, appreciated. That will certainly speed up the time to reach results. I have one more **request** of you...'' Warily, Harry eyed the other, who sat in his chair in complete relaxation, forming a crooked smile with his large, lipless mouth. ''You do the cooking from now on again. The food these past days has been disastrous.''

Having expected much worse, Harry let out a short barking laugh that he instantly regretted as it sounded rather idiotic to his own ears. ''Sure thing. No offence Barty, but that didn't even taste like rice, not sure what you put in there, and I **watched** you the first time around. I guess I wouldn't make such a good Captain after all if my instructions were so bad.''

''The best recipe can be botched,'' Barty simply replied, clapping his shoulder jovially.

''Bartemius, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to have a word with Evan in private...'' Not needing any further words, Barty practically shot up from the couch.

''Of course, my Lord.'' He bowed. ''I'll be downstairs if you need me.''

For quite a while after, Voldemort only stared at him, creases in his forehead and long fingernails tapping against his left armrest, making odd squeaky noises in the leather at times. Harry tried his hardest not to fidget under the scrutinising stare, then finally couldn't take it anymore.

''**What**!'' he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

''One hundred and ninety eight seconds. Remarkable, I had though your patience would wear thin in less than three minutes,'' the man spoke, sounding as if noting down a particularly interesting observation. Harry spluttering after went ignored. ''Now then, after figuring out that piece of your mind, I have some questions. First of all, I am pleased about your sudden change of mind. I also admit that it is highly suspicious and I'd rather not have you try one of your schemes again, it won't work out well for you and will highly annoy me.''

''There are no schemes on my behalf anymore,'' Harry reluctantly admitted.

''I'd like to hear your motivation then.''

Harry's half-shrug wasn't taken for a proper answer, so he had to struggle to get his thoughts in order about it. ''I tried to come up with new plans... all of them weren't really great. Also, deep down I really do **want** to believe you.'' He carded his fingers through his hair nervously. ''That won't make me forget about any of the bad stuff you've done, or has been done in your name. Even criminals deserve second chances though, I firmly believe that.''

''Oh?'' Voldemort spurred him on, leaning forwards a bit.

''Growing up, the Dursleys -my family- made people believe I was a delinquent of sorts so they wouldn't interact with me. The amount of people around who, based solely on that information, thought it would have been better to remove me from society for the rest of my life, was shocking. Even with real criminals, I doubt life-long imprisonment or death are good punishments. As Barty told me before, everyone has their own reasons for doing what they do... I don't agree with that people should just get away with breaking the laws that** have** been put in place under a democratic consensus, but I do think that the punishment that would be waiting for either of you wouldn't make things better. If I found you to be a raging psychopath, intent on an instant new slaughter, it would've been very different. Now...'' he made a vague hand gesture, ''I think you were punished quite harshly by barely even existing for over a decade, being confined to the bodies of animals and other people. It looks like it certainly made you rethink your strategies. For Barty too: he was imprisoned already for a year and looks like he isn't very willing to commit the same crimes he was convicted for again.''

''He was convicted of being a Death Eater,'' Voldemort said. ''They didn't care how many or few laws he actually broke, it was enough that he belonged to the losing side of the war.''

''That's also not fair,'' Harry frowned. ''I know he regards himself as a soldier. I disagree with war outcomes where the soldiers of the victors automatically walk free and the losers get punished. They were already punished for not being able to reach what they fought for in my opinion.''

''I have to disagree on that with you, and do not fault the Ministry for it,'' the other surprisingly answered. ''In regular situations, people should be judged by their crimes indeed... not in war: if you apply the principle of being innocent until proven otherwise, many of my Death Eaters would have walked free, and I am convinced that, if they'd gotten the feeling that they could've gotten away with that, they would have swiftly attempted to start a war again, with or without me. That applies to other wars too: if not at least the leaders and fighters of the losing side are punished with more than their loss, they'll just try again. What would stop them otherwise?''

Harry quieted down at that, not having a better answer. ''So you do not mind that the people you trained got locked up?''

''Not minding and understanding are completely different sides of this debate Evan. I mind, naturally, these are people I put time and effort in, some I even cared for as friends as much as I am able to. To know that they have to rot away now, sucked dry by Dementors... pains me.'' It was as much emotion as Harry had ever seen on the man's face. It was odd to see such a hurt look on that small, waxy face. ''Alas, it also is not possible to break them free and release them from their sentence. Most have been there for so long now that their personalities are bound to have changed in ways I cannot comprehend. Starting my new campaign with a massive break-out and panic all over the country would be very counterproductive. Like you, I do not think any of them were at the start guilty enough to warrant a one-way trip to Azkaban with no possibility of rehabilitation, but this was what they were sentenced to and until I have legal influence in this country, it is not up to me to change that.''

''That's... heavy,'' Harry only mumbled. ''How would you have dealt with the Order of the Phoenix if you'd have won?''

''I said before that I couldn't fault the Ministry... I would most likely have done the same to them. It is easier to subdue those you know would oppose you in a place they have no hope of escaping from, than trying to watch their movements after letting them go.''

Harry struggled with understanding his own feelings on that. To him, it was either okay to do something or not... Knowing that Voldemort found it reasonable that his followers got punished in a way that hurt them and regretting it at the same time was odd... especially when knowing that if the roles had been reversed, the same would have happened.

''You do not need to bother yourself with the complications of war,'' the other spoke softly.

''You were the one who made me a part of this war,'' he accused. ''You tried to kill me when I was only one year old. Why? How can killing a baby be excused?''

Voldemort made a noise that Harry couldn't place very well.

''Did Barty tell you about your parents and the circumstances of their deaths?''

Harry gave a guilty look. ''He tried, then the conversation kind of... spiralled off. I only knew they were part of the Order and you went after them out of battle because they hid.''

''That is only partially true... James and Lily Potter... both of them were exceptional mages. Powerful, protective of those they loved, stubbornly fighting for what they believed in.'' Harry found it disturbing how** fond** the Dark Lord sounded. ''I tried to recruit them to my side several times. I should have known after their first rejection that it wouldn't work out. They had perhaps been convinced by Dumbledore early enough in their life to make any attempts futile from the start. Still, I thought that if I showed them how **used** they had been by Dumbledore, they might see reason. I didn't succeed, they both defied me three times in total. My hesitation cost one of my Death Eaters her life, after which I decided it was not worth trying again. I wished to leave it at that, accepted that I would have to eliminate these people in the end, no matter what my own feelings about that were. As with all of my enemies, they would have perished in battle or been captured during raids on positions they defended. Both of your parents were strong however, and managed to hold their own, so I let them go, not having particular priority on their heads. That all changed in a single night... I am not aware of how many lines of the prophecy you heard, but for me, only hearing the start was good enough, I believed back then.''

''Wait, you've lost me. Prophecy?'' Harry asked, confused.

''What do you not understand? How many prophecies were **you** told of? I meant the one Sybill Trelawney made to Dumbledore about a year before your birth. Surely-''

''I know of absolutely zero prophecies that involve me,'' Harry cut him off, his hands shaking when he found out that, once again, Dumbledore seemed to have withheld information from him. **If** this prophecy was real, he reminded himself to calm down. If Dumbledore actually knew of this. Harry couldn't just assume that Voldemort spoke the truth without further proof.

''That... complicates things,'' the other spoke, forehead creasing again. ''I had thought you already knew. In short, a prophecy was made that predicted a child would be born that could vanquish me, stating the circumstances around the child's birth. That child was you. Your parents went into hiding as soon as they were made aware of the prophecy. I at least credit Dumbledore with the fact that he tried to protect you from me, knowing that I could not risk having such a weakness and that I would go after your life. In the grand scheme of things, I didn't think the life of a baby was worth more than my own.'' The absolutely unapologetic tone made it hard for Harry to respond. ''So then, I waited no longer for your parents to appear in battle, being certain that they wouldn't, that every single day they would strengthen the defences around your home. It still took me a while to find, there was a Fidelius charm, which I had not accounted for. Them being both only twenty-one and to my knowledge not very apt with warding spells made me overlook that they could have such a complicated protective barrier in place. Since it was Dumbledore who suggested they go into hiding though, it isn't hard to imagine who put it up.''

''I know that part,'' Harry said, relieved to be able to verify at least a part of the story. It made the rest have more credibility too. ''They swapped Secret Keepers from Sirius to Wormtail, who betrayed them out of fear for you,'' his voice had gotten a hard edge to it. ''Not the most honourable tactic to have him spy on his former friends to deliver them to death.''

''No, it wasn't, I never claimed be upright with my plans. By that time, I had already decided that you needed to die, and your parents with it. Wormtail coming to me was incredibly convenient, why would I have refused his information when what he wanted in return was so easy to give? So, I set out to your house, and the rest is history. Both of them perished by my hand while protecting you, the killing curse rebounded, and I was ripped away from my body.''

At that moment, Harry recalled a particular detail with absolute clarity. ''That is not all,'' he spoke. ''You didn't try to kill my mother. You offered her a chance to live several times. Why? Why would you do so if she was one of your enemies?''

''As much as I'd like to tell you that I suddenly found mercy, it was simply because of a request. Severus Snape pleaded me to spare her. As he had served me well up until that point and had valuable skills that placed him in a prominent position rather fast, I thought to grant him that.''

Harry wasn't entirely sure what to be more surprised about: that Snape had enough compassion in him to still wish to protect his former friend who had 'ditched him' in their last years at Hogwarts according to Barty, or that Snape had been a Death Eater. He opted for the latter, thinking Voldemort could possibly clear up that fact more easily than Snape's emotions. Actually, Harry didn't think he** wanted** to get into any emotions his surly potion professor had, absolutely not when it regarded Harry's mum. ''He worked for you?'' he thus asked. ''How is that possible? Dumbledore always vied for Snape's trustworthiness and the git also tried to stop you from getting the Stone. That doesn't really sound like a loyal follower.''

''Truthfully, I do not know as of yet. I wager that me killing your mother against his will weighed heavier on him than I could have imagined back then. I haven't spoken to him since, not trusting Severus even when I possessed Quirinius as he was so much under Dumbledore's thumb by then. He could have had many reasons for being there though. If Dumbledore offered him a chance to stay out of Azkaban, it is understandable that he would take it. Knowing the old fool, he must have thought that it would be handy to keep a former follower of mine close in case I returned. I'm certain that Severus felt it, the moment I procured this body.''

''How do you figure that?''

''All of my closer followers were granted a Mark that I used to summon, reward or punish them. You can ask Barty to show his next time if you are interested. The spell I used to create it with, ties all bearers of the Mark to me. It became faint when I died, which is how they** should** have known I was still out there in some form, it would have disappeared completely otherwise.''

''Okay... can I ask something else?''

''Feel free, I don't exactly have much else to do here.''

''To come back to the prophecy... you said you wanted to kill me before I would kill you. That seems pretty straightforward so, why are you keeping me alive now? I'm pretty sure that if you bash my head in, it won't magically heal,'' he cursed himself instantly after, why did he have to give Voldemort ideas?

The man chuckled at that. ''That once may have been a tempting thought, now it would be quite useless. If I wanted you dead, I could have also let you complete your attempt from a few days ago. Simply said, I do not know enough: I only heard the first part of the prophecy before making overhasty decisions, what if the second part gives me different information? Secondly, how do I know whether this prophecy is still valid? You vanquished me like it foretold, why would it mean you'd have the power to do so more than once? Also, I noticed some abnormalities in you that I'd like to explore before coming once more to overhasty conclusions. At the moment, killing you may be very hazardous to my health indeed.''

''So who has the prophecy then? Can you find out the rest?''

''Theoretically, once I have a body I could work towards solving that mystery. Dumbledore has a copy, while the original is kept within the Ministry of Magic in the Hall of Prophecies. Both are out of my reach at the moment, which isn't very problematic. Since you are willing to work with me for now, I don't need to worry about it and can put it on low concern.''

Harry frowned. ''It sounds like quite an important matter to me.''

''It might be, in time. As I said, I took over-hastened actions before, I do not wish for it to happen again. As you clearly did not succeed in vanquishing me, it is safe to assume that it poses no direct threat. Drop the subject.'' The last few words held a stress of threat, so Harry switched the topic.

''What are your pressing matters at the moment then? You also said you couldn't get a new body yet.''

''I wish to reach out to some particular people. Building up the following I had before is not necessary nor desired, it would attract too much attention and put me in a position where I'd have to meet expectations I cannot this time around. However, a few allies will be needed to make changes. Other than that, our experiments will continue. I'll have you go through a series of rituals in the coming week. They won't be pleasant for you, but will give me what I need to decide what to do with you. Depending on how well you perform, I'll share my findings. Now, that shall be all for today, I'm certain that we touched upon enough topics to keep you busy for a while. Tomorrow, we shall start the first ritual.'' The dismissal was so sudden that Harry took a moment too long to react, a spike of annoyance shooting through his scar.

''I get it, sorry,'' he said, rubbing his forehead.

''Try not to eat in the morning if you don't want to see your breakfast back again,'' Voldemort still warned him before Harry closed the door and walked back downstairs to join Barty.

''Evan!'' The man said excitedly. ''How was it?''

''Er... fine?'' he asked, not sure what to say to someone who obviously thought it was the highlight of the day to be in the vicinity of Voldemort. ''We talked a lot and it was... enlightening on one hand and gave me a whole bunch of questions on the other. I basically agreed to participate in some rituals without protesting. Whether that was a good idea, I'll see tomorrow if I'm still in one piece by then.'' He fell silent for a moment, worrying about the coming day. Then, he recalled something else. ''Oh, Barty? Voldemort told me that if I wanted to see his Mark, I should ask you. It sounded fascinating. You said something before too about being marked as a follower... I thought that that was symbolic back then.''

Barty's entire face lit up at the mention of the Mark, eagerly pushing back the left sleeve of his robe to reveal a slim snake moving in and around a skull. Harry kept his thoughts about the awful taste in design to himself. The symbolism of the snake for Voldemort and skull for Death Eaters were obviously not lost to him and yet, any faction in past history parading around with skulls did, as a general rule, not consist of the first people he'd go to regarding human rights. ''How does it work?'' he thus asked, as Barty looked at him with expectation.

''It is brilliant piece of magic,'' the blond enthusiastically continued. ''A charm that sits right beneath the skin.''

''Wait, it's a **charm**?'' Harry asked, rising his eyebrows.

''Yes, of course. It's not as if he'd put a curse or hex in our arms, really kid. It's partially based on the Protean Charm, which connects objects to each other and allows for communication and a synchronization of sorts. Naturally, we aren't objects, but the marks themselves are and are all linked to the Dark Lord personally, which is why it also wasn't given to all of his followers. Only the Inner Circle received it as a standard and a chosen few of his other followers were granted one as rewards even if they didn't have the necessary power to make it as an official Death Eater. Through this, I knew he had to still be alive and did my best to push through Azkaban. I'd surely have died without this reassurance...'' Barty gripped his arm tightly. ''The Mark indicates our Lord's physical health and can be used to reach out to other marks so he can call us to him. Moreover, when combined with other spells, we can use it as a ward anchor to create a barrier that only those with a Mark can pass through, for example. It's incredibly useful.''

''He also said something about rewarding and punishing through the Mark?'' Harry asked, curious.

''We can feel his emotions through it at times, which translates into either pain or pleasurable feelings. That can also be done when he is close and chooses to, to a far more intense degree.'' Barty caressed the Mark lovingly like a treasured possession. It probably was to him. In the back of Harry's mind, he felt a slight reaction from Voldemort and Barty sucked in a breath before grinning, apparently receiving a response. It all sounded rather creepy, like having your boss watch you on camera at all times during work. To each their own. Barty adjusted his sleeve again, which he struggled with a bit considering how tight they were.

Before, Barty had always worn regular robes in dark colours. Today, it had been replaced with a tight black, slightly padded jumper of sorts, with over that a sleeveless, thin outer robe that hung only to his knees. Only his pants were the same, rough black denim with holes in them, a rather odd Muggle look that reminded Harry of a rebellious teenager in his rock phase. ''What kind of robes are those?'' he inquired. ''Never seen anything like it.''

''Workout gear,'' Barty shrugged. ''Also often used in battle since there's less chance of cloth catching on anything. He patted his chest, giving off a dull sound. ''More sturdy too and enhanced with woven-in shielding. Standard gear for all Inner Circle, though lots of witches and wizards on either side wore something similar. Some look more like dress robes, I remember that Malfoy had his shirt all covered in a pattern and a gold gloss over the fabric,'' the man rolled his eyes. ''So unnecessary but it made him look **fancy** I guess.''

''With how pretty he always makes himself, I would be wondering about whether he really has a wife if Draco Malfoy wouldn't be such a carbon copy of his dad,'' Harry joked, laughing on a conspiratorial tone. ''I'd watch myself around that guy!'' His snickering died down when Barty only gave him a stony look, which he found hard to understand. Dean, Ron and Seamus always found stuff like that hilarious.

''You shouldn't say stuff like that kid,'' he frowned. ''There's nothing funny about it.''

Flushing, Harry awkwardly rubbed his neck. ''Why not? My housemates always say that men who dress up are... well,'' he shrugged. ''Not really men, you know?'' As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze, vividly remembering Voldemort, crying out for Regulus in his fevered state.

''It is not for us to judge who is manly and who isn't,'' Barty said on a clipped tone. ''Three of the most powerful men to walk this country in the past century were all gay, there's nothing wrong with that. I'll just warn you this time... if you make jokes like that again, meant or not, I'll hang you upside down out of the window for the day. And that is very light punishment compared to what the Dark Lord would do if he heard you, understood?'' Harry nodded quickly, fearful as the growling tone had entered Barty's voice again that only appeared when he got seriously mad.

''Right,'' was thus the only thing he said in answer to that. Really, what else could he reply that wouldn't make the situation worse? Harry absolutely didn't need any further clarification about the Dark Lord's love life either.

''Changing the topic,'' Barty spoke to the teen's immense relief. ''We're going into town today. All these Muggle foods and brands are confusing. I don't want anything like last time to happen.'' Harry tried his utmost best to keep a straight face. The day before yesterday, Barty had returned from grocery shopping, missing half of what had been on Harry's list and taking only the cheapest versions of the other half since he didn't know the quality difference. In the Wizarding world, quality was measured by shop, and any store selling inferior versions next to superior ones would be rioted against. The man had only managed to bring the right fruits and vegetables, with which the only problem had been that he didn't know how to use the automatic weighing scales in-store and had gotten into an argument with the cashier.

''I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the house?'' Harry reminded the man, not very much looking forward to being choked again.

''Our Lord gave permission for you to go outside when you're together with me. Looks like you'll need a chaperone to ensure you don't run off with all the ladies out there, kid.'' With a wink, Harry's imprisonment here was easily turned into a light-hearted joke that made him smile. ''Come on, it'll be fun to have something to do, won't it be? We're even allowed to eat out for a change, so you won't have to cook if you join me.''

Finally tempted, Harry took the bait. ''Alright, you've got me convinced.'' The enthusiasm worked contagious. He hadn't been incredibly thrilled to step foot in the town again, as it always carried that sort of bored dread in the air that was associated with the kind of crime mystery novels in which tiny villages become dead ones. Now he thought of it, that **ha**d happened, hadn't it? Brilliant. ''Hadn't expected this place to serve any food apart from the local dusty pub,'' he doubtfully voiced. ''I won't count on any five-star-restaurants I suppose.''

''Stars? You want to wait till nightfall?'' Barty asked, confused.

''No, I mean.. look, Muggles have this system of rating restaurants and inns and such. If they perform well, they get a star. The more stars a place has, the better the food and service are... although they raise the prices accordingly.''

''Huh, handy, wish I could give the Leaky Cauldron a black hole as rating. So we should search for stars?''

Harry shrugged. ''As I said, in a small town like this I don't think we can expect much. I'm fine with eating everywhere really, it'll just be nice to not have to prepare everything myself for once. What about Voldemort?''

''He said something about take-with?'' The questioning tone held the kind of desperation that made it clear that the Death Eater hadn't understood the order and had been too afraid or awkward to ask again.

''Take-away,'' Harry sighed, to Barty's great joy. ''We'll manage that.''

Later, after they'd checked all leftover provisions, counted their money and made a shopping list, Barty said: ''You should really stop calling the Dark Lord by name, Evan. Only his enemies call him that nowadays.'' With one challenging eyebrow raised, Harry pointed demonstratively at his neck. ''Well, that's just...'' Barty whined on an almost pleading tone, ''That's just to prevent you from doing anything stupid like leaving or hurting yourself again! He'd be in much better spirits if you'd say My Lord to him!''

''He's not my Lord,'' Harry deadpanned, slightly amused with the palpable frustration wafting off the other man.

''He ought'a be!** The** Lord then if you want to be so difficult.''

''For someone who put so much thought and effort to turn his name into a mysterious anagram, he sure doesn't like to be reminded of his teen nickname.'' The look of horror was worth everything, even if Barty would be so daring to relay those words to Voldemort.

More people were about Little Hangleton than usual. Perhaps it was due to it being Saturday evening, he'd only been about on a Saturday once, in the early afternoon. He hadn't generally been out enough to tell the local patterns. The smell of barbeque was carried over to them on the hot summer breeze, explaining further why a number of residents had left the comfort of their homes. Dinner already being prepared did make Harry more aware of the time however, and he wondered if the supermarket was even still open, he hadn't exactly checked their weekend closing times, never planning on going shopping in the evening. Barty grumbled in protest as the teen suggested doing their shopping trip first, going back and forth before eating out.

''The place is small enough for it to take no longer than twenty minutes,'' he reasoned. Indeed, with two main streets meeting in a T-junction and only a handful of side streets and loose larger houses scattered on the hills around, Little Hangleton wasn't exactly a maze. If the 'shopping centre' of the town hadn't been built around a small plaza in one of the crooks of the T-junction, blocking off the sight, they would've been able to spot Riddle house quite clearly from inside of town. The shop turned out to be closing within ten minutes of them arriving, so Harry ran through the few aisles they had under the critical eye of the cashier who obviously wanted to go home and wasn't pleased with a late visitor. Barty hung around at the pet foods, wondering aloud why there were no owl treats and what anyone wanted with a hamster. Red in the face from trying to break the shopping record, Harry didn't deem the words odd enough to make him worry about getting Barty to shut up.

One way back to the Riddle House and a check-up from Barty on Voldemort later, they could finally stroll through town at ease. ''Fascinating,'' Barty exclaimed, standing on his tiptoes to peer over a nearby hedge to observe a family grilling outdoors. ''A campfire on legs!'' Harry hastily pulled him back down to avoid unwanted attention. The man stood out enough as it was with his attire. It was a good thing that he was used to hostile looks from Little Whinging, so he hardly noticed the stares and whispers of the townsfolk as they walked past in search of a place to eat. The pub 'The Hanged man', -the only eatery that was in the direct centre- was not available to them, having an 18+ sign on the door. A suggestion from Barty to just use a Confundus spell was quickly declined.

His companion finally pointed out the unfriendliness of the people around, in hushed tones to Harry, who only shrugged. ''Word spreads fast in places like these, I hadn't actually expected Frank to keep his word.''

''Who?'

''The old caretaker of the house and the gardens, I met him on my first day here.'' God, that seemed ages ago... ''I told him that the master of the house returned and is ill. If anyone asks, he has serpentitis and we've both already had it so we can come near this highly contagious disease. Will only work of course unless another one of you lot shows up, not sure how many people could have gotten such a rare thing in their lives.''

Barty shook his head. ''And they buy that?''

''My friend Ron, a pureblood, also bought the story about Muggle telephones having tiny, telepathically linked gnomes in them that do the speaking. People are willing to believe lots of stuff on topics they have no clue about. Anyhow, good story or not, I can hardly change it now, so you'd better get along with it to avoid discrepancies.''

''Trying to order me around kid?'' Barty grinned cheerfully. ''It suits you a bit, is that your Gryffindor courage shining through?''

''Oh do shut up.''

''Fine. What about that place? It says take-away on the door.'' Harry followed the pointed finger to the opposite side of the street they were on, the main one leading south out of town to Hangleton. Doubtfully, Harry took in the tiny pizzeria he saw there. The windows were covered in bright, cheap advertisements of a mishmash of dishes, none of which were pizza.

''Doesn't look like we'll have much other choice,'' he shrugged. ''Why not.'' That a single restaurant would survive here at all had to speak for it.

Harry almost regretted his decision when upon walking in he was met with a blue haze of smoke and the empty stares of an old Muggle couple eating a single slice of pizza each without saying a word. Almost, for in that moment the waitress -or chef?- came out and started babbling away, leading them to their seats and instantly bringing ice-cold drinks only a few second after they ordered them. ''It's great to see some new faces here! We've all heard of your arrival, of course,'' she said, smiling brightly, a welcome change to everyone else here. ''I had hoped you'd drop by, it gets so dull here. The most exciting this that happened all week is that Margaret Hopkins went away for a reading at the primary school in Hangleton and came back with such an amount of books that she put up a small library in her garden.'' Harry smiled, glad to be able to relax, and read the menu.

''Thank you for the welcome, it's nice to see a friendly face. Could we also order a third meal to take with, by the way?'' he asked.

''Sure, no problem, I'll make sure to prepare it a bit later so it's hot when you leave if you want.''

''That'd be great. I'll have a spaghetti Bolognese please.'' There were far fancier items on the menu, from tagliatelle with salmon to Indian curries, but spaghetti had been one of Dudley's favourite dishes, meaning that Harry had had to cook it loads of times and never been able to get even a spoonful of it himself before Dudley cleaned out the pot. On Harry's suggestion, Barty took a tuna pizza, never having eaten Muggle fast food in his life.

''I thought you said it was take-away?'' Barty complained in a whisper when the woman left. ''You just said take-with now too!'' As Harry tried to explain the subtle differences in grammar, the woman came back. ''Food's being prepared. How'd you both end up in this forgotten place though, is what I was wondering. Name's Heather by the way.''

''I'm Evan, this is Barty. He doesn't speak much,'' Harry explained. That wasn't exactly true, the other man could have a waterfall of words streaming out at any time about any topic at hand, but Harry had the feeling that that wasn't the case in the presence of Muggles if the man's wary look was anything to go by. It was better to avoid Barty saying too much anyways, lest he slip up in public and start talking about Magic. ''How much did you hear already?''

Heather cocked her head, thinking. ''Not too much, old mister Densmore grilled Bryce on the lights many have seen in the abandoned mansion. He reluctantly gave out some information about the owners returning. It's given quite a stir at the pub at night. One even mentioned that the owner must have been Tom Riddle's illegitimate son.'' Heather leaned forwards expectantly, and Harry figured that whatever he'd say would make it to the next nightly gossip round.

Surprisingly, it was Barty this time who answered. ''He's not illegitimate,'' he spoke on an affronted tone. Heather blinked in surprise. ''Tom Riddle Senior married my master's mother. The bastard then just flew away from his responsibilities when things got too hot in the cauldron,'' he aggressively added, gripping his knife tightly. ''I won't have anyone question my Lord's inheritance.''

''Your... Lord?''

Knowing this would go wrong if not interrupted, Harry helpfully provided: ''Tom Riddle Junior, he received the status of Lord after buying several plots of lands that came with the title.'' Barty's angry retort was swallowed at Harry's warning glare. Heather seemed to file this information away for later use and walked over to the door to greet four new customers, two middle-aged couples on a double date, who mainly talked about the weather and their upcoming trip to the sea nearby.

''Hadn't realised we were this close to the ocean,'' he mused. ''I wonder what it looks like.''

''What do you mean, 'what it looks like?'.''

''The ocean, the beach, you know...''

''You mean to say you've never been to the beach? Living in one of the few countries with water on all sides?'' the other asked in astonishment.

''Well, technically I have. When I got my Hogwarts letters, my family refused to give them to me or open them, resulting in us receiving hundreds of letters wherever we went. When they were delivered even when moving to a small motel, my uncle went crazy and rented a shack on an island in front of the coast. However, it wasn't exactly a typical beach-trip when I compare it to stories of other people. It was storming and late evening when we arrived. I only recall lots of large waves of water that I tried to hide from on the boat, I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings. The morning after that, Hagrid came to get me, but then I was so caught up in the whole 'magic is real' thought that enjoying the ocean view wasn't the first thing on my mind. So yeah, that was my only 'sea-experience'. It's not as if the Dursleys ever took me anywhere fun. The only real trip I've ever had was to a zoo, as the woman they always dumped me off at had broken her leg that day and they had to bring me along. It didn't end well for me, but I had a lemon ice and accidentally released a boa constrictor, trapping my cousin in the terrarium instead.'' he sighed longingly at the memory. ''Great times when I could get away with... accidents.''

''Sounds like one epic day. Having the knowledge you have now, which one of your accidents was the most powerful one?'' Barty asked, eyes glittering as he leaned forwards. Harry thought about that for a while. He'd never thought about the level of power of the accidental magic he'd done as a child, never seeing it as magic back then. When asked about it however, he realised that many of what he'd done had actually been spells that he partially hadn't even learned at Hogwarts. There were of course basic charms like shrinking and growing spells, a vanishing spell for the glass in the zoo... yet also far more advanced things. ''Apparition,'' he finally decided, figuring the Muggles would blend out a word they didn't know more easily than if he'd try to describe it in a non-conspicuous way.

''Wicked, most I did was a bubblehead charm when falling in a pond once at ten years old.'' Harry didn't know the spell itself, but could imagine the effect, giving an acknowledging nod.

''Sounds advanced too.''

''Not as much as yours. That reminds me of tales our Lord told about his youth...''

''Errr, perhaps we should have a talk about that later,'' he quickly interrupted as the eyes of all other customers were suddenly on them, eager to pick up any bit of information about the infamous new master of Riddle House. Marvelling about Voldemort's magical prowess was a decidedly bad idea. It was a good thing that their food arrived at that moment, within a time range that eased his worries somewhat about the dishes just being microwaved frozen goods. As he dug into the food, Harry decided that he might have to come back here and try a few other things as well, the restaurant had certainly deserved its persistent stay.

As he complimented Heather on it, she laughed: ''Would be difficult to keep our heads above water otherwise. With only a few hundred residents we need quite a lot of regulars to keep the business afloat. I certainly hope we won two more today?''

''Depends on the money,'' Barty said. ''Certainly wouldn't mind eating here more often. That's some great... pizza. Who would have thought to put fish together with tomato on bread?''

At Heather's odd look, Harry blurted out: ''He's a foreigner.''

''But... pizza is also foreign,'' she protested, entirely confused.

''From America, backwater little place in the mountains,'' Harry continued, trying not to break a sweat.

''With a British accent?'' she continued, disbelieving. Barty only looked amused and kept silent to see what Harry would do.

''Sounds very similar doesn't it? Great for trying to fit in here.'' He tried to laugh it off as much as possible as Barty shovelled more pizza in his mouth and put a thumb up in the air. Harry wished he could just disappear. Not hard enough to actually do so, however. He wasn't ready to figure out how Voldemort's spell on his neck would work if he accidentally apparated to the other side of the country.

His luck finally turned to his favour as Heather had to leave to serve the others again and Harry was able to avoid any further awkward conversation. With only a sip remaining, Barty suddenly raised his glass. ''Sorry I can't offer you anything stronger to toast with kid. Just wanted to wish you an early happy birthday.''

''Birthday?'' he echoed.

''Yeah, shame your birthday falls on a Sunday, didn't think anything would be open then so I decided to take the liberty of going out today instead. You'll need your stomach empty tomorrow anyway.''

''Did Voldemort tell-''

''Not necessary, **everyone** knows your birthday kid.''

''Oh. Right.'' Being at Hogwarts, where most people had gotten used to him by now, Harry had almost forgotten that he was supposedly famous. It was weird to realise that complete strangers knew things like his birthday as if he was a celebrity. ''Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you.''

''Don't mention it, I felt like it would be wrong if we didn't celebrate. I know you're kind of stuck with us and not in an ideal situation... I at least want to make it up to you as much as I can.''

''Honestly, between here or the Dursleys this is heaven, really. I don't think I would be allowed to stay anywhere else for long. 'Protection' and that crap from Dumbledore, you know.'' Barty shook his head in disdain.

''That man...'' he growled. ''Never liked him. Somehow I was always one of his favourite students though, would you believe that? He gave me loads of points since I stood out in class. Not that he was still a teacher then, he would just find excuses to dish out points to his favoured few. He did get along splendidly with my old man too at one point, perhaps it was that. Got real chummy.'' Barty scowled at his empty plate, then laughed bitterly. ''Not so much anymore after dear father made a fool out of himself trying to hunt down every little trace he could find to regain the reputation **I** apparently ruined.''

''Sorry to hear that... I always wished so much to have had a chance to know my own parents that I sometimes forget about the possibility of that relationship not being ideal. I wonder if I would have disappointed them too...''

''With your life up until this point certainly not. You fought through a lot kid, I bet they'd be proud. They also wouldn't be able to fault you for reckless decisions or for following Dumbledore blindly, not when they both made those mistakes too.''

''You might have a point in that not everything about Dumbledore is so great as it looked like...'' Harry grudgingly admitted. ''That does not mean that I'll suddenly stop being his man, he's done a lot of good for this world too.''

''Exactly, everything about him is for the 'greater good'.''

While Harry didn't know what Barty meant with that exactly, he still asked: ''Doesn't Voldemort do the same? From what he told me it sounded as if he wants to be on top for the good of our kind, individual wishes be damned. I'd rather follow someone who'll treat me like a human being before throwing myself into a battle for them.''

''And have you seen any evidence of my Lord not treating me as such?''

''Well... that is.. not** you** specifically but...''

''Talking about war games dear?'' Heather suddenly said, having come up behind them. ''Would either of you still like to have dessert? Or a coffee perhaps?''

''No thanks, I'm good,'' Harry spoke, not feeling very hungry anymore after yet another talk about Dumbledore. They paid and left, all the while still discussing about the difference between the two powerful men. After walking all the way back, Harry still didn't see much of a dissimilarity between strategies other than that Voldemort used more control over the people under him. Barty insisted that Dumbledore used mind-tricks and other under-handed tactics like guilt tripping to get people to do his bidding. Even if that were true -which Harry couldn't deny either-, he still didn't think either way was good. What was actually concerning him more than anything, was that the difference between the man he'd trusted to take care of him and his friends, was hard to discern from the one who was claimed to be an evil tyrant.

That claim lessened its hold even more and they arrived back at Riddle House, where Voldemort ate - as dignified as possible- his lukewarm Indian take-away straight out of the aluminium tin.


	9. Rituals

Odd pains flashed through his head, a sharp stinging in his forehead. It hadn't been the first time, but he'd hoped that the potions would have cured these odd effects of the body he'd created after a while. It had been a painstaking process even with Wormtail's help, taking weeks to complete and, at the start, robbing him of nearly all of his leftover magical power, having to rely on Wormtail to move him around and feed the potion to him every couple of hours. That time had lessened over the weeks and his magic had returned, but there was still so** little of it**. Of course, he'd never let his outward frustration show to the others in the house, he had more pride than that...

With tremendous effort, he summoned a book, feeling sweat drip down his back at even a mere charm like this. He refused, however, to give up on nonverbal casting and wandless magic only because it would be** easier**. No, he needed to train it, of that he was certain. He'd already improved tremendously from where he'd started, able to finally take care of himself now with his most basic needs. While not easy, he managed... surely he'd lose the ounce of respect that he'd been shown by Potter before if the boy found out just how weak he still was. A shudder ran through him and he felt suddenly very, very weary, but did not give his body time to relax. He could sleep later, when the others were in the room again and Barty could keep watch, for now he needed to** think**.

Potter... was truly a mystery. The boy's feelings of righteousness, selflessness and justice stood in sharp contrast with the surprisingly deep thoughts he'd come forth with when discussing the punishment of his Death Eaters and the civility that he occasionally let glance through even when talking to** him**. Added to that his newfound knowledge of Potter's childhood and the extraordinary connection they both shared, and he had an enigma on his hands that he wasn't entirely sure of what to do with. Keeping Potter here was a good solution for now, now none would be suspicious of the boy not showing himself as long as Barty kept up his work of keeping Potter's friends at bay... that couldn't last forever. Latest at the end of August he'd need to make up his mind. Hopefully, the rituals would show the desired results and he could just send the boy back to school. With or without memories intact depending on how cooperative he'd been.

Sighing in frustration, he wondered if he'd grown emotionally weak too, to even consider letting the boy get on with his life after. Well, not entirely, he'd still need to be kept under watch, perhaps even** protected** if his theories were confirmed... but mostly having freedom of choice to pursue a peaceful life if Potter so wished. He certainly deserved it after those** Muggles** and Dumbledore's scheming. An angry hiss slipped past his lips at the thought of the old fool, who always knew so much **better** what was good for people, who knew just how to pull the right string to... well, string them up, if you would.

The whole arrangement with Potter and those Muggles was incredibly suspicious when Dumbledore had to have known about Black not being the Secret Keeper. As he'd told Potter before, he couldn't imagine who else had cast the charm in the first place. It was a piece of magic that needed extensive knowledge of Warding, it was hard to imagine the Potters themselves being apt in such a complicated branch of magic. He'd been utterly shocked when it was Wormtail who'd found him in Albania, thinking the man would have been the first one to be locked up. Even with the whole admittedly clever trick of faking his own death, he could barely believe that Black, former Auror and member of the Order, would be shipped off to Azkaban without a trial in Pettigrew's stead. Not that that was the only fishy thing, the whole ordeal with the stone had, in retrospect, also been put in place by Dumbledore, oddly enough more as a test for Potter than as a trap for himself. All very strange.

He made a frustrated noise, only getting more worked up by focusing on bloody Albus Dumbledore. If he wanted to think straight, he had to put that one low on his list of priorities. Getting to the Ministry would be more useful than infiltrating the school. Getting Barty into Hogwarts would have to be enough for now. He was still on the fence about Snape, and with Karkaroff being there too this year... It was a true shame that he would miss the entire event, he'd read about a few of the Tournaments and they'd all been grand displays of magic. Dangerous, deadly... showing the future generations promise in demonstrating what levels their magic could actually reach when they put in an effort. It had been an awful shame none had taken place during his own time at Hogwarts.

Alas, he couldn't afford such pleasantries if he didn't wish to expose himself... and while it was tempting to do so and get the respect he wished for, he'd have to soak up Barty's worship only for now. What he'd told Potter had been the truth: it couldn't go like last time or else they would all be jeopardised. He just hoped that the Muggles would not become dangerous enough within the next two to three decennia that they exposed magic, else he would have to revert back to his old strategies after all. He could only fully protect the Wizarding world once the Ministry had been sorted out, Hogwarts had better standards and international ties were strengthened to a point where mages were a united front. There was so much work to do... setting up shields on a national level and maintaining them for the rest of eternity was not a light task, he dreaded having to pour so much magic in defence when he really just wished to squish all the unworthy little runts...

Too many, there were just too many of them for that to ever work, he reminded himself, burying his weary face in his hands as another sharp sting of pain travelled through his head.

Balling them into fists and gritting his teeth, he summoned all magic that he could possibly muster around him, staring at the thick black aura. He was the** Dark** **Lord**, by Merlin. Chosen for this specific task in his early teens already, when the vision of Magic had granted him knowledge beyond measure. The memory of it ached his heart, the moment her presence had intruded all five dimensions simultaneously and given him a purpose, confirming what he'd known all those years and what Dumbledore had not wished to believe: that he was meant for higher things. He clung to that validation, to the absolutely certainty that what he was doing was what** She** wished for, that everything he did was to ensure **Her** kind would survive. He took in a shuddering breath and calmed his magic again, which settled around him like a blanket. It vaguely reminded him of the times Potter had taken care of him, held him even... it had felt good to be the one to be protected for once. Swallowing thickly, he finally cracked open the book he'd summoned a few minutes ago, yet couldn't concentrate on the words, odd feelings and pains infiltrating his mind. Then, he froze as an emotion of pure dread washed over him, one that was** not his own**. His jaw clenched and his eyes widened as he recognised the subtle feeling of another presence in his mind.

Harry woke with a scream that tore through the house, his pillow soaked in blood and reeking strongly of it. An equally strong roar followed as Voldemort forcefully threw Harry out of his mind completely and for a few, terrifying seconds during wakefulness, Harry saw double: his new bedroom and Voldemort's room overlapped in his vision until finally the latter faded and he just sat there clenching the clammy bed sheets.

''What the** hell** was that?'' he exclaimed to himself, panicking. He didn't care for the loud bangs of Barty running through the house to check on Voldemort, Harry dragged himself to the mirror to make sure he was really** himself** again. Completely shaken, his mind raced over what had just transpired. He'd been asleep and, more importantly, in Voldemort's head.

It hadn't been the first time, he realised with a start, as if a bucket of water was emptied over his head. The dream he'd had and couldn't recall on the very night that Hedwig had brought him Wormtail had been much the same, hadn't it been? His scar had hurt after too, albeit not as badly. He'd seen Nagini, heard Voldemort's whispering... although he couldn't recall being** in** Voldemort's head that time. Then again, it hadn't left as much of an impression as this one.

**This** one sent his mind reeling. All of Voldemort's thoughts, his insecurities, his fucking **memories**, had flooded into Harry's mind. He gasped as he recalled the pure magic the man had summoned. His actual magic had been corporeal, it was insane! And then the flashes of Magic, a being that... Harry broke off his own thoughts, not able to fully comprehend exactly what it was that Voldemort had seen, only his thoughts after.

The door slammed open again, with Barty looking furious, holding Voldemort in his arms, wrapped in his soft, black blanket. Anger melted away when his eyes fell upon Harry's shaken form, upon the half-dried blood smeared across the face and upon the haunted eyes that Harry had observed himself mere moments ago in the mirror. ''Merlin, Evan, you...''

''Put me down on the bed, Bartemius,'' Voldemort spoke, looking far too calm with the whole situation. Knowing now how good the man was exactly in hiding his every emotion, be it fatigue or stress, Harry became very wary of the neutral tone. He didn't exactly want the creature touching his bed, but he was in no position to protest either. That also brought back nauseating thoughts on the man's contemplations on how nice it had felt in Harry's arms... ''Evan, come here.'' With dragging steps, Harry complied, giving Barty a fearful look that was only met with a worried frown. Awkwardly, he stood in front of Voldemort, looking down upon the tiny, terrifying being. He recalled the magic this man had performed, without a wand, without uttering a single spell, combined with the frustrated thoughts of Voldemort about this only being a ** sliver** of his true powers. ''Kneel.''

Any other day, Harry would have refused such a command, would have put up a fight against being controlled. Now, he merely sank to the floor, grateful for not having to force his legs to hold himself up anymore. The teen flinched when Voldemort reached out, certain that the white in his eyes was showing and his breathing was far too fast. The other slowed down, inching closer until his fingers found Harry's face and brushed aside the sweaty locks of hair that concealed his scar. Harry wondered if they would both burn each other again, but nothing of the sort happened. The man didn't even touch his skin. ''**_Tergeo_**,'' Voldemort muttered. Harry froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat, until he felt the sticky blood disappearing from his face. **_''Lenio_**.'' An opal light engulfed him and Harry felt the pain in his scar numbing down to a more tolerable level.

''Now, we can talk. Look at me.''

As soon as Harry looked into Voldemort's piercing red eyes, he could see the contained fury simmering beneath. ''It wasn't on purpose, I swear it,'' he pleaded. ''I know how awful it is to have one's privacy intruded, I didn't want... I mean, I don't even know what happened, I was asleep!'' Voldemort cut off his rant with a single raised finger, which Harry eyed suspiciously.

''What exactly do you remember from this encounter? How much information did you gather?'

''I.. erhm...'' Harry tried his best to recall. ''It's not exactly coherent,'' he explained, nervously fiddling with his robes. ''Like with most dreams, I don't know the exact moment when I was suddenly you. I remember you thinking about lots of things, from Wormtail, to getting a body, to... well, what to do with me. Then some thoughts about Dumbledore and... Sirius?'' he fell silent for a moment, the exact thoughts coming back to him in full now, horrifying him even further. ''You thought...'' he gasped. ''That Dumbledore willingly put Sirius in Azkaban to stick me with the Dursleys?''

''It's one probable explanation,'' Voldemort curtly replied. ''He had the power to protect Black and didn't. As a result, you came into a Muggle home and the first people you met were those he put into your path. Am I correct in the assumption in that one of the Hogwarts teachers was the first to introduce you to our world?''

''Half?'' Harry said, confused. ''It was Hagrid actually. He wasn't a teacher yet back then.''

''Hagrid,'' Voldemort groaned. ''Of course, who else would have more devotion to Dumbledore than Hagrid. Continue.''

''You thought of... Magic,'' Harry spoke, unsure. ''I didn't really... understand a lot of it. You are afraid that Muggles could be our demise and got a sort of task by Magic?''

''Of course,'' Barty interrupted. ''How else did he become the Dark Lord?''

Harry struggled with himself. ''From what I was told, it was just a title that he.. you, I mean,'' he hastily corrected himself, looking at Voldemort again, ''bestowed upon yourself.''

The man huffed, actually **huffed** at that. ''Dumbledore would say that. He is just sour that he was never granted the position of Light Lord, and acts like it without any sort of validation. Who knows, perhaps it isn't even that and he honestly has no clue about Lords and thinks that I granted myself this title out of arrogance, just like Grindelwald did. That's the problem with Lords... only they themselves know whether they were actually** chosen**. Many people believe that a witch or wizard can attain Lord status by being powerful enough and having certain political beliefs.''

''You're saying that Grindelwald** wasn't** a Dark Lord?''

''Not a chosen one, not one that Magic picked. The difference is easy to tell when you know what to look for. Simultaneously with being granted the title of Lord, I was given both a task and a gift. The gift being pure magic, directly from its source.'' Voldemort smiled. When he next spoke, it was with utter reverence. ''Her magic is indescribable, and I am one of few who experienced it. Such greatness... to wear it is a responsibility of its own.''

Harry found it all hard to wrap his head around, even with the thoughts and feelings he'd experienced prior, in Voldemort's own head. ''So how would people know?'' he asked. ''About fake Lords and true Lords and whatnot? And if you are the Dark Lord, who is even the Light lord if it's not Dumbledore?''

''What you first need to understand is that this is a matter of long-spread balance,'' the man said, not replying directly to the question. ''That I am the Dark Lord does not mean that I need a direct counterpart, that isn't how it works. At certain times in history, at certain places in the world, Magic becomes unbalanced, either due to mages of one type getting more children, or wars breaking out. At crucial moments like these, Lords are chosen, either Dark or Light, to pull it back into the other direction. Or, in my case, to also counter threats from outside of our own community. Muggles,'' he explained, showing a hint of annoyance at Harry's incomprehensible look. ''So as you see, it would be counterproductive to have both a Dark and a Light Lord at the same time, in the same place. Until the balance settles and then falls dramatically to one direction or the other again, there shall be no other Lord.''

''But you are immortal,'' Harry protested. ''You said so yourself! If you will always remain the Dark Lord...''

''That I live does not necessarily mean that I shall keep the title,'' Voldemort spoke, regret tingeing his voice. ''Plenty of Lords completed their tasks and lived out the rest of their lives as ordinary humans. Well, as ordinary as a powerful witch or wizard can be. Perhaps I shall remain a Lord in name only, just like Grindelwald used to be... but I shall lose the magical authority that comes with the real title once I finish pulling this country back into balance. Granted, from what I have seen, I have a long way to go. Grindelwald's war was what caused this all in the first place: he rallied both dark and neutral parties against anyone with lower blood and when he failed, only Light magic was deemed legal to practise anymore. That also weakened our defences against Muggles, since most magic used to hide ourselves and separate ourselves from Muggles has roots in Blood magic.''

''So you are the only Lord, and will be until you... fix this?'' Harry summarised, uncertain of what to make of it.

''In this part of the world, yes, not everywhere. I know for a fact that there is currently a Light Lord in Colombia, as many Dark wizards banded together there to overthrow the previously neutral government. In doing so, they corrupted parts of the land and the minds of the people, magicians and Muggle alike. That, however, is not my battle, and neither she nor I intend to clash with each other during our lifetimes despite that perhaps being expected by people who only hear 'Dark and Light Lords'.''

''That... that is a lot to take in.''

''Did you see anything else in my mind still?''

Harry frowned, thinking hard on it. The thought about Voldemort's comment about wishing to be protected for once fluttered through his mind and was squashed. Surely that wasn't important enough to mention. ''No, that was everything.''

Voldemort's look hardened and he hissed, his hand shooting out and a nail digging into Harry's forehead, this time making his skull split open in pain. ''I allowed you to get away with this, I offered up answers readily, and now you** lie** to me boy? You ungrateful little-'' It was almost as if Voldemort didn't also hurt from this contact.

''It's not important!'' Harry yelled in sudden deference. The fear that he should have felt melted away now. If he'd be tortured for this, he'd readily accept the pain once more even knowing how bad it was. ''It's only a little piece... please.''

''Tell me,'' Voldemort hissed, leaning forwards. Harry's eyes flicked to Barty instead.

''Only... only if we're alone,'' he muttered, feeling himself getting red. Merlin, why must Voldemort force something so embarrassing out of him? At Barty's hurt look, Harry instantly continued, trying to bite through the pain: ''It's not that I don't trust you Barty, it's only rather... personal.''

Voldemort didn't remove his finger despite it shaking and a hiss leaving the man's throat in obvious discomfort. He gave Harry a hard look. ''Wait outside, Bartemius. If I deem it necessary, I shall inform you later.'' Reluctantly, the Death Eater went towards the door again.

''My Lord, if anything happens...''

''I can take care of myself.'' Another hurt flash went through Barty's eyes and Harry wanted to sink through the floor. He really hadn't meant to wound his new.. what, friend? Especially not after yesterday, where Barty had been so kind as to take him out for bloody dinner for his birthday. Harry released a long breath as the door shut close rather harshly and the finger was at long last removed, dulling the pain instantly. Voldemort lifted his other hand and cast another spell. ''Silencing barrier,'' he explained. ''Well?''

''Don't you already know what I'm going to say?'' he muttered angrily. ''Why force me to speak it out loud?''

''I, in fact, have no idea what you are hiding. I could easily look into your head to find it, naturally, but as you said before, invading privacy is an 'awful thing to do'.''

''Then how...''

''I can tell when people lie to me. I do not know the specifics.''

''Then.. Merlin this is embarrassing, you're going to regret asking later,'' Harry said, getting even warmer. Voldemort merely raised a challenging, hairless eyebrow and threateningly lifted his finger again. ''Okay! Fine, I know you thought about how great it was for me to cuddle you, okay?'' he spat out. ''And it's really** weird**.'' He refused to meet the man's eyes. ''That you wanted to feel safe and protected and I provided that and...'' he was at a loss for words.

''Why was that so hard to say?'' Voldemort said softly. Confused, Harry looked up, wishing he hadn't when he couldn't read the other at all.

''I'm sorry?''

''Was my wish too** human** for you to demonise me further?''

''I...'' Harry struggled. ''I just thought... you also thought that you didn't want to be seen as weak. Didn't you think emotions make one weak? Should I just have taken the chance that you'd blow up on me exposing a weakness to one of your followers?''

Voldemort chuckled at that. ''Barty already knows many of my weaknesses and does not think me lesser for them. ''Yes, emotions can be liabilities when not under control. Emotions** themselves** however, are necessary to make proper decisions. If one cannot empathise at all, how could one rule a country of people who all have different needs, desires, **emotions**? If I could not empathise, why would I have tried to grant Severus' request of keeping your mother alive? Why would I have left you alone when we were in the castle together for an entire year until you actively came after me with clues you pieced together from Dumbledore and his men? I was trying to be...** considerate**.''

''But... but you didn't leave me alone! The forest-''

''You mean that very dangerous trip to the Forbidden Forest in which usually students aren't even allowed to go? That trip where you had specific orders to search for wounded unicorns, the one thing that I happened to hunt back then to survive, entirely known by the centaurs and thus, Dumbledore? That trip where you came face to face to me and I didn't cast a single spell on you? I wished to scare you away, foolish child, not kill you. Oh, I was undeniably furious with the fact that you were the reason why I was in that state in the first place... but that wouldn't be entirely fair to you either and thus I restrained myself from taking it out on you. I didn't know, after all, if the prophecy still stood and how it could affect us, I still do not know. It could have been brought about by your parents, or orchestrated by Dumbledore instead. I was no longer after you until you barged into that room and snatched the stone away right in front of me and caused me to lose both a follower and an earlier attempt of regaining a body. You may recall that directly after, I fled and didn't bother you at all anymore until** you**, again, barged in** here.''**

''In my second year, the Chamber... that was you too!'' Harry defied him, entirely confused about how logical it all sounded. He'd been so certain of that Voldemort had been a constant threat...

''That was a powerful artefact created by me and given to someone for safekeeping. That he broke his word and brought it into the school does not mean that I had my hand in this personally.''

''So Lucius really is your man huh? That doesn't speak for you very much either, sadistic bastard that he is.''

Voldemort growled. ''This is getting nowhere, no matter was I say or do, you cling to the beliefs that you received by others. I shall leave now, come downstairs in half an hour, we shall begin the first ritual. I will not waste more of my breath today to try and convince you. **Bartemius**!''

After both men had left, Harry collapsed upon his bed and covered his face much like Voldemort had done in his dreams. This was all so surreal. Talks of prophecies and Lords, Magic herself giving Voldemort tasks... in all of his time at Hogwarts he hadn't even once heard a mention of this. Nothing in History of Magic, nothing in Defence Against the Dark Arts, not even in damned Divination. How could he find another source to confirm the man's words?

Harry rolled to his side and looked at the closed door. Did he even need to though, he hesitantly wondered. After all, he'd seen it all in Voldemort's own head, it wasn't as if the man had tried to feed him ideas willingly this time. Harry had invaded his mind and seen for himself, Voldemort's thoughts on all of those topics. Accepting it however, would mean that Albus Dumbledore had betrayed Harry on more than one occasion, set him up and left him to fend for himself** knowingly** as part of some grand scheme to trust the Headmaster. And if that really was the truth, how many** others** could he not truly trust? Who else was in on this?

Not Sirius.

The thought struck him like lightening. If Voldemort's theory was correct, then Dumbledore had used Sirius as much as he'd used Harry. He'd all but handed the man over to the Dementors. Was that why the Headmaster had given Harry and Hermione a hint as to how to save the man the second time around? To not only cover up that he'd been responsible for Sirius, but also to make both Harry and his godfather believe in Dumbledore's good intentions? It was possible, he reluctantly admitted. Following that, the only logical conclusion was that Sirius was definitely** not** trying to manipulate Harry. It felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders at that thought. No matter what, he had at least one adult that he could trust. Although Barty was also turning out to be pretty dependable. His only flaw was putting Voldemort's needs before anyone else's. Harry desperately wished that he could just send a letter out to Sirius, but wasn't even allowed to see Hedwig anymore, whom Barty apparently kept in the attic and fed a couple of times a day.

With only half an hour to think and get ready, Harry quickly tried to sort out his other thoughts. He couldn't say much about the whole thing of Lords and Magic, though it sounded** plausible** enough and Voldemort seriously believed it himself to the depth of his core, of that Harry was certain. Whether something was really to it or if the Dark Lord was following some drug-induced dream from his teenage potion experiments remained to be seen. Then there had been the thoughts about Harry specifically, which were.. odd, and hadn't even been discussed right now. From what Harry had gathered, the man planned to just let him... go? That was unexpected and yet, fit both with what he'd heard right before about Voldemort not really actively being after him in the first place** and** with Barty's statement of that Voldemort let Harry stay here, more to give him a break than anything else. The question remained: **Why**? Surely, it wasn't out of the pure goodness of his heart? Was it guilt then? Also rather hard to believe...

He'd have to ask about that another time, Harry decided. He wasn't going to come up with any logical reasons on his own. His thoughts briefly stopped on Voldemort's whole take on emotions. It looked like once again, Dumbledore had not been truthful in what he'd told Harry. _Incapable of feeling, my arse_, Harry bitterly thought. He'd first-hand experienced the Dark Lord's emotions now, a whole slew of them.

Dumbledore brought him to another point: what** was** he going to do if he was let go at the end of August? He still had an entire month to think about it of course, but that didn't keep him from wondering and worrying now. Should he confront the Headmaster about what he knew? Should he keep Voldemort's return a secret from the other? Just the fact that that was a possible reaction made him unsure. Not revealing to anyone that the Dark Lord had returned felt wrong, especially since so many he knew had been hurt by the man, had had their families torn apart during the war. Even so, he was pretty certain that that wouldn't happen this time around anymore... The views he'd told the other man about his belief in second chances was also still valid, even when it was about someone like Voldemort. Also, he added in afterthought to himself. **If** he'd reveal Voldemort's return, **Dumbledore** would be the last person he'd trust with that, he'd rather go straight to the Auror department like he'd done with Pettigrew.

His brooding wasn't quite finished yet when he finally showed up downstairs, but he didn't have a choice. Despite given a time limit of thirty minutes, he didn't actually** have **a way to keep track of time with his wand still being confiscated by Voldemort and no clock in the house working apart from the wind-up one in Voldemort's room. Thus, he went down rather quickly, just to be certain he wouldn't be late. It was instantly clear where he should go, sprigs and branches that Harry could not identify placed in the hallway, leading down to a room in the back of the house that he hadn't been to yet, always having assumed that there were only storage rooms and such. Upon arrival, he was proven wrong, finding a glass hexagonal veranda attached to the back wing, the tiles warm beneath his feet from the sunlight that shone through the ceiling. Once, this had been a place of beauty, he concluded upon seeing dozens of flowerpots standing and hanging everywhere. It had functioned like an orangery of sorts if he wasn't mistaken, a luxury that wasn't uncommon for the upper class to have out of pure status desires. He'd never seen one before, yet could in his mind picture how it must have looked.

In the middle of the tiles was a large circle, formed by more sprigs, of which he recognised a few this time, such as holly. Hesitantly, he looked at the glass walls and doors that surrounded him on three sides. Wouldn't any Muggles be able to pass by here? Or did the fields in the back really all belong to the Riddle property? He tried to see the neighbouring mansion, but it was conveniently blocked by another edge of wall to the far left side of the manor. Practising magic so openly still didn't sit well with him.

''Nice sight huh?'' Barty answered, coming in, carrying Voldemort and putting the man down on a chair that was hewn out of a solid piece of tree trunk, sanded down and lacquered on the inside to form a comfortable seat.

''A bit... exposed,'' Harry hesitantly said.

''It is the only place where we will be getting enough direct sunlight for this ritual,'' Voldemort explained. ''Many spells are affected by seasons and the time of the day. Sun- and moonlight can be vital not only with picking potion ingredients, but also with things like these.''

''And what are** things like these** exactly?'' Harry asked nervously.

''Soul magic. More specifically, soul connection magic. I would have used moonlight if I'd been on my own but... considering the pain in your scar, we may be incompatible.''

''For what?'' Harry asked again, his voice shifting to a much higher pitch, not liking the sound of having to be compatible to Voldemort with anything.

''Where has your Gryffindor bravery gone, boy?'' the amusement was audible.

''Evan, you can do this,'' Barty encouraged him. Harry just gave him a doubtful look. It would be far more encouraging to have been told beforehand what he was exactly going to be subjected by.

_~Nagini!'~_ Upon being called out by her master, the snake, who had apparently been present already, slithered out from behind a heap of logs she'd been hiding at.

''Sit down in the circle for now, Evan, and just talk to her. I wish to merely observe you for a while first. It doesn't matter what you speak about.''

That was easy for him to say, Harry decided as he drew a blank on topics he could easily talk about with a snake. The only things he** wanted** to ask her were personal things about Voldemort but he didn't think that would go over well. Thankfully, she seemed to solve that problem for him: _~Harrison, it's been a while.~ _The tone was accusing already. Great.

_~I know, I'm very sorry.~_ He actually was, a bit, she'd been nice to him. _~We can speak for a bit now though... Is there anything you'd like to talk about?~_

She hissed softly, not an actual word, only a sign of thinking. _~When did you first speak?~_

''Oh, erhm...'' he said, a bit surprised by the question, slipping back into English as Parseltongue didn't have much leeway for filler words. ~_When I was ten, right before turning eleven. I was in a zoo and there was this very large snake that looked incredibly bored. I said something about my stupid cousin who'd been annoying the snake by tapping at the glass... and then we kind of struck up a conversation until my cousin interrupted it.~_

_~So you couldn't always speak?~_

_~I don't know,~ _Harry hissed_. ~It's not as if there are many wild snakes in England, not in the place I lived in anyways. I'd never seen a snake before, it's possible that I could always do it.~_

_~I still wanted to thank you for taking care of Marvolo~, _she spoke, then was halted by a long warning hiss from Voldemort. Nagini ignored it. ~_You did him a great service, and I will always be indebted to you.~_ Harry blinked. The sincere thanks came out of the blue and he didn't know what to do with it. It wasn't as if he had** actually** done it to help the man.

_~Thank you_~ he still replied, cringing inwardly. _~I'm sure you did much more for him though.~_

_~That's enough, Nagini. Assume your position. And... Harrison, look into her eyes without blinking.~_ Harry did as he was told, smiling slightly at the name despite his nerves. It was somehow touching that Voldemort still wished to let Nagini believe the tale that Harry had spun at the start, to not hurt her or think that Harry had betrayed anyone. His eyes instantly started to water as he did his best to not blink, the sunlight that shone in his eyes not making it much easier.

_~Now, do exactly as I say... start moving your head from left to right. Yes, like that. Place your hands upon the floor, palms down and feel the warmth. Pull it out, draw it towards you using your magic.~_ he halted for a moment as Harry tried his best to do so, not entirely sure what he was doing and how he could 'pull magic out'. _~Concentrate only on the warmth, imagine it travelling up your hands, through your arms and into your chest.~ _those were more helpful instructions to follow, so he did as told and gasped when it worked, a heat moving underneath his skin. ~_Stretch out your hands and, much in the same fashion as before, release the warmth onto Nagini's head while saying** in Parseltongue**, 'Bond'._ Harry tried to do so, letting the heat seep into the scales on top of the snake's head, who closed her eyes as she basked in the warmth.

_~**Bond**~ _he spoke, loud and clear. Nothing happened. He didn't feel anything either and looked over to Voldemort, unsure of himself.

''Good,'' the man spoke. ''That clears up one of my questions, although I had figured from the way you have to focus on Nagini to even speak Parsel.''

''Figured what?''

''The deal was for me to** perhaps** share my findings with you after you successfully complete these rituals. Not in the middle of it when I don't know yet if you'll see it through to the end. As for the next part... ~_Nagini, remove yourself from the circle. Harrison, stay.~_ Harry got the feeling that the man got an intense pleasure out of commanding him around. ''Evan, take a piece of blackthorn and one of rowan.''

Looking at all the different branches around him, he hesitated, able to identify the rowan due to its distinctive leaves and having used it in potions before, but having no clue about blackthorn. There were a couple of thorny things lying around...

''That's Hawthorn,'' Voldemort sighed. ''Bartemius, help him.''

With a muttered 'M'Lord', Barty went up to Harry and nudge a particular branch his way, which Harry picked up with flushed cheeks. ''Sorry,'' he muttered, mortified about not even being able to identify simple things like plants. He sat with the two branches in each hand, feeling a bit stupid as he waited for the next instructions.

''Hold out the branches in front of you, yes, like that. Wands can transfer and focus our magic through its core, but the properties of the wood itself are what determines how strong spells of a certain type will be, and how loyal the wand is to its master. It is why wand makers can use a small selection of cores but need to have wands of all wood types in stock if they wish to ensure everyone finds a perfect match. The wood alone, without core, can still hold and transfer pure magic even if it cannot focus spells. You shall now do nearly the same as before, only transferring magic from your core into Nagini instead of warmth._ ~Dear, bite down on the sticks, will you?~_ The branches shook from the force as she struck down on them, fangs piercing the wood.

''Blackthorn is for discipline and control, Rowan for connection. Try, through this, to form a connection to Nagini's magic. Push your own magic through the branches and try to pull hers towards you.'' The snake looked at Harry with expectancy, so he gripped the branches as tightly as possible and concentrated. Voldemort's words about feeling the flow of warmth helped him to push his magic to the surface. Part of it was also remembering how Voldemort had done it while Harry had looked through the man's eyes. Harry had never in his life called upon only magic, he'd always wished for the result instead. It was quite the eye-opener.

He felt... something, this time. His head became light and his vision blurred a bit. Far away, he could hear Voldemort hissing in Parseltongue again, only now he didn't understand it very well. Odd. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he became aware of pain that spread out from his back to his limbs, as if he was being carved into. It continued for a long time, longer than he could recall this day being. Floating into nothingness, he smiled, stretching out a hand. The pain didn't bother him very much, hardly anything bothered him still...

With sudden clarity, he saw himself, slumped over and still clinging to the sticks in his hands. No, in between his teeth? Harry uncoiled himself and let go of the wood, horrified when his body fell to the ground, blood seeping from his back. He was in a state of panic now, swinging his head from left to right. It was warm here, comfortably so, but he still didn't want to stay. Looking up, he recognised his master. No, Voldemort, who watched with curiosity. He wished to go to the man, let himself be pet again, make sure that Marvolo was alright.

~**_Calm down_**~ All panic left and he obeyed, having no other choice at the compelling words. He put his head on the stone tiles, waiting, watching. ~_Good. Separate yourself from Nagini, Harrison.~_

Harrison? Was that his name?

~_You are your own person, your body lies there. Return to it. Take hold of the branches again and travel over.~_

Feeling nothing but mere curiosity now, Harrison did as he was told, gently taking the sticks and biting down again where punctures left by his teeth already dented the wood. It didn't take very long until he found himself scrambling up again in his own body - a confusing body, with far too many limbs. It took him a moment to recall that it was** normal** to have two legs and two arms. ''What...'' he said shakily as Nagini slithered away, unperturbed by the whole experience. ''What the hell was that?''

''Later. Carefully put the tips of those branches to the ground and let any access magic flow out.'' Following the orders, Harry more clung onto the wood in hope of not falling over again than anything else. His back was burning and his head spun. It was a good thing he listened to the advice of not eating, the out-of-body experience in Nagini had been a dozen times worse than looking through Voldemort's eyes had been. When finally drained, Barty broke the circle and hauled Harry to his feet.

''Go easy kid,'' he spoke. ''Don't fall unconscious here yeah?''

''Too.. hot,'' Harry mumbled, half out of it. After experiencing the room through Nagini's cold-blooded body, which was perfectly adapted to the room temperature, the heat was just stifling to his already warm blood.

''We'll get you out of here, just work a bit with me, 'kay?'' Half-leaning on the other man, Harry stumbled inside, sighing in relief as cool air hit his face. With a few flicks of Barty's wand, the old leather couch, which they'd shoved aside to make room, zoomed towards them and was cleaned. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but probably better right now than being put on the heap of blankets and pillows they'd arranged on the ground. A few moments later, Voldemort came into his blurred line of vision, sitting on a chair next to him.

''How'd I end up half-naked?'' Harry blurted out, only having realised it when his back his the leather.

''I didn't think it would calm your nerves to know I'd be carving in your back, so I removed it after you were in a trance and couldn't feel it anymore,'' Voldemort explained, showing a small, bloody dagger.

''Still... hurt,'' he grumbled back. ''Wha'appened?''

''Hmm, you did perform to the best of your abilities...'' the man spoke with a tone that suggested Harry's best was very disappointing. ''I suppose I can tell you a part. I wished to first and foremost find out where you being a Parselmouth comes from. While I had the idea that you could have received it from me, I could not rule out you being a natural speaker, with the Potter family mingling here and there. Today disproved that theory, you are not a naturally-born Parselmouth and, as a result, cannot use magic specifically designed in Parseltongue either. The second part of the ritual...'' he hesitated, then continued with a stronger voice. ''I'm putting a lot of faith in you here, but this does regard both of us. I wished to see if you could have the same connection to Nagini as you have with me, for Nagini and I are linked in the same way that I suspect the two of us are. Since you succeeded in taking over her body, I have the first step towards conformation. Tomorrow I still wish to try something else, since I cannot be one hundred percent certain yet from this alone.''

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his head clear enough to take everything in. He could see through Nagini's eyes like through Voldemort's? Did that mean he and Nagini also had the same connection? He didn't grasp why. His head was pounding again too, not helping him very much either. Letting his head fall back on the couch, he was lulled to blissful oblivion, unaware of Barty taking care to turn him over so Voldemort could heal his back. He woke to the smell of food and sat up, still feeling dizzy. He suspected that not having eating since yesterday evening also played a role in that.

He had no idea what time it was other than time for food, as his rumbling stomach kept telling him. Making his way to the kitchen, Harry was surprised to find it completely empty. Turning around, he tried to locate the smell and found himself being drawn back to the warm veranda. The circle was gone now, a cauldron standing in the middle, bubbling away, Voldemort sitting closely next to it with his wand pointed at the broth.

''Evan, good to see you have recovered. Go outside and gather an armful of barley. I located a full field about ten minutes from here, just keep walking straight. I expect you to return in thirty so hurry if you don't wish to have any... unpleasant consequences. There is a sickle to the side for cutting the stems.''

''What are you making?'' Harry asked, trying to peer into the cauldron.

''You shall see in thirty minutes if you come back with the grain,''

Sulking slightly at the answer and at the fact that it didn't look like his hunger was going to get stilled soon, Harry took the small hand-sickle and opened the door leading outside, stepping into the back field, which was filled with knee-high grass. He waded through it in a hurry, not feeling like being dragged back to the house by the invisible magic around his throat. What was going on that Voldemort needed** grain** of all things? It was certainly not a common potion ingredient...

He enjoyed the walk, glad to have some time to himself now, although he tried not to dwell on the sense of freedom too much. Harry was very well aware of that he was walking on a leash at the moment. Still, the sounds of crickets starting to chirp, the warm wind on his skin and the vast sky above him that was slowly starting to turn a darker blue on the horizon felt so **good**. He soon found the field and ducked right into it, hoping he would not be spotted stealing barley by any angry farmers. It did not look like anyone was up and about however. As Voldemort had asked for an armful, he took as much as he could carry, not wanting to be yelled at for not doing his job properly. The trek back was slightly harder as he struggled to hold the bundle together, especially as he still had to be careful where he stepped. The worn-down earthen tracks, which looked like they had been created by the large tires of a tractor of sorts, were not very steady. Finally, he made it back, the floor around Voldemort now littered with round, green candles that reminded Harry of apples a bit due to their shape and size.

''Are we doing another ritual already?'' he asked nervously.

''Yes and no... it is a ritual, technically, but not one that concerns you very much. You are welcome to participate of course. It is Lughnasadh after all.''

''And that is...?'' Harry said on a trailing off, questioning note.

''The harvest celebration, also known as Lammas by some Muggles. Merlin, I had expected you to have celebrated it last year during summer. Were you stuck with your family then too?''

''Actually, no, I was with the Weasleys,'' Harry shrugged. ''They didn't celebrate anything for harvest. I mean, they're not farmers...''

Voldemort sighed. ''Lughnasadh marks the end of summer and **used** to be an important tradition and celebration for magicians, much like Samhain and Yule.... which unfortunately have been replaced by their Muggle equivalents of Halloween and Christmas at Hogwarts,'' Voldemort grimaced. ''I'm not sorry for letting Quirinius interrupt your first Hogwarts celebration since they made a farce of what the feast is supposed to be.''

''Every generation does things a bit differently,'' Harry protested.

''Understandable, but when Magic herself feels shunned by her children, those changes went too far and are fundamentally wrong. Put the grain down here, on the cleaned stones, and go inside for a bit, this might get messy and I'd rather not have you covered in flour.''

''Flour?'' Harry asked incredulously.

''Yes child, flour,'' Voldemort snapped. ''Inside with you, I'm trying to bake.''

The strangest image of Mrs. Weasley running around her kitchen with Voldemort's head shot through his mind and Harry ducked inside quickly to not burst out into sniggers in front of the Dark Lord. He wandered around the house for a while, ending up in the kitchen where he stilled the worst of his hunger with a hunk of cheese and an apple, not trusting Voldemort's magical baking skills very much. Although Harry sure** was** curious how one baked bread in a cauldron, especially without adding any flour for so long.

''Hey kid, ready for the feast?'' Barty said, jumping into the kitchen, looking incredibly excited and scaring the living hell out of Harry.

''Damn it, you nearly gave me a heart attack!''

''Sorry,'' the man said very unapologetically. ''It is the first time in years that I will celebrate together with our Lord,'' he smiled. ''It brings back so many memories...''

''He used to do this sort of thing more often?''

''Of course! Any magician who thought of magic being worth a damn would sit together and honour Magic for her gifts on all of the Greater Sabbats at least, and often having smaller home celebrations for the Lesser ones. Although Yule and Ostara were also always celebrated with grand feasts despite being Lesser actually, mainly due to Muggle influence.''

''Some of my best friends come from Pureblood families and still didn't celebrate it,'' Harry said in defence to the Weasleys.''

''Yeah, neither did my family. I'm incredibly glad I got to know better wizards and witches,'' Barty just commented. ''Come on, you can come help me carry the whisky and the spell bottles.''

''Whisky? I certainly hope you don't plan on getting drunk.''

''Of course we'll get drunk! I haven't had the opportunity to get smashed in a decade, do grant me some fun!''

''There's no 'we' about it, I'm thirteen!''

''Fourteen today,'' Barty chirped. ''Congrats on that. Sorry that rituals got in the way.''

''That's... that's alright, you already got me dinner yesterday for it,'' Harry muttered. ''That is a lot more than I had expected this year in the first place. It might give trouble though, my friends often send me gifts. They might become wary if I am not there to receive them or don't write back.''

''That's all been taken care of. You wrote your family a letter that you'd be gone for a while did you not? Your friends have been informed.''

''What? Wait, how do you even know that!''

''Come on Evan, you don't really think that the Dark Lord would risk you being found missing and having search parties sent out, do you? From what I heard, Dumbledore wasn't very happy with your sudden escapade, but cannot do anything about it and will not waste resources trying to find you, since you've apparently left of your own free will.''

''You...'' Harry said, getting worked up. ''You wrote my friends letters? Without even** asking** me?''

''Look, I don't get why you're so surprised. You know that we want you to stay here for a while still, would you rather they be worried sick and then hound you for answers when you return?''

''Well, **no** but-''

''See? Everything fine and dandy then. Come now, it will really go faster if you carry some stuff too and tell Nagini to join us. I'd rather not get misunderstood when trying to shove her off the stairs.''

Letting the topic rest -for now- Harry helped the man with further preparations until Voldemort told the both of them to join him. More than an hour had passed since Harry had delivered the grain, from which only the stalks were left now. In the cauldron sat a large bread that smelled strongly of cinnamon and apples and which could have fed an entire family judging by the size. Harry tried not to think of all the other foul potion ingredients that had surely touched the inside of that cauldron such as pickled slugs, armadillo bile and bat spleens. He didn't succeed very well once he started trying his best to not think of it, the list of possible ingredients unhelpfully becoming longer in his head. As he sat down, he tried to focus on Voldemort rather than his own mind, which now continued with_ toad brain, mercury, gnat heads_ and _horklump juice_.

Voldemort waved his wand, the grass from the field outside growing considerably and making its way in, covering the tiles with a soft layer of grass, on which Barty sat down instantly, looking at his Lord with clear adoration. A few flicks later and the candles were lit, the firewhisky had been poured into three glasses and the cauldron melted away, leaving only the bread, which now rested on a conjured wooden platter. The smell of cinnamon increased as a quick Diffindo cut three slices out of it which floated over to everyone. Harry snatched his piece out of the air, finding it had more of a cake consistency than anything else. As his stomach rumbled yet again, the annoying voice in his head -which for some reason sounded a bit like Colin Creevey- reminded him of _frog spawn and rat tails_. 

A ripple went through the air that shocked Harry out of his thoughts and he looked at Voldemort, who had his eyes closed now, seeming to concentrate on breathing in and out deeply. Another wave went through the room and Harry realised that he was feeling the man's pure magic. His thoughts stilled at last and he enjoyed wave after wave, pleasant tingles running down his back with each one. Barty leaned back with closed eyes too, enjoying it far more openly. The sky outside had turned orange by now, the sun slowly setting and clouds forming in the sky that promised rainfall in the coming days. The candles around them flickered as a low hum started. For a few moments, Harry thought it came from Voldemort's magic vibrating through his body. Then, he noticed that while Voldemort was the source, it came from his mouth instead, which opened now and released a chant of low notes - far lower than Harry had thought possible considering the typically high, cold voice - before the man started a slow, deep song.

_Fields of gold,__  
_waves of grain,_  
_the summer comes to a close.  
____  
Oh God of the earth,  
teach me the secrets of sacrifice,   
as you deliver yourself to the knife.  
  
Oh Goddess of the dark moon,  
teach me the secrets of rebirth   
as the sun loses its strength   
and the night grows cold

_Fields of brass_  
waves of stalks,  
The autumn finds its start

As Voldemort grew silent and bowed his head, Barty sat up straighter and raised his hands, reciting rather than singing:  
  
_''I call upon the mages of the past,__  
_those who would stand up and fight,_  
_those who would do what is needed,  
those who would die so that others may live.  
Great Mother of Magic,  
My gratitude for the gift you gave me  
to protect those I hold dear on these waning days.  
We honour you in this time of harvest,_  
_and set our tables with your bounty full.''__

_He fell silent too and Harry felt quite self-conscious, not knowing if he was expected to do anything. In the end, he cleared his throat and simply spoke: ''Thank you for magic,'' glancing over at Voldemort, who nodded in approval. _

_The man then took a bundle of grain he'd apparently put aside before and levitated it in the air, where it went soaring through the open door and fell down on the field. _

_''We offer your own fruits, so that the next generation can grow,'' he spoke before taking one of the small bottles which held glittering contents. This as well, landed in the field.  
''We offer your gift, so that you may spread it further,''__  
_Lastly, he raised the bread and whisky.  
_''We offer our results of the skills and grain you granted us, so that we may live and enjoy life.''_

Taking that as a cue, Harry tore into the bread, the flavour of fresh apples and bread filling his mouth, tasting wonderfully. Far more carefully, he took a sip of whisky, instantly regretting it as he swallowed it down too fast and his throat was left burning. The other men only laughed as Harry tried to cough it back up, so he sent the both of them a glare. ''It gets better after the first taste,'' Barty winked. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out of it, Harry downed the rest, his head instantly becoming fuzzy. Surely, alcohol wasn't supposed to work** this** fast? His worries all fell away and he later vaguely recalled joining Barty in a silly dance and stuffing himself with the delicious bread as Voldemort watched them, unable to participate much due to his body.

When Harry finally came to, deep in the night, it was in his bedroom. A small wrapped package stood on the otherwise empty nightstand next to the bed, with his name on it. Carefully, he took it and turned it over in his hands, wondering what it could be. What he had not expected was to find a brown leather strap with a snake fang attached to it that had several runes carved into the surface, traced with red ink. It was obviously meant to be worn around the neck, yet he didn't put it on, wondering if it was a trap. He couldn't suddenly become **too **trusting. As Harry let the leather slide through his hands, he realised what this meant:

He'd gotten a birthday present from the bloody Dark Lord.


	10. Consortio

The second ritual wasn't any more pleasant than the first had been, nor were the third or fourth for that matter. The enjoyable atmosphere that he'd experienced at Lughnasadh was gone as he felt like a little rabbit whose reaction was being measured. At first, he was presented with three different objects, a diadem, a cup and a ring that all seemed to be drenched in dark magic. He could only tell because his scar always hurt when he touched them, so his jaws hurt from gritting his teeth together and trying to hold out on those days. Voldemort was a relentless bastard, Harry had decided, always pushing him to the next limit, having no qualms at all with carving a rune or two more in the teen's skin if he deemed it necessary. Barty seemed awfully relaxed about that, taking care of Harry after and talking as if he wasn't going through pain every day now. Then again, he** had** said he'd do it.

His birthday present hadn't come up. Perhaps Voldemort hadn't really expected Harry to wear it, he hadn't mentioned not seeing it around Harry's neck in either case. The teen had also not been very inclined to ask more about it, not exactly knowing where to start. The fang currently rested on his nightstand. Today, he was sitting in a circle again, of salt this time, waiting nervously for whatever was to come.

''We're through with the objects for now,'' Voldemort announced to Harry's great relief. The next one made his heart sink: ''We'll focus on magical blood compatibility today.''

''And what... does that mean?'' he asked cautiously.

''Since you come from a Muggle environment you probably know more about basic biology than most wizards -a knowledge gap I fully intend to fix in the future-, so I assume you've heard of blood groups?''

''Yeah, I'm O actually, O positive,'' he quickly said, hoping that might mean this whole ritual wouldn't be necessary. Like usual, he was wrong.

''I know, I had your blood on my hands often enough this week to take a sample and test it. You are a suitable donor for me biologically. What I am more curious about, is the magic carried over in your blood. Your mother sacrificed herself for you, leaving traces. Residue magic is most easily absorbed in either the brain or the blood, depending on the type of magic used. With this, it should be carried by your blood.''

''So our magic is in our blood cells?'' Harry asked hesitantly.

''Not exactly, only foreign magic that affects us can settle in either brain or blood. What we are born with is contained in a system of its own, which only opens up after a few years. Magic put upon us by outsiders however, due to it not being contained within that, already works the moment it is cast, no matter whether the person itself has access to their powers or not.''

''So... wait, you think my mother did something? That's what Dumbledore also said... he wasn't very specific though.''

''I am certain, sacrificial protection is a powerful thing, which I admittedly overlooked since no specific spell or rite was used. Did the old fool say anything more about it?''

''Something about you not realising it because you do not understand the power of love,'' Harry spoke, realising how stupid that sounded even to his own ears. ''That her love left its mark on me and would protect me forever.''

Voldemort released a small, almost surprised cackle. ''Honestly? That is... that sounds so like Dumbledore it's not even funny. Sacrificial protection has, first of all, nothing to do with whether the beneficiary was **loved** or not. If one of my followers takes a curse for me after being given a chance not to die, I would receive sacrificial protection too. Also, it does not last** eternally**. It needs to be strengthened constantly to keep working and even then, is prone to failure as time passes.'' Suddenly, Voldemort sunk into deep thought. ''Although that could explain... hmm, perhaps Dumbledore's ploy to put you with the Dursleys had slightly more merit than I thought. It is** possible**, purely theoretically, that you being around a direct blood relative of the one who sacrificed herself for your survival, would strengthen that bond. This is, mind you, not a proven theory in any way. You went back to those Muggles every year and still had visions of me, correct?''

Harry nodded curtly. ''That is true... it does give Dumbledore some credit,'' he added. ''To know he could have had a reason for putting me there beyond wanting to manipulate me is better than what you previously thought. How is it usually strengthened, if this theory isn't proven?''

''Multiple sacrifices,'' Voldemort shrugged. ''Some powerful wizards used exactly that to give them a shield of sorts, tricking others into sacrificing themselves constantly. With enough mind control and tricks it's doable. I always found it to be a rather low form of magic when used in that way. Fallible as well, it often only gives protection against the people who actually wanted to kill the beneficiary.'' Harry made a face, wondering what sort of people would do something like that.

''So it gives me a sort of protection against you since you were the one my mum sacrificed herself to in the first place... that makes sense, Quirrel couldn't touch me because of it right? Then again, you touched me before in the past weeks and only burned yourself when touching my scar.'' It was amazing how easily he could talk about his mother right now, when discussing a magical theory, as if it had happened to someone else.

''Complicated,'' Voldemort spoke slowly. ''As I said before, these things wane with time, it's been over two years since the incident with Quirinius. Also, the reserves of this magic are not limitless, it is likely that defending against me in Quirinius' body took away most of the leftover magic. It is not replenishable like reserves usually are, since the person who bestowed this upon you is dead. It most likely was dormant all those years since I wasn't there, then was wasted in one go and only a small bit is left behind.''

''So does that mean it is not the source of the connection?'' Harry frowned.

''No, it hampers it to be honest. This protective magic is actively fighting against the bond we share, which is exactly why your scar hurts every time we do connect. It wouldn't hurt at all, were it not trying to struggle so much.''

''That is disconcerting,'' Harry said nervously. ''I always thought it was you doing this actively.''

''If I wish to hurt you through your scar I certainly** can** do that, simply by focusing on this odd link we have. It is, however, not** caused** by it. Indeed, ironically, this protective magic hampers you from your potential, since it fights the foreign magic within you that establishes our bond.''

Harry rubbed his arms, uncomfortable with all the talking about how they were... bonded. ''I don't even precisely know what all of this connection stuff means,''' he muttered. ''How it came to be... I thought we were connected because you tried to kill me and the protective magic did something?''

''Oh no, nothing like that.'' He eyed Harry for a moment, then hesitated. ''This is one of the few things I cannot tell you yet, for it would endanger my life if you'd run off with this information. I may indulge if you will still not have shown any sign of defying me in the end, after the rituals are over.''

''Fair enough,'' Harry sighed. It wasn't as if he could blame his enemy for being cautious around him, it was a miracle that he even told this much. ''So for this whole blood thing...''

''Yes... I need to know if using your blood would cause me problems with the protection. It could either transfer the protective magic to my own blood, neutralising the effects entirely, or react violently against me. To find that out without putting myself in too much danger, we'll need to do a blood-bonding ritual.'' At Harry's horrified look, he explained further: ''It's nothing too drastic, think of it as Muggles who swear an oath to be blood-brothers. Considering our link, and the fact that we already have brother wands, it shouldn't be any more invasive than what we already have.'' Harry nodded at that, only then realising that Voldemort had said 'brother wands'. So he knew about that connection too, then? Had Pettigrew somehow come across that information in the years he'd spent as a rat, or had Voldemort reached that conclusion himself when studying Harry's wand?

Then he actually focused on the answer the Dark Lord had given. Maybe Voldemort saw connecting so lightly, Harry still shuddered at the thought of sharing even** more** with the man. He gulped, looking at the skeletal body. ''So what would be needed to complete this... blood-bond?''

''It's only a slightly more complicated casting than an unbreakable vow would be, and also functions with a binder.'' Not having understood half of that sentence, Harry just kept silent. ''Firstly, we'll both sit in the circle, opposite each other. We then share blood, share food, and chant the necessary spell; **_Adiuro mihi hunc hominem, Adiuro mihi hic sanguis, Alligatus ego inter hac consortio_**.''

''Err.. could you write that down?'' Harry hopefully asked, getting an annoyed look in return.

''They really should teach Latin at Hogwarts,'' Voldemort sighed. ''I always found that to be very lacking as well, it is the language most European spells come from and is essential for spell crafting.''

''So... what does it mean?'' the teen said when Voldemort had handed him a piece of parchment with the spell in elegant writing.

''In short, I bind this person and blood to me to bind myself in... fellowship.''

Harry grimaced again. ''Is that really necessary?''

A short chuckle followed. ''Once I regain my body we'll be bound much more than will be the case with** this**. Now, bring me into the circle.'' Reaching out, Harry picked the other up, surprised by how much heavier he was now compared to the last time Harry had held him. That was nearly two weeks ago, Barty had taken care of Voldemort most of the time, ever since the Death Eater had found out exactly who Harry was. Carefully, he placed Voldemort down, who held his blanket so he wouldn't be exposed. It was weird, sitting on the floor in front of the tiny Dark Lord. ''I don't have to go into your head again, do I?'' the teen nervously asked.

''I prefer if you stay out of there. Now, where did Barty go...''

''Here, my Lord,'' the man said, popping his head around the corner, ''I'm just preparing the cider and bread now. It will only take another moment.'' At that, Voldemort relaxed, cocking his head slightly to stare unnervingly at Harry, who looked away and pretended he didn't see it.

At long last, Barty entered, multiple items floating in front of him, including two candles, a long yellow ribbon, a plate with a piece of bread and a chalice and, of course, a knife. Quickly, without disturbing the salt circle, he placed the two candles down, a white one in front of Harry and a black one for Voldemort. The Dark Lord reached out, wrapping cold, slender fingers around Harry's forearm, who cautiously gripped the short and bony upper arm of Voldemort in turn. With quick movements, the ribbon was tied around them and the candles were lit. No-one spoke for the first part, Voldemort breathing deeply in and out. For a minute, absolutely nothing happened, until Harry felt a tingle of magic going up his arm and he had to do his best to stay seated. One second later, he doubled over as a force suddenly swept him off his feet. Gasping, he heard Voldemort saying something about the parchment. Concentrating, Harry said the spell out a single time as instructed, feeling something in his chest **pulling**.

He looked up as Barty pointed his wand at the ribbon from outside the circle and it began to glow, at the same time as Voldemort brought the goblet to his lips and took a sip from the cider. He floated it over to Harry after, who turned it around to avoid drinking from the same spot and emptied the rest. Harry then picked up the piece of bread and ate half, reaching the rest out to Voldemort. Afterwards, they both chanted the spell twice, the ribbon glowing brighter and tightening around their hands. Gulping, Harry looked onwards as Voldemort calmly brought down the knife on his own arm and made a quick cut, blood welling up instantly. With surprisingly steady fingers, Harry grasped a hold of the knife and did the same, all the while thinking that it couldn't hurt as much as Dudley's beatings had, or the teeth of the Basilisk piercing his skin. They chanted the spell three times now, hands loosening slightly to turn them, allowing their wounds to touch. The blood** flowed**, quite literally, into each other's gashes, a highly disturbing sight.

''Wrap it up Bartemius, **quickly**,'' Voldemort spoke in a more hurried tone than Harry had expected. He was usually incredibly calm during these things... Was the blood hurting him? Oddly enough, Harry felt no reaction at all.

Barty nodded and brought the wand up, the ribbon untangling itself and the light dimming. ''So mote it be,'' he gravely spoke, and the piece of cloth burned up in mid-air.

Before Harry had any chance to react, Voldemort summoned his own wand and pointed it at Harry's arm, which was held into place by a very painful and shockingly strong grip. ''**_Tergeo, Tergeo! Episkey_**,'' Voldemort spoke, watching as the blood was first sucked up, out of the wound, which then healed. He didn't seem to be done however, pointing it at Harry's stomach now, where a green glow appeared.

''What are you doing?'' Harry asked, panicking as Voldemort obviously had lost his cool.

''Our blood is magically compatible with each other, it seems,'' Voldemort spoke, although his face never broke out of his concentrated expression. ''And yours is biologically with mine... that does not mean, however, that I can give you** my** blood without consequences. I have A positive, I cannot be a donor to you and am now checking to see if our blood mixing caused any negative reactions. A transfusion would have your kidneys failing pretty soon, I wasn't entirely sure how much would get into your actual bloodstream with this, so I had to remove it as fast as possible.'' Finally, he withdrew his wand. ''Not that there was much of a risk, certainly none with instant treatment available,'' he nonchalantly added, having Harry seething.

''You should have told me!''

''Why? It wouldn't have made a difference to your participation, and would only have served to increase your nerves, making you more likely to botch this.''

''You really think incredibly lowly of my capabilities to handle things, don't you?''

Voldemort looked up, frowning. ''On the contrary, you've survived much more than most could have. Had I not thought you capable, I would have not involved you in this ritual at all and used more crude methods to find out these results.'' At Harry's still doubtful look, he merely shrugged a single shoulder. ''Believe what you want Evan, you do not need to trust me.'' A slight guilt settled in Harry's stomach at that and before Barty could safely remove the circle and cross through, the teen had already picked Voldemort up and held the man to his chest.

''It's more about** you** not trusting** me**,'' he objected. ''I'd have preferred to have been told of you needing to fix any possible damage so I wouldn't have been freaking out when you didn't let me leave.'' He did not receive a reply other than Voldemort steadying himself by grabbing onto Harry's shirt. ''How many rituals are still left?''

''Two,'' Voldemort spoke, the answer surprising Harry.

''Honestly? I thought we'd be doing this for the better part of the remaining month.''

A chuckle came from below. ''I do not need to experiment endlessly to draw conclusions. I shall use the remaining weeks to prepare for full resurrection, first adapting the ritual I had in mind before. Much depends on you, however.''

Harry carefully lowered the man on the couch in front of the fireplace again and took a step back. ''How so?''

The other studied his face for a moment, making him once more uncomfortable. ''I require your blood one last time for it. The only question you will need to answer is if you give it willingly or not.'' Harry instantly rubbed the spot the wound on his arm had been mere minutes ago. Give his blood again, and for the man's new body? He had upheld his word on the rituals in exchange for his life, did the final one count in on that? It sounded as if there was a backup plan in place for if he wouldn't give it... As used as he'd gotten to being here and partaking in these experiments, he'd heard very little of what they'd been for.

''What if I will not? Can you not use one of those vials of my blood you extracted already?''

A displeased look crossed the Dark Lord's mind. ''I'd rather not, and ask that you think carefully upon your answer. You may leave now.'' The sudden dismissal was not entirely unwelcome, so Harry made sure he got out fast. Interacting with Voldemort was so... peculiar. Harry was always left both intrigued and disturbed, having to keep on his toes to not ask the wrong questions. Being able to have his questions answered at all was already a great step forward though: the Dursleys had punished him instantly upon even asking and Dumbledore had usually not answered them seriously, if at all. On the other hand, every conversation he and Voldemort had seemed to lead to** more** issues with which he didn't know what to do.

First and foremost was his wondering about why he was allowed to stay here with so much freedom. Secondly, he still didn't know what would happen after summer. In Voldemort's mind he vaguely recalled something about the man thinking of letting him go, which didn't make much sense. Yesterday, after the fourth ritual, he'd asked more about mind-magic since it looked like they had been studying that to his untrained eye. Voldemort had explained much about Occlumency and Legilimency, adding that Dumbledore was a master Legilimens who used it often on his students. Would Dumbledore then not be able to read right from Harry's mind that Voldemort was back?

So many topics arose that he got curious about with every conversation they had: Grindelwald and him not being a real Dark Lord; Dumbledore's past, which Voldemort and Barty had both hinted at being shady; the strange link between Harry and Nagini; and last but not least; all of the wonderful magic that was displayed constantly and easily. It was so strange: They were in a Muggle house, yet the air seemed to breathe with magic ever since Voldemort had recovered enough. Harry had once thought that the Burrow was wonderful since magic seemed to be everywhere... now he knew that that had not been the case. While many spells were cast to take care of the household and many magical items lay and stood around, magic had not filled the house, not to** this** extent. It somehow became stronger each day too. Every single time Voldemort cast magic, it thickened, strengthened. Harry shuddered to think how it would feel after Voldemort had regained a body.

Harry sat down on his bed and picked up the small fang from his nightstand. One **more** thing he still hadn't dared raise a word about. He held it up and let himself fall back onto the blanket, thoughts still milling away. Every single time he thought of the coming weeks now, it seemed to spiral to the resurrection the Dark Lord would undergo. Why was it that Harry accepted it so easily? Should he not be fighting tooth and nail to prevent it? He felt cold and alone, wishing he could get advice from someone outside of this house. There was no-one who could help him with this though... and from the words he'd heard from both Barty and Voldemort, this ritual would take place: neither had voiced even the possibility of anything going wrong, as if the future was already set in stone. Did both of them just expect him to go along with it?

Yes, he thought miserably. He hadn't exactly shown much resistance, and apart from some vague thoughts of justice, he didn't** want** to resist anymore either. If he was completely, entirely honest... Voldemort had shown him more compassion and care than anyone had in a long time. Having looked into the man's head, he also knew it to be** real**, not some fabricated lie to keep him complacent. Deep inside, if he for one minute pushed aside his own grudges, the pain of losing his parents and everything he'd heard about Voldemort from Dumbledore, Hagrid and his frightened classmates... if he looked at Voldemort as only the person he'd come to know in the past weeks, he** wanted** to believe in him. To believe in the task of saving magicians.

Harry let out a short laugh. How absurd that was! Perhaps he really had been brainwashed. Standing up again to have something to do apart from listening to the circles his own head spun him in, Harry went downstairs, pleased to find that Barty was in the kitchen, checking out the quality of their food. Not having a working fridge really did suck... ''Isn't there a spell to keep it frosty in that cabinet or so?'' he inquired.

''Evan! Good to see ya up and about. Course there is, I'm just not going to use it. It costs far less energy to walk five minutes into town every couple of days than to keep a spell like that running day and night. I could just freeze it over once but then it would melt again. It only wouldn't take up any effort if bound to an object, but I'm not about to carve runes and shit in this thing, thank you very much. I have enough on my mind.''

''Oh?'' Harry had gotten the idea that Barty didn't do much of anything apart from reading books and keeping Voldemort company.

''I go out at night a lot,'' Barty shrugged. ''Getting some necessities, checking up on the location of certain people, that sort of thing.

''Barty, can you tell me something? It might be a bit personal though...''

The man leaned against the counter and devoured an apple before he said: ''Can't promise you I'll say anything. Just shoot, I'll see after if I want to answer.''

''How did you come into Voldemort's service in the first place? You were in Ravenclaw so couldn't have had many contacts yet... and you were at Hogwarts still right?''

A bright grin lit up Barty's entire face as he relived what was probably the best day of his life. ''Ah, **that**. Now that I'd love to elaborate on. Take a seat!'' Hoping he later wouldn't regret having asked and having to sit here for hours, Harry complied. ''You see Evan, growing up, I was always surrounded by the **top** of society. All the politicians my dear father, the great Bartemius Crouch, worshipped. All the men and women who did their best to **protect** this country.'' He sneered deeply. Harry leaned closer as Barty finally revealed more of his story. ''As a child, I saw what both of my parents couldn't see: those same people striking up deals behind their backs, treating themselves on the gold of the common folk, abusing their power. The worst part was that none of them had any power that mattered. No magical geniuses, hardly anyone with a brain that wasn't fed by greed or selfishness. I grew older and tried to show it to my father, who always grew angry at even the mention of his colleagues being involved in shifty deals. That was when I realised the truth: that my own father wasn't a bit better.

Right before Hogwarts, I found out about several deals he had made with extremist light wizards to gain their political support: subduing anyone who was even suspected of practising dark magic or having anything to do with the Dark Lord, who was already quite powerful by then. I was furious when I found out and didn't speak to him anymore for the last week of August. I even refused to let him bring me to the station, escaping on my own to go to Diagon Alley for my school supplies and then to King's cross... that day was when I first ran into Him, on pure stupid luck. I'd wanted to see Dark wizards up close, wanted to see what my father was so paranoid about, so I snuck into Knockturn alley. The Dark Lord was there, buying books from Borgin and Burkes,'' Barty laughed at the memory. ''He looked shocked that a small child would wander in there and saved me from being assaulted by a witch selling poisoned addictive candles and more of that stuff. The magic he used to chase her away sent thrills through my spine, I'd never felt anything like it...'' a longing note entered his voice. ''I knew then that I would follow this man to the end of the earth, had a long talk with him in a corner of the shop. He showed me all kinds of artefacts and explained their purposes... It was only when Mr. Borgin came out that I heard my saviour was the actual Dark Lord.''

''That must have been a shock.''

'''Course, but at the same time I was excited as hell. He made me promise to do well at school and gave me a protective charm, can you believe it? I was a bit disappointed when I ended up in Ravenclaw to be honest, I'd wanted to honour him by becoming a Slytherin.'' Barty shrugged. ''Found out later that it wasn't a problem, thankfully. In the following summers I ignored my parents for most of the time and father got obsessed with rising to the top, had this big dream of becoming Minister of Magic if he could only lock up enough people, whether they were proven to be guilty of anything or not. I usually tried to sneak out to Knockturn, hoping I would cross paths with Him once more. Nothing, of course, he didn't hang out there regularly. At school I had become rather vocal about my beliefs to any Slytherin who would hear it, knowing they'd keep quiet about it towards the teachers. It became much easier once I entered an exclusive club ran by the Head of Slytherin House, Slughorn. I'd passed my OWL's with top marks, granting me a place in. I'd been made an offer before, due to my connections in the Ministry, but declined since I wasn't planning on leeching of dear daddy's ill-gained fame.''

''So what was this club about?''

''It was to bring together those students who showed promise to make something of their life: become famous, get top careers, that sort of thing. Slughorn helped us form connections with those people we wanted, although sadly he wasn't too keen on the Dark Lord, deadly afraid of him in fact. Now that I think of it, your mum also used to be in that club,'' Barty frowned. ''She was one of Slughorn's favourites even though she hardly attended in her last years at Hogwarts as she was so busy studying for NEWT's and going out with Potter. I only got into the club in my sixth year however, so she'd already graduated by then. Anyhow, many Slytherins were there, also with connections to Death Eaters. Within a few months I had gained enough trust to be invited over for Yule to a special gathering. That was the second time I met the Dark Lord, even more glorious than the first, if not as personal. I saw for the first time how he treated his followers, the power he commanded, the ideas he put on the table. I agreed instantly with his plans for the world and was bold enough to approach him after dinner.''

''You weren't afraid to get hurt?''

''I didn't care, I wanted to get closer,'' Barty grinned. ''He seemed amused by it, and even remembered me from all those years ago. He's got a brilliant memory and always took care to know anyone around him inside out to use that to his advantage. I spent half an hour talking about all sorts of things, mainly about Hogwarts, my parents and my ideas of how the country was run right now.''

''You make it sound as if he were civil,'' Harry commented, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. ''I thought you said it all went downhill in the first war? This was only a couple of years before the war ended right?''

''True, that, but that was of course not the front that the Dark Lord put up, and it wouldn't have failed had others not been so incompetent and greedy for glory themselves. They were falling over themselves to please him, so much that they often ignored his orders to 'go the extra mile' and then failed his plans. Then there were of course his fanatical enemies too, including my own father, who did everything in their power to ensure not a drop of dark magic would ever see the light of day. No, I do not blame the Dark Lord himself for the war going the way it did...'' As Barty sunk into thoughts of the past, Harry pondered on what he'd heard. It certainly looked like Barty at least wasn't following Voldemort for any evil reasons. That did ease his mind somewhat, he'd been afraid to find out before. Harry didn't necessarily agree to his words, but that didn't matter as much right now. It was good to know that this blind worship rooted in an ideology against corruption, not in favour of it.

''Anything else you'd like to know?'' Barty said, taking a chair himself and sitting on it the wrong way around, letting his lower arms dangle off the back of the seat.

''Lots of things, none of which I have confidence in that you'd be able to or would want to answer,'' Harry wryly said. ''Mostly to do with my stay here, my release and the results of the past days.'' Barty pulled an apologetic face that told Harry enough.

''You should ask him directly,'' the man suggested. ''He's not exactly secretive about plans that you are involved in.''

''Secretive enough,'' Harry disagreed.

The other man stretched and got up again, looking restless. ''You just need to prove yourself to him, and that is best done by talking in my opinion. Really, he may be a difficult person to be around and not exactly kind... but that doesn't make him unreasonable. While not forthcoming with information himself very much, the Dark Lord usually offers answers to whatever you wish until the point where it would be dangerous or harmful for you to know. That is, if you work with us.''

''I don't know what to do!'' Harry huffed out in frustration, finally snapping with all the questions buzzing around in his head. ''It all goes so fast! One day I am being told bad stuff about Voldemort, the next I am taking care of him, and now you tell me he's the good guy? I'm sorry, but I only have his **own** word for that, and yours, who practically kisses the ground he walks on!''

''For good reasons,'' Barty interrupted with a quick smirk.

''I just... argh! I need to somehow let out steam but I'm **stuck** here. I do not want to just sit around and talk all day when I know it's only going to bring more things to talk about, you know?''

''Want to blow shit up, kid?''

Harry blinked, wondering if he'd heard that correctly, still breathing heavily from his rant, although he was proud of himself for not starting to scream as he'd felt like. Barty hadn't done anything to deserve being his stress outlet. ''I... guess?'' he warily replied, images of Barty cackling madly and running with crates of TNT down to the village. ''As long as no-one gets killed?''

Wordlessly, Barty gestured for him to follow and then to wait in front of Voldemort's room as the man slipped in. Harry didn't hear a single word being said during the time Barty was in there, but when the other returned, it was with a victorious smile and... a wand. Wide-eyed, the teen grasped the offered handle. ''Seriously?''

''You'll have to give it back after, but yeah. Sorry that I couldn't give you your own. Albeit I nicked another wand that works better for me, your own is still traced. It's not such an easy spell to break and the Dark Lord has other things on his mind at the moment. Come on, let's go outside, we have enough disturbance wards put up over the back field by now that no-one in the vicinity should see or hear the explosions.''

''What are those?''

''A type of privacy ward... Basically a barrier that distorts reality between two spaces: anyone looking from outside in only perceives the reality they expect, in this case an empty meadow. Combined with notice-me-not charms and a repelling ward, it's not possible for any Muggles to wander in and break through the disturbance ward either. We should be safe to let out some violent magic. What's the most destructive spell you know?''

''Err, Bombarda, but I cannot actually cast it successfully yet. A friend of mine is rather good at it.''

''Perfect time to practise then.'' They went through the glass veranda and stepped out into the open field. Harry breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh air. It was different somehow from going into town... there he knew that he'd have to be careful to not attract any attention, that he'd always have someone's eyes on him. Here, there was nothing but a vast field of knee-high yellowed grass and summer flowers. Nothing except for Barty, who was busy dong his own thing, transfiguring the grass into targets and instantly firing his first spell, which left a purple X on the hay before the target collapsed in on itself. Harry didn't really know many spells with which he actually** could** let off steam if he was entirely honest. Hogwarts didn't exactly offer a great repertoire of duelling spells, so he stuck mostly to Incendio and Expelliarmus -even if the latter didn't do much to an object made of grass- .

After about an hour, his shirt stuck to his back from the sweat. The heat was maddening and not ideal for any type of outside physical exercise. Harry still refused to stop, loving this new experience of just letting go and hurling magic around. Another added bonus was that Barty turned out to be a surprisingly good teacher, helping Harry with his stance, movements and pronunciation to get a far more powerful effect. He still didn't get Bombarda down to a T, but at least managed to cause a few tiny explosions, which he was incredibly proud at. He paused for a moment, letting himself fall down in the grass and observing the Death Eater, who had a crazed expression on his face as he threw spell after spell that Harry had never seen, not looking tired in the slightest.

''How** do** you do that,'' he commented. ''I'm used to hours of Quidditch training in every weather and even I'm dead beat already.''

Barty turned around, eyes glowing with elation. ''Magic,'' he simply said. ''When you learn how to, releasing certain types of magic will give energy back rather than drain you. Also... I've had to keep my powers in for over a decade, I will use every drop of sweat I have to cast now.'' The words sounded both bitter and pained, so Harry decided not to go deeper into that, not wanting to upset Barty while the man was on a roll with casting curses. He still did have some self-preservation left. It was almost as relaxing to see the Death Eater release his stress as doing it on his own, so Harry only got up now and then when he felt he had energy to spare again to improve his spellwork. Night-time fell quicker than anticipated, stars slowly appearing overhead. Finally, when the targets became shades among the shadows of the waving field, they headed back inside the dark home, nearly automatically ending up in Voldemort's room.

It was different today, somehow. Perhaps it was because Harry had cast magic again, perhaps due to the blood ritual of this morning, or maybe just because Barty was in such high spirits. No matter the reason, Harry felt almost comfortable and giddy despite being so close to Voldemort. Nagini instantly searched him out to be petted, Barty curled up in a corner with a book and Voldemort had already been reading. He let his fingers glide over Nagini's scales as he looked into the fireplace, feeling as if a weight had fallen off his shoulders, being able to relax completely for the evening. The warmth of the flames made him sleepy. Combined with the darkness of the room around him -which was only further lit by the two candles the other occupants used to decipher their tomes -, Harry wasn't surprised to find himself nodding off, now and then jerking awake slightly again when he threatened to topple over.

He couldn't recall when he'd moved -or been moved?- but at one point, he found himself lying down on a soft blanket right in front of the couch. Rolling around, he looked up, seeing Voldemort's tiny hand stick out above him. It was still night and only a few glowing embers were left in the hearth. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Upon turning, Harry released the breath he'd sucked in when noticing it was only Barty, who turned around in his sleep.

This was his chance.

The thought came out of nowhere, and got his mind working quickly. From what he'd gathered, Voldemort controlled the choking spell on his neck actively. As both he, Barty and Nagini were all asleep, no-one was there to stop Harry if he just wanted to run away. Hell, he could take any of the three wands in this room and do what he'd originally come here for... Trembling and with thudding heart, Harry fully rose to his feet, looking down on the peacefully slumbering Dark Lord. Harry started breathing faster as possibilities shot through his head like Quaffles through hoops. Grab the wands, slit Voldemort's throat, stun the others, run away... He could leave this house behind forever, no more weird rituals to participate in...

_Also no friendly faces anymore for the rest of summer,_ a small voice reminded him._ No stories about your parents..._ That was a ridiculous thought, he tried to assure himself. Voldemort was the entire reason he didn't have any personal stories with them.

_No answers _anymore, the voice continued. _No magic apart from the limited spells they dare to teach at Hogwarts. No wonderful celebrations of magic. And you'll always have to live with the doubt of whether or not you did the right thing. What was that about second chances? Do you honestly believe that Voldemort would harm your friends still?_

Harry sank back down on the floor, tugging at his hair in frustration, trying not to make any noise. He peeked up at the half of Voldemort's flat, serpentine face that was visible. Then, his eyes wandered down further and rested on the book the man had been reading. '_Lord of the Rings'_, a Muggle fantasy bestseller. It was so comical that he almost laughed out loud. A Dark Lord reading about another Dark Lord ruining an entire world... Voldemort enjoying a book written by a Muggle about magic.

Turning around, he looked at the wand which taunted him from the mantelpiece, then grit his teeth and lay back down on his blanket. He couldn't give this up anymore, this unusual understanding between him and his former worst enemy. He'd be damned if he wouldn't at least give Voldemort a** chance** like he would have given it to any other person. From tomorrow onwards, he'd even wear the damned necklace.


	11. of Magic and Souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before that I got some questions about:  
\- During the ritual with Nagini, what Voldemort carved into Harry's back were merely runes to ease the process, nothing more. it will not have any long-lasting effect.  
\- About the title of last chapter, i picked this word because of its double Voldemort translated it, 'fellowship', is one possible translation. Alternatively, it can also mean 'company, 'brotherhood' or 'partnership', where later the word consort came from. So, to those wondering: yes, the ritual will ahve some consequences, since it was stronger than Voldemort made Harry believe.

Carefully, Harry stepped up to the door, raising a hand to knock, then wavered. Perhaps he should just head back to his room, or start cleaning or doing something else. Surely, Voldemort wasn't so bored that he'd be fine with getting all of Harry's troubles out of the way? He glanced down at the scrawled list in his hand, feeling a bit silly for even writing it. Questions for Voldemort, even to him the idea of sitting down and demanding answers sounded ridiculous now. The peaceful moment of yesterday evening had entirely slipped away, leaving only traces of a memory he wished to relive. This morning, he'd found Barty already gone and the room cold, and Harry had snuck out quietly to the kitchen so as to not disturb the Dark Lord.

His hand dropped and Harry was already turning away to leave when the door opened. Not able to change his mind about coming here now, he stepped inside, seeing Voldemort's hand retreat behind the back of the couch again. Wandless magic still never failed to awe Harry no matter how often he saw it.

''You should make up your mind a tad faster,'' the man drawled. ''Close the door and tell me why you came here.''

Harry fumbled with the paper in his hands, feeling like an absolute fool. ''I, uhm... have been thinking about a lot of... stuff... lately.'' _Great start Harry_, he sarcastically told himself. _You already sound like a stuttering idiot._ Taking a deep breath he continued with a slightly steadier voice: ''I had some questions that I think only you could answer.''

''I do hope that you are smart enough to not come here** expecting** me to just tell you everything you desire to know? Cooperation or not, you are still my prisoner.'' The voice was much colder than he'd ever heard it being and Harry's stomach dropped. Had he done anything wrong? Voldemort had never uttered the word 'prisoner' before...

''N-No, I hoped that maybe, you'd be willing to explain some things to me that I don't quite understand.'' He walked up to the couch, halting right next to it so he could look at the small form that was huddled up in the blankets. While the Dark Lord's expression was blank, Harry could practically **feel** dissatisfaction waving off of him, which confused him quite a bit. He'd been good at reading the Dursleys' moods so he could avoid them on their worst days, but other than that he was hardly the most empathic person on the planet. ''Is everything alright?'' he asked, more concerned than he ought to be. His questions were forgotten and he stuffed the piece of paper in his back pocket as he observed the lines in Voldemort's face shift, deepening into a frown.

In a clipped tone, the man replied: ''Not quite. It is not your concern.''

''Is it not?'' Harry softly asked, daring to sit down on the leftmost corner of the couch, glancing to his right. Annoyed eyes turned their gaze upon him.

''I doubt you could relieve my burden,'' the man sneered. ''Now, out with your questions.''

Getting worked up, Harry spoke, slightly louder: ''Look, just let me at least** try** to help you!'' An indescribable sense of unease settled into his chest. He had the strangest feeling that it would only get better if Voldemort's mood would clear. Instinctively, he reached out, grabbing the man's hand in his before the other could pull away. Muddled thoughts of fear, impatience and worry filled his head instantaneously, so sudden that he almost dropped the hand again. Most likely, Harry would have let go, if not for the fact that Voldemort's demeanour changed as soon as they had touched, lines disappearing from his face.

''Harry, you shouldn't...'' He really did drop the hand now, both because of the warning tone and since it was the first time that his actual name had been mentioned in this house.

''Sorry, I didn't... I wanted-''

''I know,'' Voldemort sighed. After a silence that lasted far too long, he finally added softly: ''That did help.''

It was the closest that Harry was going to get that resembled gratitude, so he decided to not let the silence drag out again and instead asked: ''What is going on exactly?''

''Influence from the ritual of yesterday. It turned out stronger than anticipated, I have been...** feeling** you constantly today. The day before too, but to a far lesser extent. This outcome is highly undesirable since you are not well-versed in Occlumency yet and thus cannot shield your emotions from me. It would seem that an emphatic link developed due to our sharing of magic and blood. It is... frustrating me.''

''Look, I understand that you don't trust me after I tried to attack you and all,'' Harry started, instantly earning a suspicious look. ''But it would really help us both if you would disclose all you know about these links between us: why I can look into your head, why I have visions of you at all, why we have brother wands, why this whole... connection, was even established. I understand there was a prophecy regarding us that was set in motion but it doesn't explain most of it really.'' He noticed that he certainly had Voldemort's attention now.

''Brother wands?'' Ah, so he hadn't known about that then. Right, how could he have, when Harry had not told many other people about it? Maybe he'd somehow expected Voldemort to instinctively know about it when seeing the wands close together.

''That is what Ollivander told me,'' he disclosed reluctantly. ''The cores both have a phoenix feather of the same bird.'' He didn't think the Dark Lord would appreciate knowing that it was from **Dumbledore's** bird, so left that detail out.

''I see... so, what would you knowing the answer to your question bring me apart from a possible information leak?'' The tone was positively frosty now, not what Harry had really hoped for.

''Oh, I don't know, maybe because if we would** both** know what is going on with us, we could work on a solution together? Because perhaps I am the only one of us who actually had these whole connection visions and it seems to be stronger on my end? I also don't really** enjoy** this, I'll have you know! The sooner we learn to get this link under control, the better. I certainly know that I can work much more easily on it if I have a clue as to what it comes from!''

''This is complex magic far beyond your level.''

''And these are complex feelings that are apparently beyond** your** level so if we both get over that I think we should do splendidly!'' Harry snapped, instantly regretting it when a suffocating cloud of magic surrounded him from all sides and squeezed hard. ''Are you really going to use violence again?'' he wheezed out as well as he could with his chest being constricted. ''I somehow had hoped we'd be over this point!''

Voldemort moved now, much faster than expected, until his face was close to Harry's, eyes blazing. ''And **I** had hoped that you would stop showing me** disrespect**! I-'' he broke off and retreated minimally, the restricting magic easing up, which Harry used to suck in as much oxygen as possible. He tried to jerk away as the man's hand reached up, but couldn't, still held into place.

''You're wearing it,'' Voldemort spoke, touching the fang that dangled from its leather cord around Harry's neck.

''Wasn't I meant to?''

''In time, yes... I hadn't expected...'' a current of emotions overcame Harry again and he closed his eyes to try and block it out, not knowing what to do with these feelings of** relief** and **happiness**. ''Very well, as long as you keep in your comments, I shall indulge in your curiosity. Now that you are wearing this, there is less danger in it too.''

''Danger in what?''

''Making you privy to some of my... more confidential information. I told you about Dumbledore being a master Legilimens. I designed this to block any attempts to invade your mind. Unless he forces you to look directly into his eyes up close, your secrets should be safe. I certainly hope that, with the knowledge of his powers that you now have, you can prevent the old man from doing so. Mind you, that trinket is not yet entirely finished, I shall still work on it when I have access to my complete powers.''

''So your gift to me was to protect your own secrets?'' Harry bitterly said.

Voldemort only raised an eyebrow at that. ''It protects** all** of your thoughts, not only those linked to me. Furthermore, this means that I can give you the answers you so desperately want. If you do not wish for that...''

''No!'' Harry quickly threw in, finally able to completely break free of the magical hold. ''Please, I need to understand!''

''Before that, let me ask you something. Do you plan on informing anyone of my return when I let you go?''

Harry had been thinking so much about that himself that he was startled by being asked so directly. He'd expected Voldemort to be all sneaky about it or something, perhaps even to do something to physically prevent him from saying anything. ''No,'' he answered in all honesty. Perhaps Voldemort** had** asked so directly exactly because he had the ability to know when being lied to. ''That is, not if you were truthful about your intentions. After being here, getting to know you at least a bit, I think you deserve a chance to do the right thing. For Magic, for all of us. As long as you really do not start killing everyone again who disagrees with you, I'll protect your secret. And also...'' he took a deep breath, ''I'll give you my blood of my own free will, so you may live again and advance your plans.''

The air turned static as a rush of gratitude hit Harry. ''Good,'' Voldemort whispered, his entire posture relaxing. ''Although I may have to add to that, while I indeed do not wish for mindless slaughter, I cannot make any promises to not murder anyone. If they pose a threat to me, if they try to rally people against me... Especially Dumbledore needs to die for any of my ideas to gain a hold inside of the Ministry and Hogwarts.''

''I know that I cannot prevent you from doing that,'' Harry answered. ''I... accept that. You should know however, that if you target anyone who is important to me, I will fight you with everything I have.'' He felt guilty towards Dumbledore, but truly could not trust the man enough anymore to consider the Headmaster to also be under his protection. As for anyone else... this was not his war, he reminded himself strongly. He'd never chosen to protect anyone other than those who had shown him kindness. The reason why he had gone after the philosopher stone was because he thought Snape had been behind it and Snape had despised him. He'd only rushed to the Chamber of Secrets once it posed a threat to his best friend's little sister, and he had become involved with the whole Dementor mess in his third year since he'd first wanted to extract vengeance on Sirius and afterwards wanted to protect his godfather. When looking at it from that point of view, Harry found that he was really quite a selfish person.

''It is alright,'' Voldemort spoke, giving Harry's hand a single pat before retreating to his original spot. ''This war and its consequences are mine to bear, not yours. If you will face me in battle in the end, I shall consider you a worthy opponent. I do sincerely hope that it is not necessary. You should live the life I denied to you before, Harry Potter.''

''Evan,'' he corrected, feeling unnerved being called by his real name like that. ''I feel... more comfortable with that. I know I have to return to being Harry again eventually but for the next weeks I wish to forget about being Harry Potter and everything that is associated with that name.''

Voldemort gave a small, acknowledging nod. ''I'd be the last to judge you for choosing to hide from the person you were born as,'' he spoke. His shoulders hunched slightly as he stared pensively into the fire. ''I am afraid however, that you will need to face at least part of who you are if you seek out answers.'' Harry dipped his head to show he understood. ''Very well. I have told you before that I am immortal, which you undoubtedly have realised by the fact that I am still here after being hit by my rebounded Killing Curse. To make a complicated process short: I cannot fully die since I made sure that parts of my soul are still tied to this earth. I shall not go deeper into the how and what apart from this: to do so, I need to kill a person each time I strengthen my connection to the earth. I tried to use deaths that were planned already to not waste any further lives apart from times where I was younger and more desperate. Yours was a prime example: you had been prophesised to vanquish me, so I set out to erase you from this world, yet did not wish to let your life go to a complete waste.''

Horror filled Harry as he realised where this conversation was going. He stopped breathing, suddenly feeling suffocated. No, no, it couldn't be! Voldemort continued in a monotone voice.

''I performed the ritual necessary to set the enchantments in motion to increase my immortality... When I died instead, it seems that the ritual affected me, for I did not leave whole. A part of me was left behind, seeking the first magical living being in its vicinity to attach itself to. That was you. Since then, you have carried a piece of my soul in you.''

The reality of the situation crashed down on him. Harry didn't even know** what** to feel. ''Oh God...I have...'' he rasped. ''Your** soul**?''

''Indeed. That is where your ability to speak Parsel comes from, together with the ability to connect yourself to my mind.''

''Wait, Nagini... those objects...''

''You're rather quick on the uptake for once. Indeed, each of those also contain my soul, protecting it to ensure I live eternally. So you see, with this knowledge, no matter what the rest of the prophecy says, it would be incredibly foolish of me to kill you. First of all I am not even sure if it would succeed: those vessels get rather sturdy and normally a Killing curse is not enough to destroy them.''

Harry trembled all over and curled in on himself. Of course, it all made such perfect, logical sense. The scar, the pain, their** cursed bond**. Unable to help himself, he grabbed his head, digging his nails into his own forehead, wishing he could tear the scar right out, to get rid of the piece of soul that he could only imagined clinging to his. ''So that is why you won't kill me?'' Harry bit out, feeling sick. The Dark Lord perhaps felt his emotions through the blood-bond, for he was quick to continue:

''That is only my explanation for why I shan't kill you in even the most extreme situations now I have found this out. I had planned to leave you mostly alone in the first place. The only exception to that being if you would put yourself directly in my way. Now, I would not murder you even then, although, if you do stand up against me, I shall certainly remove you from any position in which you could pose a threat.'' It didn't sound like an idle warning. Harry certainly hoped he'd never have to face Voldemort anymore, he suspected that the man had enough power in his little finger to teleport Harry straight to Azkaban if he so desired.

''How would you have done that with your resurrection?'' Harry wondered aloud, trying to calm his erratic breathing and focus on the facts. ''Didn't you mention some elaborate plan that you now didn't have to put in motion anymore?''

''Ah, that. Well yes, I would still have needed your blood. The original ritual I had planned required the blood of an enemy and following the prophecy you were the ultimate candidate. Not that you'd have been awake for any of it in the best scenario. I planned to set up a certain Portkey, stun you at arrival, take your blood and send you away again. Depending on how well it would go and how much you'd resist, it could still have led to your death, truth be told.''

''Very reassuring.''

''I wasn't about to let you ruin my chance to live once more.''

Harry sighed. What could he say to this, to everything? It was understandable from Voldemort's point of view, but he couldn't exactly say it would have been fair to himself either to die for this stupid prophecy. It wasn't as if **he** had actively killed the man before, nor had the whole thing with the philosopher's stone been intentional. He unfurled himself again, slowly, the first wave of shock having passed. It helped that Voldemort had remained where he was this time, not interrupting Harry's turmoil. _Voldemort's soul_, he thought_ inside of me. _Thinking about it somehow made coping with it easier.

''What I only do not quite get now,'' he started, ''Is the whole thing with the blood. So first you had the reason to use it since I was marked your worst enemy or something, fair enough. You also told me that you aren't certain if the prophecy still stands though. Besides, didn't you also mention wanting it to take in or cancel out that sacrificial protection?''

''My reasons changed, the outcome did not. You turning out to be one of the vessels of my soul gave me an even better motive to use your blood especially. I shall now also not make use of the original ritual anymore. It is not necessary since you agreed to give me your blood.''

''Will it not tie us even further together then?'' Harry asked warily. ''We already have a connection then through me having your.. your **soul**, now a further one with the blood-bonding... what results would you carrying my blood in your new body have? You seem awfully calm about it.'' Harry, on the other hand, was anything but, still on the verge of breaking down and trying to somehow keep himself together. Feeling pity for himself wasn't going to do him any good either.

''I try to keep as close ties to all of my vessels as possible in order to protect them. I hope that this will balance out our connection so that you and I both have equal control over it, not just you accidentally slipping into my head while asleep.''

''So now I'm... what, a pawn to keep safely tucked away?''

''Evan,'' Voldemort said in a warning tone that strangely enough calmed him somewhat. ''At the very start you were my worst threat, then evolved into just another victim that I found better to leave alone. Later, you became a slight nuisance as you followed Dumbledore's laid-out plans and** then** even a larger nuisance when you tried to sneak in here to kill me. In short, apart from your existence having been predicted to threaten mine, I never thought much of your personally. Perhaps if I had found out on my own that you held my soul, I might have considered you a pawn, true. During the past weeks, I have discovered a great many things about you, one of which is that you are not easily controlled, nor do I feel much for doing so. You are someone who deserves to enjoy life, so I wish to give you that opportunity. As the keeper of my soul, I cannot grant you complete freedom, so I hope that by binding you to me and strengthening the link, I can keep an eye on you enough to not need to involve myself much further in your life. I shall attempt to keep you safe from afar from any who would harm you.''

The words were so... sincere that they touched Harry deeply. Hardly anyone had cared enough -for selfish reasons or not- to actually protect him. A peculiar urge overcame him, one he struggled with for a minute or two in silence before deciding that Voldemort could fuck off and try to deal with** Harry's** stupid feelings for once if Harry had to play nanny for the man's soul. Carefully, so as not to make any sudden movements, he awkwardly positioned his upper body so it lay on the couch, while his feet dangled off the end. Harry couldn't very well explain why himself, but he needed closeness, reassurance that he wasn't alone, that his emotions were considered. Voldemort did not look angry or displeased so that was a good sign, Harry supposed. His head rested against Voldemort's side now, or rather the man's blanket, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the magic that strengthened the closer he got to the Dark Lord.

''And what if I want to be involved in your life?'' he asked after a moment. He wished he could see Voldemort's reaction at that, only feeling a shift in movement and a trickle of surprise through the bond.

''I beg your pardon?''

''You say that I can live a quiet life away from you, away from war like this. What if I don't want to stay away? I have seen and felt your magic, celebrated it with you. I know of your task, I share deeper bonds with you than most humans probably ever will. If your plans really will change our world for the better, I might want to stick around and help.'' He turned to a slightly more comfortable position and looked up to the other. A rare smile graced the Dark Lord's features, looking quite disturbing on the serpentine face if Harry was entirely honest. Perhaps only because he was seeing it upside-down, that was never a flattering angle for anyone. ''Could you tell me of your plans?'' Harry asked, curious. ''I've only heard bits and pieces of it from Barty and you until now.''

''My plan in its entirety might take a while to explain.''

''The general gist of it then?''

''Very well, then I will fill you in on details in the coming days if you so wish. I'd better start with my task... how much did you see in my mind?''

''Not a lot,'' Harry admitted. ''Your memory of magic coming to you and you thinking of a task, that's all. Other than that I only know what you told me, about how Muggles are a threat somehow and that magic is unbalanced right now in Britain.''

''Western- and Southern-Europe,'' Voldemort corrected. Harry choked on air.

''You are supposed to fix it in** that** large of an area?''

''That I am, which is why I said that it might take a good while and I am glad that I found a way to become immortal. One lifetime might not have been enough. So, my task can basically be broken down into two objectives: save us from Muggles, and restore balance in magic. Originally, I had wished to do both at the same time, trying to rally magicians against Muggles in order to find a common goal and unite our forces. That did... not work as well as I had hoped and only caused division in the end, leading to being able to only protect part of the magical population who were willing to use Dark Magic, at the same time causing a further stigma on it for the rest of the population. I know Barty always tells you I had no fault in how the war went down... I disagree and, as the Dark Lord, certainly take responsibility for making fundamental errors in my way of thinking. I had hoped that people would see the threat of Muggles for what it is. Instead, many witches and wizards feel so superior that they find the idea of Muggles being dangerous laughable. It is anything but.''

''You honestly think that they could destroy magic?''

''I do and Magic appears to think so too. At least, if magicians keep going on as we have in the past century, easing up on restrictions and becoming less careful. I do not think Muggles are a basic threat in the sense of that they would actively hunt us or discover our community on their own. However, with how many Muggles are let in on the secret due to having relationships with our kind, or becoming parents of a Muggleborn child and not having any regulations put into place, we walk on thin ice. Then there is the other fact of that Muggles keep developing more weapons of mass destruction that could also hit our communities if let loose in another major Muggle war. I have experienced the devastating effects of the second world war first-hand in London...''

Voldemort halted for a while, before continuing on a bitter tone. ''They fared war on ground that was not theirs alone and destroyed our spaces with that too. Despite the Ministry in Great Britain officially being informed about magicians, they left everything regarding us for the Ministry of Magic to fix, even if that didn't work well. One summer I almost could not return to Hogwarts since there was a planned evacuation of children out of London on September first, leading me to having to run away and survive on my own in war-torn London only to have the chance to return to my true home. Even when I managed to end up at King's cross in a timely manner, I saw the devastating results of bombs. It had destroyed even the wall with its magical barrier, causing the Hogwarts Express to have to stop on the tracks outside of the station, risking further exposure. We need to take measures to protect ourselves from the effects of these types of weapons. What I realised in the magical war I caused though, is that to do so, the public opinion on dark magic needs to shift back so much that its use in non-harmful ways becomes accepted again. Right now there is such a taboo on it that, as soon as it comes out that a spell is dark, they are quickly made illegal, no matter whether they are harmful or not. Ironically, some dark spells that are very beneficial were simply rebranded as 'light' so people could keep using them without having to worry.''

''Why do you specifically need dark magic to deal with Muggles if not for wiping them out?'' Harry asked, slightly suspicious.

''Dimensional shifting,'' came the entirely unexpected answer.

''Erhm...''

''All dark magic that was explained to you at Hogwarts most likely came in the form of offensive hexes and curses, against which you defended using light magic, correct?''

''Pretty much.''

''This is only half of the base nature of magic. Everything is balanced, and not just in the way that light defensive magic works against dark offensive. Dark magic also has an array of defensive branches, nearly all tied to warding or blood rituals. The sacrificial magic your mother used could actually be classified as dark if you look at the base concept of it, only the Ministry considered it light magic since it is used for 'good', further warping the beliefs in the minds of the public about what Light and Dark magic is.''

''So how would** you** explain those types of magic then?''

''With its original meaning. The **Light** of light magic actually stems from the Latin root _lev_, not _lux_. Meaning that it comes from light in the sense of weight: magic that is easy on the caster and costs little. Dark magic was a translation from the Latin _gravis_, which means grave or heavy, turning into 'dark' over time to fit the counterpart of light magic more easily. As language changed and these words became more engraved in common speech for magic that had always been practiced before, people forgot the original meanings and associated it rather with light and darkness, ultimately attaching the labels of good and bad to it. This complete ignores the fact that the only real difference between light and heavy magic is that one requires merely the caster's energy and magic, whereas the other needs an additional offering, be it emotions, a significant amount of time, a literal sacrifice or a debt. It also often makes dark magic more powerful since more effort went into the spells, and the offering of sacrifices can have interesting side-effects.''

''I never knew any of that.''

''You would have known at least a bit, had Dumbledore not thrown out all books on dark magic and changed the curriculum in its entirety. Then again, I found out most of this myself too, since, as I said, much of this was not commonly known or taught anymore.''

''So you are the Lord of** heavy** magic? That somehow does not roll off the tongue as easily,'' Harry joked, earning a chuckle from Voldemort.

''It doesn't, does it?''

''It somehow sounds more odd to me that these two types of magic need to be in balance, With Light and Dark I could picture in my head how that would work. Not so much with easy and grave magic, truth be told.''

''It is how it is. Too much magic that requires sacrifices puts the balance off, and so does magic that is only easy on the caster. Imagine magic as food: eating only junk food isn't healthy, and neither is eating nothing but vegetables.'' The analogy was so absurd that Harry laughed out loud.

''I would** never** in my life have imagined you to use an example like that,'' he snickered. ''I totally understand what you mean now, but the fact that you compare light magic to **junk food** of all things...''

''Yes, well, as long as you get the concept. Now for the dimensional shifting that I mentioned earlier: one branch of defensive dark magic works with adding or breaking down layers of reality. You have seen this in the disturbance ward out on the field, which is really only the first step towards what I am talking about. The closest you have experienced until now will probably have been Diagon Alley and Platform 93/4. Both are spaces that exist through an already existing Muggle dimension. It is not merely hidden in between cleverly built architecture with a door only magicians can see: they are literally built** through** them and the portal, as well as several fireplaces, serve as anchors to this dimension. They are, sadly, not complete. That is to say, these dimensions only adapt the space into certain directions. If you were to fly straight up from Diagon Alley, you'd still enter the skies of Muggle London. Much the same, aerial bombs could still devastate the place. What I wish for, is to conceal** all** magical communities with full dimensional shifting, building a complete bubble with only a single entrance point towards the Muggle world, only allowing further linkage to happen between fireplaces of other fully immersed magical spaces. This would greatly increase both our own protection and the contact between magicians, not able to have much interaction with the Muggle world anymore.''

''That does raise the issue with Muggleborns,'' Harry frowned. ''And more than that, less contact would mean less mingling of magicians with Muggles, wouldn't that cause inbreeding? The magical population isn't** that** big.''

''Magic counters any negative effects inbreeding could have,'' Voldemort clarified. ''For Muggles, gene defects are caused by breeding with someone who has those same dominant defect genes, causing those lines to die off and make the species stronger. It is effective since there are so many Muggles... With magicians, Magic had to make each one of us strong enough to survive anything. That does not only make regular illnesses ineffective against us, but also causes spontaneous gene mutations if any life-threatening gene defects are found upon conception. It still does not fix everything, of course. Your ill sight does not affect your brain or body enough to not survive, so it remains. It is the same for having overall weaker stamina or other minor afflictions. You could still be susceptible to developing mental illnesses later in life too due to a number of circumstances. Brain-damaging results from inbreeding however? Those are cured before you are even born.

Also, if you do not trust on that, wizards and witches did a great deal of studies on the topic exactly because it is such a pressing matter with so few different families. Inbreeding can, even in Muggles, only cause serious afflictions when it is between a direct vertical line such as parents and child, or a direct horizontal one between brothers and sisters. Despite common belief among Muggles, cousins having children together does not have any proven ill effects, which is why that is also still legal even in many Muggle societies. It is mostly banned in others due to morality issues and discouraged with false threats of inbreeding possibly happening.''

''You sure did a lot of research on that topic yourself,'' Harry noted, raising his eyebrows.

''As a Dark Lord, I was also expected at times to give blessings to my followers and advise parents on good matches for their children. I thoroughly informed myself on the topic beforehand so I would not do any damage. That doesn't mean that I ever was a strong supporter of breeding within only a few lines. It tends to leave people close-minded since they are only ever involved with a few families who all have the same ideas.''

''I still think you may have missed something,'' Harry threw in. ''There's definitely something wrong with two of my year mates. Crabbe and Goyle, both from pureblood families. They always follow Malfoy around and are too dumb to strike up a proper conversation. In my second year I imitated one of them and found out that apparently Goyle cannot even** read**. I have **no** idea how he manages to write his tests,'' Harry scoffed. What he hadn't anticipated was the wave of sorrow radiating off the Dark Lord, who had suddenly gone very silent. ''Erhm... should I have shut up?''

''Those two are on me,'' Voldemort sighed. ''I had hoped... I suppose it really was too late.'' Harry leaned more towards the man, holding his breath. It wasn't every day that he found gossip against his bullies. ''First of all, neither of them are purebloods. They are half-bloods, brothers. In the case of these two boys, their parents were a Muggle woman and an extreme light wizard named Edwin Midgen. When they got caught up on the war, Midgen and his wife argued about the rights of Muggles and Muggleborns and he demanded that she stay locked up in her own house to be safe. I admit, she might not have been if she'd gone outside, the hatred against Muggles ran high in those days. She disagreed though, and in a fit of anger, Midgen killed her himself for disobeying his word. In a suicide attempt, he found out where the next battle between my followers and the Order of the Phoenix was, taking both of his newborns with him.

He died using his own children as a shield, who received quite a few nasty curses before anyone realised that there were babies out on the field. I tried to mend the damage personally, yet did not know exactly which spells had all harmed them. One of my rules during the war was that I would not leave orphans behind. Before attacking enemies which I knew to have children, I tried to find a family who would be willing to adopt. As in this case, I could not do so beforehand, so two of my followers stepped up and offered to each take a child. I died soon after, unaware of what became of them.''

''Wow... shit, that's heavy. If I'd known, I wouldn't have made fun of them so often,'' Harry said, filled with guilt. He briefly considered asking what happened to children when no-one wished to adopt them, then decided that he really didn't want to know. ''It doesn't help much that they're not exactly nice though, following Draco Malfoy's every command to beat up whoever dares to step up to him...''

''Is that so? I shall have to have yet** another** word with Lucius then when I decide to show myself to a few of my former Death Eaters,'' Voldemort spoke coldly.

''What** are** you going to do with those anyways? Won't they want you to restart the war?''

''Some of them would... most of those who'd like nothing more are in Azkaban right now, a small semblance of relief to cover my shame of them being there in my name. As for the rest, I have a few key people in mind that I will contact as they have strategic positions within the Ministry already, Lucius being one of those. It is my intention to have them slowly introduce old ideas into the system again, work people on top who agree with those and gradually change the view of dark magic first and foremost. That will most likely be even more of a challenge, balancing out Dark and Light magic that is. Most frequent casters of dark magic do not have access to it due to being locked up...''

''How do you even **balance** it?'' Harry asked. ''Try to get an even number somehow of dark and light magicians?'' Voldemort smiled wryly.

''Unfortunately that would only work for a Light Lord, simply reducing the amount of dark magic casters. For me it is a tad more complicated. The thing is,** most** magic is light. As such, most magic that is used even by Dark magicians is still light. If I wish to clean up a house, it is much better with a series of light, easy spells than with a heavy ritual that would sweep the house at once but leave me drained and require sacrifices. That is another part where language does not describe reality. While true that most light magicians only practise light magic, those who are labelled Dark are only those who do not shun the Dark Arts, yet frequently cast light magic too. This makes **my** followers all balanced magicians. It also means that in the end, reducing the number of light wizards is not going to help much and certainly not result in a form of balance I could live with, needing to wipe out everyone but all current 'Dark' wizards and witches for that. The few dark spells that are used by light wizards and witches due to them not knowing they are dark in nature, do not amass to enough.

No, I will need to normalise Dark Magic to the point of where is it legal and **desired** by all again so it will be regularly used in general and not only by a specific group. And when my plans for that are bearing fruit, we can shift our focus to disconnecting us from the Muggle world. Which brings us back to Muggleborns...'' Harry had already entirely forgotten his own inquiry about them to his own embarrassment. Trust Voldemort to remind him of it. ''I do not have a fixed plan for them. Or rather, I have many plans, depending on how development goes. The best course of outcome in my personal opinion would be to take them from their parents as young as possible to make separation more... unproblematic.''

''You want to steal children away from their parents?'' Harry exclaimed, sitting upright instantly, ignoring the slight pang in his chest that came with the loss of contact.

''We both know how Muggles can be,'' Voldemort hissed. ''I am not willing to let the minds of magical children be poisoned into thinking they are abnormal, nor will I allow for them to have such a massive disadvantage in their education.''

''And what about the Muggles who would make great parents? What about older Muggleborns who love their families?'' Harry continued, thinking of Hermione and how nice Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been in Diagon Alley.

''Unfortunate for them. I will not let the majority of children suffer by the hands of Muggles only because **some** of them would have taken care of their spawn. The Muggles will have their memory wiped, the children will find other, better parents.'' The harsh syllables were spit our fast, Harry could tell this was dangerous territory to argue over. Somehow he doubted that he'd agree more with the other, 'less ideal' plans for Muggleborns either.

''Understood,'' he muttered.

''Go downstairs and prepare some food, I wish to take my potions in peace.'' Harry stood up at the clear dismissal, Voldemort having fallen back in his displeased, brooding state.

The day passed without any further deep conversation between them, and Barty didn't show himself, presumably being out. Only late evening, Harry was called up again for the ritual of that day. It was surprisingly short, feeling more like a check-up than anything, with Voldemort planting images in his mind to check the limits of their mental link. It still left him feeling drained afterwards, so much that he instantly fell asleep the moment his head hit his pillow.


	12. Lord of Sacrifice

A smooth hand slid over the marble railing of the grand Greengrass mansion. Lord Voldemort was rather fond of this place: it was not as stuffed as Malfoy manor, nor filled to the brim with gruesome objects like the Black homes. One of the downsides was of course that here, he was merely a guest, since the Greengrass family had never pledged allegiance despite agreeing to his ideas. That was alright for now, he would sway both of them as soon as their children, who were in their last years of Hogwarts now, would leave the house. At the very least, they followed his ideology and welcomed him in their home during important events such as these. Despite having started his unofficial rule over the dark community twenty years earlier, he was not in a hurry to convert every single person to take his Mark.

The sea of people bowed and parted as he descended the stairs fully, power rolling off of him, rewarding all attendants with a shred of his magic, which he knew they hungered for. Lord Voldemort approached the young woman who was the guest of honour here today, heir to the lesser Greengrass branch and new mother. The babe resting in her arms cried out upon seeing the intimidating figure bow over it. The Dark Lord spread his spidery hand over the child's face, releasing magic, which reflected in the teary blue eyes. He could feel the collectively held breath behind him.

''Blessed be her magic,'' he spoke, leaving a tiny mark upon the babe's neck. The woman gave him a relieved look and curtsied as well as she could with the child in her arms.

A scream started somewhere in the corner of the room and Lord Voldemort whipped around, instantly alert. He should have demanded to be tied into the wards! Wand in hand, he apparated towards the top of the stairs again to get a better overview of the Aurors who were now pouring in. Red clouded his vision: not now, not here. How** dare** they, these disgusting creatures, to disturb such a sacred feast! The assessing of magic was as important to a witch or wizard as the naming of the child. Red were also the tiles when he was done defending his people, red were the stains on his feet as he waded through the sea of corpses, none of his enemies spared. The red was mirrored by his own blazing scarlet eyes as he caught their reflection in one of the ornate mirrors.

Pain spread in his chest, with such intensity that he had to do everything in his power not to grab the front of his robes and double over. It was the price he had to pay for slaughtering those he had, the feeling of magic slipping from this world together with the fallen mages. These were also his people, he knew that. It did not change anything. They had abandoned their right to live as soon as they turned away from his vision. If only he killed enough Light wizards, enough Muggles... his task could be completed. He turned to look down upon those who trembled before him, his chosen family, each and every one of them a familiar face, familiar minds behind them that he'd taken care to explore, to mend if necessary, to soothe or anger and nudge into the right direction. His people... he'd do** anything** for them, to keep the magic in them flowing strong and pure.

A trembling note rang out through the room, the first of a series that started a song of mourning. For their enemies, those led astray by their idyllic beliefs. Feeling tired, Lord Voldemort chimed in and all the while wrapped up the bodies in conjured cloth.

He was distracted by sobbing, turning around to find the room devoid of people apart from one very familiar boy, a boy he wouldn't get to know for over a decade still, when their meeting would be the fateful night in which he'd experience death for the first time.

''Why do you weep?'' he asked.

''For the sorrow you refuse to show. I know you feel it, I know that this mask you wear is only that! And you still slaughtered them, not knowing regret!''

''I am the master over my inhumanity. I have chosen my path, I shall complete the task magic set.''

''Not like this!'' the boy cried out, emerald eyes filling with tears of rage now.

''No,'' he agreed, looking at his bloodied hands. ''Not like this, not anymore. Balance is not found in elimination, but in change.'' As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry ran at full speed and crashed into him, holding him-

Harry jolted awake, tears still streaking his face as he gasped. The dream had felt too real, the blood... Oh Merlin, the bodies, Voldemort impassively and effectively snapping their throats, slicing open their stomachs, covering himself in their life's essence... Turning quickly, Harry threw up next to his bed, not able to stomach it. That had not felt like a dream, had been far too realistic for one. Had he had a vision again? That also didn't feel like it.

''**_Evan_**'' The word pierced all walls of the house with tremendous power. Not just a dream, then.

Harry wished that he could spell the mess away or at least wash himself before. He had no time for that, anger hurting his scar, which wouldn't stop until he complied and showed up. Damn, Voldemort was** pissed** again. Hopefully showing up smelling like puke would at least bring across the message that this had definitely** not** been a voluntary experience. Still dizzy and trying to control the rest of his stomach contents as he viciously shoved any thoughts of blood and entrails into the very back of his mind, he took one step at a time, shuffling through the hall. He was surprised that Barty hadn't come in again... was the Death Eater still gone?

He followed the angry pulsing in his head that practically dragged him towards Voldemort's room. Nagini hissed in surprise as he entered, then recoiled at her master's command to leave. The pain became so unbearable that the teen fell to his knees before he even reached the couch, crying out. _~**How**,~_ Voldemort demanded to know.

_~I have... no idea!~ _he replied desperately. _~Again, I was sleeping, by Merlin's saggy-''_

_~Come clossser.~ _With every muscle in his being protesting, Harry obeyed the softly hissed demand, practically clawing his way towards the other on hands and feet until he collapsed to his knees in front of Voldemort's feet. The anger abated as Voldemort took in his sorry state. The man bent over and reached out a hand to take Harry's chin in a shockingly strong grasp with those brittle, spindly fingers. _~You have succeeded a great feat, not only having visions of my mind but invading my dreams through yours. Do you have** any** idea how advanced a type of magic like that is?~_

He just shook his head mutedly as a reply, not trusting himself to not be sick again as he saw the crimson eyes that only minutes before had echoed the pools of blood in those white, marble halls, as white at Voldemort's skin... Harry felt the blood drain further from his face. ~_You killed them, so gruesomely...~_

The grip softened and Voldemort shifted his hand, knuckles now brushing against Harry's sweaty temple. _~I was not aware of how best to fulfil my task. Erringly, I thought that if the balance of magic was dipped over to the Light, it meant that it could be solved by killing magicians who already had decided to be Light entirely, ignoring the ripping at my soul each time one of them fell by my hand.~_

_~You still do not feel regret now, even when you know that it was wrong.~_

_~To regret their deaths would be to make them meaningless. I shall mourn the potential I wasted in spilling their lives and learn from it now. I still find little compassion for those who were not willing to listen. I have said before, even now I cannot guarantee that I shall not slay those who will ultimately decide to oppose my ideas and thwart my plans, possibly costing the lives of hundreds of my people. Come Evan, you cannot say that you think me wicked for that, did you not come here to do the same?~ _That was a harsh and low blow. Harry wanted to scream at the man how different their goals had been: that Voldemort was a **known** murderer who had personally targeted Harry before. He couldn't get it past his lips, he had no idea how those other people had stood to the Dark Lord. ~_I believe that it is time for our final ritual, to settle our link as best as possible until I fully revive.~_

''I don't know if I can make it through another one so soon,'' he replied, breaking the soft whispered hisses exchanged between the both of them. The knuckles, which had still been stroking his skin, fell away, Voldemort's face a blank mask.

''You shall.'' Raising his wand, a slip of parchment appeared out of nowhere, on it a list of ingredients and items. Harry's stomach turned as he saw a book on rune clusters and a dagger being included. ''Gather these, I shall set up the floor here.''

''Can we... can we do it in the veranda?'' Harry pleaded. He would feel better with having fresh air and the memories of the only pleasant ritual he'd attended until now, at Lughnasadh.

''I suppose it couldn't hurt for this,'' the man replied after a hard look at Harry. ''Before that...**_ Scourgify_**.'' The foul taste finally disappeared from Harry's mouth altogether.

''Thank you,'' he muttered, testing his shaky knees before leaving the door in search of the stones and plants listed. He took a bit longer than technically would have been necessary to gather all items, now and then halting to calm his own thoughts. After many reluctant steps, he still wound up in the veranda, a black pentagram without a circle having been drawn on the floor. He hoped that it was to be read from the side of the door and that it was not a reversed one. Mechanically following Voldemort's precise instructions, Harry put down each of the stones on a different point of the star, placed heaps of salt at specific points and sprinkled a handful of fresh chamomile and other herbs atop the star.

''Good. Now undress and go to the middle of the circle.'' Harry choked, turning around to see if the Dark Lord was kidding. It did not appear to be so.

''I'm not-'' Harry protested, his voice shifting a few pitches higher. ''I'm not going to get naked here!''

''You certainly will be if you do not wish to feel my wrath,'' the man darkly promised, a wicked smile splitting his face. ''It is hardly an uncommon thing Evan, you should get used to going sky-clad.'' With burning cheeks, Harry turned around and pried the shirt from his skin, pretending he was just in the Quidditch changing rooms, getting ready for a match. He'd never given much thought of undressing in front of other men, and perhaps wouldn't have been now either if he didn't know with absolutely certainty that Voldemort had had a thing for Sirius' younger brother, whom he looked like enough to have confused both Voldemort and Nagini before.

''So modest,'' Voldemort's amused voice commented on Harry's choice to turn away and crouch down as quickly as possible on top of the pentagram. All the while, he held the dried holly, mugwort and mistletoe so that they covered his nether regions just in case Voldemort could use the glass walls as mirrors. Harry did not deem the words worthy of an answer.

''Just get it over with,'' he finally spoke.

''Put a leaf of each of the plants you are holding in your mouth. Whatever you do,** do not swallow them**. I do hope that the spikes on the holly will reinforce that instruction. Once you have done so, start meditating.''

Carefully, Harry placed the leaves on his tongue, feeling nervous as tiny spikes sat uncomfortably in his mouth. Knowing by now how to prepare himself, Harry slowed his breathing, let his chin fall on his chest and half-closed his eyes, settling himself as comfortably on the stone floor as possible. Behind him, Voldemort started a line of spells which made the chamomile around him burn up, the smoke slowly starting to fill the room. With another spell, it started to cling to Harry's skin, feeling as if a greasy blanket coated him, not the most pleasant feeling. Harry tried to concentrate further on his breathing. More smells and smoke filled the room, turning the glass cloudy and making Harry light-headed, slightly giddy even.

~**_Protect_**,~ Voldemort hissed. _~Send back the harm put upon us from whence it came. This shield is our power to guard against harmful intent. This shield is my domain.~ _ An involuntary, violent shudder overcame Harry, the leaves pricked in his tongue. ~_Heed my call. Let our enemies burn a thousandfold of our pain.~_ The words laced with threat were backed up by magic so strong that it erased Harry ability to keep himself upright. The air cracked and whooshed, battering upon his skin, the smoke thickening. A heat started in his mouth and he cried out as he realised that the leaves were aflame, burning the insides of his mouth and filling his lungs and nose with smoke. Retching, he spit the now ashy leafs out, not able to hold them in any longer. A cold finger traced his spine and Harry realised that Voldemort was** floating** right behind him, a terrifying tiny, flying demon. Two long-fingered hands settled on his shoulders, coated with blood. ~_ By blood shared, by soul shared, by minds intertwined beyond measure, I call upon my rightful claim.~ _The possessiveness dripped from the words as droplets of red liquid slid down Harry's chest, forming symbols he did not recognise. _~Defend the place where I, Lord of sacrifice, dwell.~_

A bright, warm light enveloped them both, a sense of weightlessness settling upon Harry. A piercing scream sounded behind him and Harry whipped around, seeing Voldemort convulsing on the floor, the same symbols that had formed on Harry's chest carved into the other's. Terrified and horrified at once, Harry grabbed the man, shaking him, feeling utterly powerless. ''Voldemort!** Voldemort!** What is happening, what do I **do**?'' He received no answer apart from further screams and spasming limbs. The blood spread out from under the form that looked so fragile right now, so breakable.

Voldemort sucked in a breath and opened wild eyes that only spoke of indescribable pain, screams caught in his throat. Then, the man collapsed. Shaken to the core, Harry got up, hoping deeply that the ritual was over, trying to reach the man's clothes, which had been left outside of the star just like Harry's had, a fact that currently failed to bother him. Good to know he had some priorities straight, he thought to himself. As he reached one of the points of the star, Harry hit an invisible barrier, crying out as his nose smacked against thin air with a crunch that couldn't be healthy. Desperate, he returned to the circle and grabbed the only thing he could find to press against the Dark Lord's wound: the sprig of mugswort, its leaves packed denser than the other plants. It didn't help much. ''Don't die on me now,'' he pleaded, ''Not now I finally believe in you.'' He wished a thousand things as he held Voldemort, hoping the pressure of his arms would perhaps help. He wished he was stronger, that he knew more useful magic, that he'd paid attention as Hermione had obsessed over books of complicated spells that he thought he hadn't been ready for.

He focused on the only thing he** could** do in the tiny chance of that it may work. He had no blackthorn and rowan sticks here, nor was he asleep. The only thoughts he tried to fill his mind with was determination to succeed and the memory of having done so before. It had worked for casting his Patronus for the first time, it had to work now.

Harry collapsed next to Voldemort on the floor as his consciousness slipped away.

He woke up not in the same room as he had expected, finding himself to be in a deep, thick forest. Frost covered the grass, branches of black trees sharply contrasting against the cold light of the moon and the glittering ground. He slithered over the half-composed leaves, a hunger eating away in his stomach. How long had it been now that he'd lived this half-life? This accursed existence... Voldemort turned around and looked upon the corpse of a small fox, the last animal he had inhibited. Such a waste of life, and yet the hunger was clawing at him again. He would give in soon, perhaps a reptile would be better suited, he'd avoided possessing them until now to not kill any of the noble creatures. Yet where else could he exist with some semblance of comfort than in the body of his ancestors?

He spread out a see-through, smoking hand. Less than a ghost, less than any wizard alive. Still more than a Muggle, he thought grimly, trying to smile at the thought. He still had at least the most basic of magicks at his command even when existing like** this**. Anger burned his hunger away for a moment as he recalled what he had lost. His very life, his power and standing, his** time**. How long would it be till one of his followers would find him? How long after until he found out how to restore his former body? A shriek of desperate rage chased away a flock of crows that had still dared to remain in his presence until then. Hands clawed out in desperation at the memory of innocent green eyes looking up to him, the last memory he had until being ripped from his body. The boy would** pay**. None defied Lord Voldemort!

His vision blurred for a moment and the forest changed around him, the seasons passing by in a span of seconds. Autumn leaves finally stilled as Voldemort wandered around once again in search for his next victim. Years, had it really been years already? None had come for him, none had wished to bring back his presence. Stabs of betrayal filled his very soul, almost as bad as the time when he'd figured out that Regulus had rebelled behind his back. Where was Magic now? Had she given up on him too? Had he failed her task so much that she'd decided he wasn't worthy anymore? He felt so tired, so dead inside, it was hard to find reasons to continue on like this. His entire life, he'd wished to stand apart from others, had revelled in his solitude. Now, he craved the company of another human being,** anyone**. Possessing animals alone just to feel touch again, to hear and see was not enough. They could not truly give him the warmth hat he sought, never the physical presence of a magical core that he so sorely missed to the point where he thought it may be better to tether the last string to his sanity too. To sink into the embrace of blissful ignorance, to cave into the hunger and madness.

_Let me help you,_ someone called out_, Voldemort_... His name, the name he'd crafted for himself to rise from the ashes and control of his dead father. The name that had been taking over by his enemies as a sign of defiance, befouling it so much that he'd forbidden his followers from using it again. How pointless that had been. He reached out for the voice in desperation, a tiny pinprick of warmth settling in his chest. _Voldemort..._ Yes, he was Lord Voldemort, and he would show the world that he'd been right all along. That he could save and be saved. With renewed vigour, he searched the next creature to possess.

Eyes blinking against bright light, he came to and rose, only realising then that he was holding something. With wonder, Lord Voldemort looked down upon his own, rudimentary body, instantly realising what Potter - no, Evan- had tried to do. Trying out Evan's muscles and figuring out how to use the teen's limbs, he rose. The ritual was still going on, he could feel the familiar tingling of the magical barrier. Only one thing to do then: he put his own, currently empty body on the floor and gathered magic in the palms of his hands, healing the wounds. This was not going to be pleasant, he decided as he cast an **_Ennervate_** on himself, consciousness instantly being flung back into his own aching body.

Harry shook his head, trying to get the feeling of being **double** out of his head. Had this been what Voldemort had felt when Harry had invaded his mind? It took him a moment to adapt again, sitting still while the Dark Lord was already moving, awkwardly and slowly walking back to where his blankets lay. Merlin, he'd seen into the man's memories again, this time a recollection of an experience no other human being had ever gone through as far as Harry knew. His respect for Voldemort gained in strength now he knew how it had felt to be only a wisp of one's self, completely dependent on mere animals, biting through loss and abandonment to live again.

''Did the ritual work?'' Harry spoke, with difficulty as the burning leaves had left painful blisters in his mouth. Odd, he had hardly noticed before in his panic. ''And if so, what did it accomplish this time?

''It should have worked. I granted you the same protection that all of my vessels have. Only I can harm you now, if I wish to. You are protected from all ill-intended damage, be it magical or physical, a shield of my own devise activating were you to get hit by any harmful spell.''

Harry's eyes grew wide at that. ''I cannot be hurt anymore?''

''You could still be harmed physically by yourself or on accident by yourself and others. Anyone other than you or me **intending** to hurt you will fail to do so however.''

''That is... some powerful magic, I suppose.''

Voldemort offered a weary smile. ''Quite.''

''Won't it be suspicious? Can Dumbledore not feel this? And what happens if this shield activates in class during practise?''

''Dumbledore will not notice a thing as long as you keep wearing that necklace. As for duelling and such, you had better come up with either a good excuse or a way to dodge any spell thrown at you. Then again, many spells practised in Hogwarts nowadays are not intended for real harm and you are supposed to be able to shield yourself in the first place. I doubt it will cause many turned heads. Now, I have grown weary. Bring me upstairs.'' While still an order, Harry got the feeling that there was a pleading note to the sentence. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking. ''The rituals have been completed now,'' Voldemort murmured. ''I shall be busy this week to finish the arithmantic equations and rune clusters necessary for my rebirth.'' Harry nodded as he dressed -not as frantic anymore about his nakedness, there was little purpose in that anymore- and then cradled the man in his arms.

''I'll try not to disturb you too much then,'' he offered, emptiness spreading inside. After seeing his own incompetence, the helplessness, he'd hoped to discuss magic with the Dark Lord, magic that he wished to learn and master. It was depressing to think that at this exact moment, the other would be too preoccupied to do so, and only a few weeks were left before Harry would have to return to Hogwarts to avoid raising suspicion. He moved through the dark house with ease, by now able to find his way easily. It had come to feel** homely** even. Voldemort only answered once he was being set down in his usual spot again.

''You may still come here to speak to me, child. We have little time left and I know you have many a question that still burns in your mind.'' A small pang of happiness spread in Harry's chest that he tried to squash down. He shouldn't get so excited over talking to** Voldemort**. Not before he was back at Hogwarts and perhaps able to confirm or deny pieces of information that the man had planted in his head by now. He needed to keep his cool, it was just as foolish to instantly trust the Dark Lord's word as it had been to believe Dumbledore's notions without doubting those at all. Still, for now, as long as he was trapped here, there was no harm in letting himself indulge in the power and wisdom that exuded from Lord Voldemort.

''Speaking of burns,'' the man continued, raising his head so that glittering scarlet eyes assessed Harry's face. ''Sit next to me and come closer, your mouth is too damaged.'' _Too damaged for what_? Harry instantly thought, yet did as asked. He hovered over the man uncomfortably, trying to avoid the burning gaze that was considerably too intense. He made a noise of protest when, in a far too fluid motion, a white talon struck out and held his jaw in such a grip that his lips were pried open and -_oh God-_ two cold fingers pushed past his lips. Harry sat there dumbfounded as the fingers slid over his tongue, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm. If speaking had been difficult before with the blisters, it became impossible now that those slim, tapered nails raked a path down his tongue, assaulting his mouth in a way that he had never thought another human doing. While his brain slowed the moment down to an eternity, it all happened in a split second, and Voldemort pressed his fingers flat down on Harry's tongue, uttering: ''**_Waisé Therapafteí_**'' A cold settled in his mouth as if a bunch of ice cubes had just been shoved in. Harry choked in surprise, but it lasted only a moment. Voldemort withdrew slowly as Harry's mouth felt wonderfully whole, a strand of saliva trailing behind when the digits slipped out again, dragging over his bottom lip slightly - or had Harry just imagined them to linger longer than necessary, briefly resting on the flesh?- Feeling warm, Harry turned his head abruptly away.

''Thank you,'' he spoke with a scratchy voice, swallowing hard to gain a semblance of control back, of which he didn't even know why he had lost grasp of in the first place. Voldemort had only healed him, that was everything. Nothing else was going on, he was just hypersensitive because he knew that the man was into men, that was all. It's not as if Harry should get such an overreaction to every moment and be struck like a deer in the headlights. The door swung open and Harry looked up, never having been so grateful before to see Barty in his life.

''My Lord, it is done!'' the man spoke excitedly, practically running to the couch, faltering slightly as he arrived, taking in Harry's flushed form and the glistening fingers of the Dark Lord.

''Continue, Bartemius,'' said person demanded smoothly. Barty's gaze flickered to Harry's face for a moment and back to Voldemort's.

''Of course, My Lord. In short, I got Moody, using his own traps against him. The potion is also almost ready, so I will be able to stock up quite a bit before my departure. For now I moved him to a safe location and locked him in his infamous trunk, I did not wish for him to be able to pinpoint your position by chance.''

''Excellent. Evan and I have completed the last two rituals. I shall start my own preparations, estimating nine days to complete, and then needing to wait an additional five days until the first day of the full moon. Leave now, both of you, I am eager to start.''


	13. Preparations

As Voldemort slaved over his own research day and night, Harry was plagued by fatigue that bled through the link, which he could obviously not deal with as well as the Dark Lord. The man's words of Harry being able to talk still did not result in much: each of Harry's attempts only ended up in him sitting on the floor or next to Voldemort in the study, watching the man work as he scribbled full foot after foot of parchment with concepts that Harry could only hope to grasp within a century. The others had tried to explain to him what was being done, but he hardly understood half of what they were saying, not even having a basic understanding of either Runes or Arithmancy. What he did know was what it was** for**: Voldemort was creating sets of runes and trying to simplify them as much as possible to reduce the chances of anything going wrong due to Barty or Harry drawing them incorrectly. The runes would bind the objects necessary in the ritual, ward the area and also start a chain reaction that would affect the potion Voldemort would use to transform his rudimentary body into a real one. The Arithmancy would play no part in the ritual itself, instead only there as a way to predict the success of the intended rites.

Knowing Voldemort, he would not settle for a chance lower than a hundred percent accuracy. As such, the man was up with little sleep all week, trying to combine a massive amount of spellwork using potions, transfiguration, charms, warding, runes and blood-magic, all factors he then keyed to numbers and worked his way with from there, ending up with entire books worth of equations to predict the outcome each time an element was changed. Harry was baffled by the amount of work that went into coming up with a single ritual. They had all looked so uncomplicated when he'd actually participated: a few candles here, some herbs with specific properties there. It was only now that he realised that to create that result, one would have had to go over every combination of magical plants in existence to find what worked best. Voldemort waved Harry's awe away easily, only muttering on about having had time to prepare most of the options before already and having experience with these things from his first life. It didn't do much to quell the teen's astonishment.

Between trying to sleep to make up for the added fatigue he felt, and watching Voldemort being engrossed in his work, Harry spent quite a bit of time with Barty too, who had been asking some pretty strange questions about the time he'd been away. Harry wasn't entirely sure what the man was on about. Just yesterday, Barty had acted even more off than usual, once again empathising that the Dark Lord was, while someone to be admired from afar, not fit for long-term company. Harry was utterly confused, not seeing much wrong with trying to get closer to the first person he'd found to have such an abundance of real knowledge. Taking the link into consideration, he'd told Barty, it was better to befriend Voldemort rather than either remaining enemies or trying to be neutral. The Death Eater had only looked frustrated and said that that wasn't what he had been on about. Lost as to the intended meaning then, Harry had tried to push on, annoyingly receiving no further answer.

Thus, the week slipped away, its only real highlights being another two sessions in the field out back practising offensive magic, with Barty even teaching him a trick or two. On the eighth day, Barty surprised him with something that wiped those completely off his mind for a while, as he was finally allowed to see Hedwig again under the Death Eater's watchful eye. It didn't matter that the owl was ignoring him for most of the time with ruffled feathers that spoke volumes of how she blamed him for being alone for so long. It didn't matter that she only started with affectionate nips after giving him his due punishment of leaving a deep gash in his hand. Harry was just entirely excited about being able to see his beloved pet again. ''Hedwig,'' he'd muttered affectionately, smiling in her feathers as he buried his face in her side. ''I promise you all the owl treats in the world when we leave here.''

On the ninth day, Voldemort's triumph was to be felt through the entire house, a wave of magic shaking the foundations of it as his research was complete. Harry's blood sang and was at the same time pained, the link and his mother's protection at a battle of wills. Barty curled up further in the corner he'd been reading in and groaned, eyes unabashedly sliding closed in ecstasy. Harry wished much to do the same, a breathless tightness constricting his chest at only the **thought** of how much more powerful this was going to be when the man regained his full capabilities. Five days... how peculiar that in five mere days, that sprawl of spindly limbs and piercing eyes was going to inhabit a new body. Harry suddenly realised that he had absolutely no idea how the Dark Lord had looked before, always having kind of assumed that the features he'd seen on the back of Quirrel's head and on the embryonic form were inherently** Voldemort**. The boy he'd seen in the Chamber of secrets however, had had decidedly different characteristics.

''Barty?'' he asked, curiosity making itself known. ''How did he look, before?''

The man gave Harry a wry grin. ''That depends on what time period you are asking about. He's changed his features quite a bit over the years. His current form is, I suppose, reflective of how he looked at the height of his power. Well, of course not the size and such, but his face is much alike.'' Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that, a vision of just an oversized version of Voldemort's current form swimming in his mind. It was not an incredibly appealing sight. ''I certainly hope that his** appearance** is not what you are going to judge our Lord by?'' the sharp, dangerous tone had Harry instantly shaking his head in denial.

''I'm not that shallow! I know very well that power and intelligence have nothing to do with looks.''

Barty hummed at that. ''So I have seen,'' the man answered as he relaxed again.

''What do you mean?'' Harry asked, cocking his head at yet another cryptic comment.

''Never mind. Let's go upstairs.'' Harry followed Barty's eager steps with tentative ones of his own. Yes, he had seen in Lord Voldemort's mind. Yes, he knew that the man truly** believed** that what he was doing would be for the good of this world and that he had been chosen by magic herself... That did not mean that Harry was **entirely** comfortable by the knowledge of that he was helping the Dark Lord regain his full strength, strength which had often been used in that first lifetime for cruelty, manipulation and death. _Also,_ his own mind added, _every day that passes is one closer to having to leave this safe haven that is wonderfully without any sort of responsibility_.

Harry gritted his teeth. He knew that returning to reality would be a shock that he wasn't sure he was prepared to face. He entered the room after Barty, taking in the absolute mess. For a man who usually was so meticulous about everything, it had come as a great surprise to discover that once Voldemort got caught up in spellwork, he would forget any other basic need and the world around him. As a result, the room was littered with papers, ink, empty plates of food Barty and Harry had had to force the wizard to eat and other paraphernalia. Amidst the mess, Nagini lay curled up, watching her master at work. Now that Harry's protective enchantments and the blood-bond with Lord Voldemort were in place, he could feel Nagini better too somehow, her emotions curling up against Harry's mind much like Voldemort's did, if not as intrusive.

''Ah, my friends,'' Voldemort spoke, opening his arms in a broad gesture, his expression one of pure elation. ''I have succeeded in my quest. Nothing shall stop me now from returning to my rightful place.'' Harry did not think that this was the best point in time to throw in a reminder that he was very much a prisoner still instead of a **friend**. He kept standing as Barty lowered to his knees to convey his admiration, instead concentrating as Voldemort launched into the details of the ritual. They would have a potion to brew in the coming days still, and spellwork needed to be done too. Apparently the local graveyard would be their key location as bone of Voldemort's father was needed, taken freshly from its grave. Harry wondered how they'd get it out of the coffin that Tom Riddle Senior should have been be buried in. Would they need to dig it up?

He watched dispassionately as Voldemort rewarded Barty through the mark, ignoring the distant feeling of it flowing through his own body. Five days... five days and then this whole truce would be over, wouldn't it be? Surely, Voldemort would not be so civil anymore to Harry once it was no longer needed, once he did not need to keep Harry content enough to give up his blood? His heart clenched and thoughts darkened. Once this was over, he would return to being the abnormal, useless outcast that was Harry Potter.

~_Evan...~_ he was shaken from his thoughts at the long hiss, trying to hide his glum mood. It helped that he was slightly shocked at Voldemort using that name in Parsel instead of 'Harrison', until he noticed that Nagini was nowhere to be seen, perhaps having slipped out to hunt. ~_You cannot hide anything from Lord Voldemort_,~ the man said, a tinge of amusement colouring the words. With shaky steps, Harry approached, drawn in by the man's hands, which motioned for him to come closer. Barty stood up again and took a few respectful steps back. _~You are more than what those Muggles made out of you, child. You are linked to me, the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived, you hold my** soul**. You are needed, if only to simply breathe and live. I shall reward you for your part in this ritual when it is over... that does not mean that we are through then.~_

~_Yes... Voldemort_.~ Strange, in all those weeks, he'd successfully managed to avoid addressing the Dark Lord directly. Well, not counting when he'd called the man's name to bring him back out of the delirious state during the last ritual they'd held. He'd still be damned to use 'Lord', no matter how unnatural it felt to utter the name that was so feared by many, to its owner's face. A face which became a blank mask almost instantly.

_~Not many who address me with such... familiarity... get away unpunished. Did Dumbledore teach you to disrespect me in such a way?~_

Harry blinked, wondering why he wasn't under the Cruciatus curse yet then. The other sounded more curious than anything else. ~_He did spur me to say your name, yes,~_ he admitted. _~But me saying it now was more since.. well, I do not know what else to say. You are not my master.~_

_~Debatable,~_ Voldemort answered with glittering eyes. _~The very language we speak in is a reminder of how much sway I hold over at least part of you. I am certainly the master of my own soul.~_ Harry refused to reply to that, giving the man a stubborn look. _~**Sir** will do, I suppose. Even if by regular etiquette you should address me as Lord even if I you are not in my service. Queens and kings of other countries than your own are still named as such.~_

_~You would never address anyone as king or queen, for the fact is that only Muggles bear those titles,~_ Harry snapped back, causing Voldemort's face to split into a grin.

''While you are correct in that assumption, you shouldn't test me by trying to be impertinent. Be thankful for the fact that I am too exuberant today to take your spite seriously, Evan. Take this and assist me in taking care of this clutter, I wish to get the room cleaned out so I can get that potion started.''

Sighing, Harry started with his useless task, cleaning up so Voldemort could instantly make a mess again. It was not so much assisting as handling it all by himself either: Voldemort lacked the strength to move very far without exhausting himself and Barty made up an excuse of going ahead with laying out the runes upon the graveyard. As a result, Harry walked back and forth between kitchen and study quite a few times, all under the penetrating gaze of the Dark Lord. Why was the man always so unnerving with his staring in the first place? Harry had seen the man in the most humiliating states: bathing him, hearing him cry out for the comfort of his pet snake, having been inside of his mind as he recalled the horrors of being a wraith. For fuck's sake, he'd** killed** Voldemort as a mere baby! Why was it then that there was no trace of shame or discomfort in those damned crimson irises as they met Harry's? He stilled as he felt something brush against him, as if his arm was being caressed. Turning, he met Voldemort's pensive gaze.

''I am merely testing the extents of the mind-link Evan, do continue.'' Inexplicably furious at the discovery that the man was experimenting** yet again**, without even asking this time, Harry stomped out of the room with more force than necessary. A maddening chuckle followed him out into the upstairs corridor. The Dark Lord could be so... so... Harry snarled at nothing as he couldn't find the correct words. The righteous and smug authority that the wizard commanded with ease just had him trembling in anger. Sure, he was genius, a magical prodigy. That didn't mean that Voldemort could just go ahead and mess with Harry's mind without consent!

Sulking, Harry stayed away from Voldemort for the rest of the evening. He'd secretly hoped to have time to speak after the research had been finished. That hope was squashed as he learned of all the preparations necessary: the spells, the incantations that needed to be learned, the potion, the symbols that had to be placed still... The days passed with even more alarming swiftness than the past week had, the house filled with Barty and Harry running around to set everything in place in a timely manner, all the while still taking care of the rest of the household, from washing to cooking. A certain air of unspoken anticipation was strung tight over Riddle manor, all occupants having their own reasons for being tense about the deadline that raced towards them. It was only on the very last evening before the fateful day would arrive that found them all in the same room again.

Harry concentrated on blocking out the foreign feelings that rippled through the multiple links that bound him to Voldemort. He did not succeed well; impatience, longing and fear seeping over, as if it spilled to the floor in waves that threatened to drown. ''Please,'' he suddenly gasped after suffering silently for a good hour. ''It is too much.''

Voldemort, who had been staring into the fireplace, raised his head and for the first time in days really **looked** at Harry, a shivering, doubled-over form on the floor. A flutter of regret calmed the waves, easing up the teen's chest again. Regret from Voldemort... how wondersome was that? That one second gave Harry more reassurance than any of the previous words that had come from the Dark Lord's lips. ''Thank you,'' he sighed, resisting the urge to move himself closer to the man. When searching for anything to start a conversation about to avoid thinking of his** own** emotions instead, Harry's eyes landed on the book that Voldemort was still reading.

''I didn't imagine you would enjoy Muggle literature,'' he commented, pointing at the copy of the bundled Lord of the Rings volumes, Voldemort's bony fingers holding the heavy thing open, only a few pages left unread despite how busy the wizard had been. A quick upturn of the lipless mouth told him that the words had been received.

''That I despise Muggles as a species does not mean that I cannot recognise a work of art of the individual. The variety of Muggle music and literature is, like the numbers of their kind, a hundred and thousands times more vast than we could ever create. For an avid reader such as myself who has lived as long as I have, the limited libraries of Wizarding kind fail to keep me interested after reading all the pearls a dozen times over. Besides-'' Voldemort tapped on the pages with his knuckles. ''There is much that we can learn from books like these that tie into our own history. No witch or wizard ever recorded the extent to which knowledge of our world has been leaked to Muggles over time. To find that out, we need to study those Muggles who attempted to accurately represent magical creatures and spells in their works. Naturally, they themselves believe it is mere fantasy, folklore to be used for entertainment. Still, when read by one who is familiar with the reality of these concepts, it can be... enlightening. I have gathered from this that Muggles have a good idea of giants, dragons and dwarfs to name a few, yet know next to nothing about elves. They even made up several races that do not actually exist either, although I can see the influence of both real trolls and goblins in the portrayal of this race called 'orcs'.''

''I never thought of it like that. Haven't read much fantasy either myself, it was banned by the Dursleys, they didn't want me to get any funny ideas. And the Hogwarts library is dedicated to educational books.''

''So I recall. A shame, that,'' Voldemort mused. ''In my opinion, fictional books have a value of their own even when not trying to dig deeper as I tend to do. While they do not teach anything that specifically stands on the cover, does not list instructions or explanations, they do teach values that shape our sense of morality.'' Harry coughed disbelievingly at the thought of Voldemort taking morals from Muggle fairytales to heart. A challenging eyebrow taunted him. ''That is not a jest, Evan. Fictional books reflect the current values of a certain period of time and geographical location, admittedly oft tied to the writer's gender, class and race, yet ultimately still applicable to all if one so wishes. Take this book specifically. In between all the lines where good is pitted against evil, more subtle messages shine through: that there can be strength in mercy; that bonds we choose can overcome the bonds we are born with; that sometimes we must sacrifice ourselves to reach our goals; that freedom is a fragile thing and that cultural decay needs more complex solutions than enforcement. Naturally, it holds many more messages that I personally do not agree with, but that is the beauty of books: we can choose what to identify with, what to take with from the pages and incorporate into our lives. It certainly shaped my view on how the world should be and influenced my own ideas.''

''Wow... I could never have imagined that... you know, that someone like you would care about any of those things.''

Voldemort chuckled. ''I especially should care. I wish to ultimately rule this country, how far would I get if I did not implement a set of rules that are based upon specific beliefs? All laws should reflect the ideas of the ruler and the people. I cannot just do what I decide on a whim, chaos would reign. No... I admit, I did not always have such beliefs. When I was younger, I found it hard to connect to people and often did not understand their reactions. The world was far simpler in my mind back then. Reward and punishment for specific deeds, obedience without question... It was only through books that I could learn and understand the far more complex workings of human minds that were not my own. Written down on the pages, I analysed hundreds of books, both fictional ones and non-fiction relating to human psychology. It taught me what I could not naturally see... the emotions that drove others, the strength that conviction could bring. I dedicated myself to understanding, and during that time, discovered the importance of a fixed morality.''

''But you still murder and torture,'' Harry spoke up, not understanding how that fit in with all the talk of morals. ''You still think Muggles are a lower life form that should not exist.'' To his mind, the number one thing that fantasy books taught about good and evil was that the evil side always used a false sense of superiority to squash others, exactly as Voldemort tried to do with Muggles.

''I never claimed that** my** morals are widely accepted, only that I believe strongly in keeping to my own code. I put value in my higher task, the protection of my people. For that, I am willing to do a great many things. Murder is not a tool I shun or condemn, for it can offer a swift solution. Torture I use only as either intimidation and interrogation of enemies, or as punishment for failure, to ensure that those under me do not grow lax or think they can get away with not giving their all. What I morally condemn is torture for the pleasure of it. There is no sense to harm those who do not have any information to give, nor is it wise to curse followers who have not failed me, no matter my personal feelings on it.'' Voldemort sighed, looking old. ''I admit that it can be taxing, I greatly enjoy instilling pain in others for no other reason than my own enjoyment, just like it makes me feel alive to see another die by my hands.'' Harry shivered at the casual confession, a sharp sting of primal hunger piercing his lungs that did not show on Voldemort's face at all. ''Alas, I cannot if I wish to aim for higher goals. I need to apply my own codex as much to myself as I expect from my followers.''

''Do you never slip up?'' Harry said, with trembling hands grasping the front of his own robes and squeezing until his knuckles hurt. The piercing grew rapidly in strength, hunger was a raging, consuming fire within that did not compare to any desire he'd ever held in his life. ''I can feel it,'' he whispered. ''How much you wish to give in, to kill, to hurt.'' A pained noise escaped his throat. ''Oh god, your desire to fill the emptiness by losing yourself in that... that feeling of power. It is overwhelming, how do you** cope** with something like this?''

Voldemort looked at him, his impassionate face not betraying any of the darkness that swirled and gnawed inside of him. ''It matters not how, only that I do. I am too old to be overcome with my emotions. Yes, I still had occasional lapses in my first life, but now... I have died and come back to life, not an experience that would leave me unchanged. Did I not tell you before, child? I mastered my inhumanity. When Dumbledore came to me as a mere boy, he saw a monster and he was** right**. And yet, I have overcome the impossible, picked at the minds of others, studied those I deemed beneath me so I ultimately understood what I lacked. I know that he told you I cannot feel... I laughed it off before, realising you had already experienced my emotions. What I did not admit was that I didn't always have these. I fought tooth and nail to claim the full spectrum of what it means to be human, even as, in sharp contradiction, I delved into dark arts and shred up my soul.'' Harry stared at the man with utter bewilderment. He looked at Barty, who had stayed silent throughout the entirety of their conversation, a rarity for the Death Eater. The man only had a contemplative and worried look as he regarded his Lord. It was obviously not news to him.

Harry licked his lips, trying to get rid of the dryness in his mouth and throat. Voldemort's feelings dulled again, withdrew from him, easing his mind. How could he ever have thought of this person as a mere power-hungry evil that had to be erased? Tears slid down his face as he wept for Lord Voldemort, unable to stop himself.

Voldemort had just admitted to being born without the ability to feel, without the ability to understand those around him. And he had** remedied** it? Healed himself without any outside help as others only saw the monster within him, all the while trying to study every aspect of magic and fighting his own urges to maim and kill, urges that Harry could understand very well now he'd felt the clawing hunger. How had this man not fallen victim to madness? Trembling, Harry sat upright, filled with renewed respect. He looked the Dark Lord directly in those deep, old eyes, this contradictive and complex being who fought his own nature on a daily basis for a task shared between himself and Magic. Not breaking eye contact, Harry bowed as low as he possibly could.

''I will do** anything** to realise your dreams,'' he vowed with breaking voice, his heart jumping at the way those proud eyes softened at his declaration.

''Come here, child,'' Voldemort whispered, extending an arm. In a daze, Harry shuffled towards him. Elongated, dry fingers found their way into Harry's messy hair and their eyes met, Harry filled with confusion as to what was happening. The next moment, he knew nothing anymore, entirely consumed by raw magic that had him gasping for breath, curling on the floor as Voldemort's hand slipped away from the crown of his head. The blinding power had only lasted a second, and oh, how Harry craved for more! ''A taste of Her gift to me,'' the Dark Lord smiled as he looked down upon Harry's dishevelled form. ''The only true way to recognise a Lord of Magic.''

''It is... wonderful,'' he gasped.

''Truly... and I know that it is what influenced you to make such a rash decision as that promise. Evan, I am not going to keep you to the word you just gave me. While I... appreciate that you believe in me, I also know you are only fourteen and prone to impulsivity.''

''But I meant it!'' he exclaimed, affronted at being treated like a child. ''Are you going to act like Dumbledore now, not accepting that I know very well what I am doing?''

A dangerous flash had him cringe, realising he'd gone too far with his words. ''Do** not** lash out to me, lest you'll regret it. If it hasn't gone through your thick skull by now, unlike Dumbledore, I did not hide important information from you nor did I send you on your way into dangerous tasks to test you without proper support. I do not think you are too young to receive answers when matters involve you directly, dangerous though they may be, but I** do **believe that promising me** everything** was neither a wise nor a realistic offer. There is a reason why I usually only take followers who are of age, with precious few exceptions. Did you even** think** about your words before you spoke them, truly? Your dear friends will oppose me, your godfather is part of Dumbledore's Order, I very well may need to slaughter the lot of them if it comes to battle. For while I do not plan to instil another war, Dumbledore knows I am alive and will not rest before he sees me dead, it is only a matter of how long I can fool him to think I have not yet resurrected. Do not tell me that you are ready to face that.'' With every word, Harry felt himself becoming smaller. ''I have seen your heart as much as you have mine, you do not have the strength to stand by my side and murder those you love for my task, which is what I **would** have asked of you if I had taken your word right now seriously.''

Harry turned away, conflicted. He wished to scream at the man he had sworn himself to a moment ago, wished to rage on about the unfairness of it all. He'd come to this house knowing very well that he could die, had tried to put the fate of the world on his shoulders, he'd gone through all of those damned rituals, yet now he wanted to help he was being rejected?

The faces of his friends appeared in the forefront of his mind and the anger dissipated. He was talking with his stupid pride now, there was no way in hell that he could follow each and every one of the Dark Lord's orders if they would directly endanger those he loved. ''But if I could just make them** see**,'' he spoke, an idea forming in his mind. ''That your ideas are good, that** you** are good.''

Voldemort released an irritated sigh. ''Did you not listen to a word I said? There is no good, no evil! I have a task to complete that will benefit some and be devastating to others! Balance favours society as a whole, not every individual. I will have to erase the current enormous influence of light magic, which many will never wish to give up on in favour of using more dark spells. I will have to contain Muggleborns to avoid exposure of our world and I shall see to it that spells and rites will be legalised that could pose dangers to humans, if only to ensure stability returns. Many will refuse to see the larger picture of magical harmony if it endangers their way of life. Considering that you befriended Muggleborns and families that turned away from the old traditions and the usage of both sides of magic, I wish you good luck in trying to convince them why laws should be put into place that can cost them their jobs and freedom.'' Voldemort laughed humourlessly. ''Precious few are honestly interested in what is best for our kin when it affects how they like to live.''

''I am!'' Harry defended himself. The angered face melted somewhat into a contemplating expression.

''Are you now? My goals would not hamper you personally in any way. You have no Muggles you are close to, you are not negatively affected by dark magic being legalised. The single thing that will change is that your popularity will drop if you do not live up to being the hero of the light side, but you never cared for fame, did you? I don't doubt that you would be happy with the changes, but only because **you** are not going to lose anything by it.''

''It will also have an effect on me if those I care for are unhappy!'' Voldemort shifted in his blanket and rubbed his chin in a very human gesture, silent for a while, considering Harry's words. The teen was reminded of the wizard's recent admittance of having to study people to learn empathy, perhaps it wasn't such a logical jump for the Dark Lord as it was for Harry that other people hurting would also concern him.

''Hmm, yes, I suppose it would. Not strong enough, however, to suffer any personal consequences. Added to that are the benefits you would receive, such as never having to see your Muggles again or being free to explore magic as you have come to know it here. I have felt how you crave it Evan, how the ancient spellwork calls to you as it does to me. And in part, you wish to follow me because I can give you that,'' the man concluded. Harry felt exposed as motivations were laid bare that he hadn't even consciously thought of. Was that alluring call of Voldemort's magic really why he'd given in so easily? Yes, it was, but...

''That's not my only reason,'' he stubbornly countered.'' I won't deny that it is.. appealing, but that isn't why I said I'd do anything to reach your goals. I've seen the moment in which you received your task. As a wizard, I firmly believe that it is right to fulfill Magic's wishes. It took me a while to reach that conclusion and believe in what I saw in your head, I admit. Now though, combined with everything else you told me about the prophecy, Dumbledore's lies, our... connection, and with knowing your personality and zealousness, it sounds like the best option.''

''I am glad for it. Then, I suppose a compromise is in order. I will expect of you to follow my demands, trusting myself to not ask of you that which you cannot handle. In return, you will not be granted a position as my follower and keep yourself safe. Stay out of the business between me and Dumbledore as much as possible and don't actively help either side until you are older and can make up your mind better. I cannot risk losing you to insanity or depression by getting you torn up between two sides.''

''Dumbledore still expects me to fight for him.''

''You are under no obligation to as long as I do not come after you. He cannot expect a child to hunt someone like me when it is not in self-defense, if he tries you can take legal action at the Ministry. I'm confident that Fudge would** love** to see you indebted to the Ministry and on a bad foot with the old fool.''

''Then I... agree with the compromise,'' Harry said, happy with the result. Being able to help Voldemort while at the same time being able to protect his friends was the best deal he could have gotten.

''Good. Then let us speak no more on the matter now, I wish to still finish this,'' he gestured at the book.

''Of course. Then, good night Barty, and good night... my Lord.'' The words sounded bizarre in his mouth after having avoided that title for so long. He knew that two pair of amused eyes were on him as he left and went to his bedroom.


	14. Resurrection

The clouds shifted at last, giving way to silver light that streamed down across the soft grass of the hill upon which they stood. It shimmered on the headstones, finding its way into every nook and cranny that was not occupied by a deeper shadow. Harry looked up to the sky, the small village not emitting enough light to drown out the brilliance of the stars here as it did in London. He was surprised at the view still: the height of summer was over, the air that had resonated with heat for weeks cooled now by summer storms that had clouded the skies for days. He shivered lightly as a cold wind picked up, some of the clothes he was wearing not entirely dry, the large downside of not having packed for a long stay before arriving.

Harry stood back as Barty double-checked every single symbol and relic to ensure they were perfect. Slabs of wood were spread out in a circle around the entire hill, carved, inked and enchanted to form a ward. Spell bottles stood around to ward off any negative influences that could affect the ritual, and a large cauldron stood right next to the grave of Voldemort's father. A sense of determination filled him, reflected by the one he carried in his arms at the moment. The wizard was silent, not wasting any further words on the ritual, having given all necessary instructions long beforehand. It would be quite different than what Harry had experienced until now, the magic that was at work had been planned out and prepared to such a degree that hardly any further words and not a single incantation were necessary to complete it. He stared dubiously at the inky blackness that filled the cauldron to the brim, no fire burning anymore. Still, the cooled liquid moved, glittery spells bound to the potion, ready to activate when the ingredients would be added that would serve as basis for the transformation.

Barty returned and dipped his head. ''My Lord, it is time.''

''Very well.'' Voldemort smiled, his voice attaining a raspy quality, glee jumping through the link. Harry certainly hoped that the ritual would fix the unstable bonds between them too. The combination of unfamiliar emotions, the pain in his scar and never knowing when he'd find himself in the man's head again had been enough to deal with for a couple of weeks, it was time that would end. Which reminded Harry that he'd never actually asked about how that was incorporated in the ritual.

''Evan?'' At Barty's questioning tone, Harry nodded and stepped forward until he stood in front of the cauldron. The man waved his wand, the stones around them beginning to glow wherever a rune had been placed: for stability, safe travel, strength, immortality and many more that Harry could not recall. The air hummed with their magic.

The Death Eater then raised his wand once more and wordlessly cracked open the air in front of his feet, the splintering of wood was to be heard and a trickle of white dust that glowed in the moonlight rose from its grave. _''Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son_.''

It sank into the potion without making a sound, as if consumed by a void, a void that started swirling now. The man then drew two items out of the pockets of his robes, a flash of bright red colouring the night. ''_Core of wand and wood of old, you will serve your master.''_

Harry tightened his grip on the lithe form as he knew what was to come. Barty strode forward without concern and held out his arm. _''Flesh of the devotee, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your Lord'' _With a muffled cry, Barty cut off three of his fingers, which were gulped up eagerly by the potion.

Determination still filling him, Harry walked towards the cauldron, shifting Voldemort so that the man was held up by his left arm as he too stuck out his wand hand. He hissed as the knife slit easily through the back of his arm. He spoke his own line now, in Parseltongue as instructed: _~Blood of the bound, blood of the killer, blood of former enemy, willingly offered, you will right the wrong.~_ He gasped as the droplets lit up like teardrops before being swallowed up by the potion, turning it a deep red instead.

With hurting arms, he unwrapped Voldemort from his blanket and raised the pale body over the cauldron, the nearly translucent, pearly skin shining brightly as it reflected the moon. ~S_oul tied to this earth, preserved by ancient magic, you shall have your body returned to you.~ _Careful not to touch the potion himself, Harry lowered the rudimentary body into the cauldron, slight fear filling him as he reluctantly let the head slip in as well so Voldemort was entirely submerged. He stepped back quickly as the liquid began to froth and foam, bubbling up as if a fire was being stoked under the cauldron's belly. The iron walls melted away and the potion sprung up like an out-of-control fountain, ever-changing shape, becoming a mass that was neither liquid nor solid, an abhorrent in-between that reminded him of slimy substances best left forgotten in dark caves and cellars.

He wanted to run as the dark red stretched and thinned, changed colour, at one point being a sickly green-greyish goo. Then, a shape that was clearly a hand shot out, and Harry started to recognise other shapes as well as Voldemort twisted and turned, being one with the potion and at the same time inside of it, trying to break through the film that contained him. One side of the slime formed an arched, sharp spine, while the top shaped itself to form a head, the colour paling further until it turned white as the bone dust and yew wood they'd offered.

Harry's mouth dried up as his breath sped away, awed as he witnessed Voldemort's adaptation of a rite that was far beyond the level of magic that he'd imagined ever seeing. That seemed to have become a constant in the Dark Lord's present, being so surrounded with spells and rituals he had never even thought possible existing. His years at Hogwarts were bland in comparison, learning only singular spells and potions every week. Harry understood only now how Hermione had been so caught up in reading the underlying theories of incantations they were taught. It felt like he'd wasted three entire years in terms of education.

At long last, the form that had come forth from the cauldron became fully human in shape, the rippling surface settling, turning into gleaming skin. Two feet touched down on the grass, too bony and long for any human, yet undeniably fully formed. Harry gazed at the -admittedly terrifying- form of Lord Voldemort, eyes trailing up quivering calves that hadn't yet adapted to their own muscles, over the heaving ribcage where skin was stretched so taunt over bone that he saw the heart pulsing beneath, up the angular collarbones and pale, slender neck to finally settle on the face, which was both well-known and unfamiliar at once. The basic features of the embryonic form were all still there: bald head, ophic nostrils, lipless mouth and burning crimson eyes, now set in a face that was undeniably older and larger. He couldn't say that it looked masculine, with high cheekbones and a sharp but not exactly square jaw line. Harry's gaze flickered south briefly and his cheeks instantaneously burned when seeing that the proof of Voldemort's masculinity was **certainly** present elsewhere.

The Dark Lord fell to his knees, oddly fluid and graceful even when Harry knew it was due to not being able to control his new body yet. He rushed forward, holding Voldemort's robe as Barty still clutched his bleeding hand with missing fingers. Harry's own wound wasn't quite as deep, although the blood still seeped down, making him conscious of having to be careful not to let any of it soil the Dark Lord's clothing. He walked quickly around the man, who was touching his own face now, exploring his body unabashedly as if he were entirely alone, keen noises slipping past his lips. Slowly, Harry lowered the robe over Voldemort's shoulders, who snapped his head to the side in a motion that reminded Harry totally of Nagini. The gaze captured his eyes and Harry was lost, drawn in, lowering himself to his knees. A spidery hand came up to grasp the robe that now covered a bony shoulder. Without knowing why, Harry reached out and softly splayed his fingers atop it.

No pain came this time as Voldemort's senses rushed in. There was only a feeling of being overwhelmed, being dragged down deep corridors, being swallowed up by the earth and cast out into a void. Electricity raced through Harry's veins as Voldemort's magic touched his, enveloping him fully and pulling his soul apart. It was too much, too much to take but at the same time so** wonderful**. He was himself, gasping and curling up against the side of the most powerful person he'd ever met, and at the same time, he **was that** **person**, newly awoken in a body that thrilled him, knowing that his papery white skin and hairless, gaunt limbs were proof of his power, proof which he was proud to display for all the world to see, so that every magician who would come eye-to-eye with him would** know** of his might.

Slowly, Harry was untangled again, physically and mentally, startled as he found himself still pinned by Voldemort's gaze and, what was more, pinned into place by a surprisingly strong arm that held him steady. Harry's heart started beating wildly as he realised what position he was in, pushed up flush against the Dark lord's side. ''I'm so sorry,'' he started, eyes wide. ''I... I didn't mean to. Your magic was just so.. so...''

''Evan, you're stuttering, stop it,'' the man commanded. It took a moment for Harry to realise that it was** Voldemort** who had spoken, not in the hissy, high voice he'd come to expect, but a rich low timbre that sounded like it should have come from someone with far broader shoulders than the skinny man he lay against possessed. Now he thought about it, the quality of tone vaguely reminded him of when Voldemort had started to sing at Lughnasadh.

''Yes, my Lord,'' he replied, more meekly than he'd wanted to, starting to stand up and away from the Dark Lord, throwing an angry glare at Barty who, despite the obvious pain he was in, looked like he was about to burst out into peals of laughter at Harry's expense. Slowly, Voldemort rose, slipping his arms through the sleeves and wrapping the robe fully around him, looking impossibly tall as he stood next to Harry, who barely reached up to his chest. No wonder people had been intimidated by this man. He positively towered over anyone Harry had ever known apart from Hagrid.

''Bartemius, my wand.'' Harry watched in fascination as Barty carried the wand over and offered it to his Lord's outstretched hand. Long fingers took it, first in a rather awkward grip before shifting to a more natural position. The wand reacted, the ground shaking beneath their feet as power was pumped through their surroundings. ''Perfect,'' Voldemort uttered, sounding pleased. A warmth coiled in Harry's chest again, as if a beast was purring inside.

''Sir, the link...'' he spoke, unsure of himself. ''It's still there. It feels even** stronger**.''

Voldemort blinked down upon him and raised his barely distinguishable, thin eyebrows, the only other hair that had grown on his body apart from a few short eyelashes. ''Naturally,'' he spoke. ''I explained to you during the blood-bonding ritual that that would be nothing compared to what we would have now. How did you conclude that our connection would vanish? The only matter I was trying to purge was the sacrificial protection in your blood, which has worked.'' Harry flinched slightly as Voldemort struck out and pressed a finger directly over his scar. The expected skull-splitting sensation didn't come. ''I can touch you now.''

Harry frowned. For some reason, he really had expected that after Voldemort's resurrection, he wouldn't feel all those emotions and thoughts anymore. His mind raced, but he could find no memories of Voldemort actually **saying** that to him. It seemed he had jumped to wrong conclusions all on his own. ''I thought..'' he started, feeling lost, ''that we were also trying to get rid of the visions and such.''

''Ah, that. Well yes, with your protection gone, the connection is definitely more** stable**, perhaps that is what you confused it up with? I have as much control now as you do, balancing it out and not allowing anymore for... slip-ups into each other's minds.'' Harry released a relieved sigh at that.

''That's great. I mean, not that it was awful in your head or anything, but... it wasn't great to wake up to your anger you know?''

Voldemort merely gave him a wry smile, then approached Barty. ''Give me your arm, Bartemius.'' With a radiant smile that betrayed all of Barty's feelings, the Death Eater raised his left arm, pushing back the sleeve with his mutilated hand to proudly reveal the Dark Mark. A soft chuckle escaped from Voldemort's lips. ''Your** other** arm.''

''Oh!'' Barty looked surprised and entirely fascinated as he offered his mangled hand. Without a care for the blood, Voldemort placed it in his own right palm and pointed his wand upwards, giving a wave. The air thickened and formed a silvery mass which split in three, forming perfect fingers that attached themselves seamlessly to Barty's stumps. ''My Lord, I thank you,'' Barty rasped.

''Lord Voldemort always rewards his faithful.'' Then, he turned back to Harry. ''Which, of course, also goes for you.'' At the command of one crooked finger, Harry was drawn towards the others again, feeling as if he were floating as a clawed hand took his arm, the magic that raced close across the man's skin giving him goosebumps. Instead of healing the gash, the same silvery substance filled the wound, giving the look of a gleaming metal scar. ''It will heal normally in time,'' Voldemort muttered. ''As you caused this wound for such a heavy ritual, it is not wise to speed up the process. You should take care to hide it from others until it is gone.''

''Well, good thing there aren't any other people here right now,'' Harry managed to said with a smile, which fell as the hand released him and Voldemort frowned.

''While true, there is little over a week left before you should return to Hogwarts. The owls with your school supply lists should be sent out soon, it will be incredibly suspicious if it does not reach you. I recommend that you leave to the house of one of your friends, perhaps. You have done all that I asked of you.''

''So... what, that's it then, just like that?'' he asked incredulously. ''I've done my task and now I should go?''

''I had assumed that you'd wish to be released?'' the Dark Lord spoke, studying Harry's face. ''Were you not eager to contact your friends and return to Hogwarts after all of my awful experiments were over?''

''Well, that is... that was** before**!'' he exclaimed, wondering how he could make the man see what he felt. ''Before I made the choice of fully supporting you! I didn't want to be sent away...'' he looked up desperately at Voldemort, trying to convey what he wanted.

''I thought I had been understandable enough with my compromise. I made it abundantly clear that I wished for you to not involve yourself too much, you agreed to listen to my orders. That includes the one about trying to stay inconspicuous, to leave and stay out of the conflict as much as you can, for both of us have too much to lose in you fighting for me.'' Harry's face fell further. Chewing on his lips, he realised that he was letting his feelings get the better of him. He looked up to the intimidating figure that towered over him and raised a hand up to Harry's cheek. The teen released a shaky breath as the tips of Voldemort's long, sharp nails raked across his skin, a blazing trail of magic in their wake that made him forget everything on the world. ''Ah, you and Bartemius are so alike, craving magic and freedom.'' Harry looked at his shoes the instant Voldemort turned away.

''My Lord, if I may?'' Barty suddenly cut in, marching up to Harry at his Lord's nod. One stinging slap later, Harry was tumbling backwards, eyes wide with shock. ''Kid, you're seriously testing my patience,'' he growled. ''Either you obey our Lord or not. If you hadn't noticed, whether you want to help or not, you have to leave in either case so this entire discussion you're trying to put up is pointless. I get how you feel Evan, I don't want to leave either, but if I'm being told to go, then I do so without struggling. That is what it means to follow.''

''That.. I only wanted-''

''You want to help, yes? Then play your part, return to your friends and act like you had the most boring summer ever despite getting rid of those Muggles for a while. Keep the secrets of our Lord's return close to your heart, keep your mouth and mind shut about it. You should be a bit more** grateful** to our Lord for-''

''Bartemius, that's enough.'' the Dark Lord calmly interrupted. The Death Eater instantly stepped back again and bowed, staying silent, as if the words had physically snapped him into place. It was both creepy and admirable, the extent of Barty's unquestioning loyalty. ''I am the one who should express my gratitude today, and I will. Let us return to the manor for now, it is not like you need to pack up this instant.'' Harry walked over to some of the spell bottles to pick them up, when they disappeared in front of his eyes. It made him very proud that he was able to stop himself from gaping like a fish when in one -wandless- flick, Voldemort just casually made every trace of their presence here disappear within a second, the symbols fading into the stones, the wet grass drying up, the grave closing. There was no way that those hadn't been multiple spells cast at once...

Instantly upon opening the door, Nagini flung herself at her master, hissing wildly and not letting go of his legs until he carried her inside. It was only from the hissed conversation after that Harry realised that Nagini had never seen Voldemort's previous form, and he wondered how old she actually was. She'd mentioned before that she hadn't been born yet when Voldemort had been with Regulus. Harry pulled a face as the thought hit him and he was reminded of** that** little detail again. The combination with his own humiliating actions of practically cuddling up to a near-naked Dark Lord in the graveyard made it even much worse. He tried to think of painting the bricks in Privet drive to distract himself from any topic that wasn't abhorrently dull.

Harry settled down on the rug in front of the fireplace as Nagini was still very busy with obsessively clamping down on Voldemort, not looking like she had any need for the fire anytime soon. ''Well then, now we are in a more comfortable environment, we should go over the plan I had in mind for you.'' Harry let himself fall down on his back, entirely relaxed. Barty muttered something about being disrespectful but both Harry and Voldemort ignored it. Harry had the feeling that, as Voldemort's Horcrux, he could get away with quite a lot. ''First and foremost, you are to choose a suitable place around wizards who have contact to Dumbledore where you can remain for the rest of the holidays.''

''The Weasleys, that's easy, I was supposed to go there for a while anyways, I completely missed it because of my idiotic plan.''

''Good to know you can admit to your foolishness at times.'' Harry threw a half-hearted glare at the wizard. ''Very well, the Weasleys then. You do not need to make any direct contact with Dumbledore, Knowing how he operates, I am certain that the Weasleys will send him a letter as soon as you arrive. Your excuse has been accounted for: after your cousin beat you up once again, you fled the house and ran into a French witch who had been sightseeing.''

''Sightseeing in Little Whinging?'' he disbelievingly laughed. ''Was she interested in Muggle letter boxes and middle-class cars?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. This particular woman just finished her sixth year at Beauxbatons -the French school of Witchcraft and Wizardry- and did a summer project studying Muggle behaviour in England to prepare for an event that will be held in Britain this year.''

''What kind of event? You're not referring to the World cup are you?''

''No, it would not have made much sense to study Muggles only a week before the Quidditch cup if that had been the case. A Tournament is taking place at Hogwarts, involving the three largest European magical schools. To safely travel, the staff at Beauxbatons wished to study which wards are set up against Muggles in this country, as they might interfere with their own spells. They used it as an excuse to send several students over already and study both the Muggle population and the barriers put in place here. If Dumbledore is to be believed, the area around your home happens to have some very unique wards. And secrets, no matter how well-guarded, can sometimes... slip.''

A vague recollection of thoughts entered Harry's mind. Had the man mentioned this Tournament before? Or had it been in one of the visions? In either case, his memories of it were rather muddled. Then, his thought process stopped upon realising something else: ''Wait, you knew where I lived all along?''

''It's not as if you were under a Fidelius charm there, it wasn't hard for me to track you down. Dumbledore entirely relied on the sacrificial protection to keep me out. Not entirely certain how he thought that worked either. I can understand his line of thought in that the offering of your mother could be strengthened while there so I could not harm you as much in your close proximity... and yet, it is not as if the house your aunt lives in has a protective bubble just because she resides in there. If anything, it only directly worked when being near her in that moment.''

''I tried to avoid her as best as possible so that's quite a rubbish thing then.''

''I'm sure he relied on the fact that you are blood-related and they thus have to care about you in some form in his mind.'' Voldemort's mouth twisted. ''For all I know of his own family, it is quite disturbing that he thinks that family bonds mean you have to love each other. I will not go further into the old fool's troubling teenage years now though. To continue with the plan, this witch took pity on you when she saw how you lived and offered to take you with on her trip so you could guide her around a bit. As such, you never stayed in one place for long, explaining why you only occasionally answered post and could not be tracked down.''

''The downside of this whole story is that if those students from Beauxbatons actually come to Hogwarts, Dumbledore could interrogate them and he'd find out that nothing of it is true as this witch doesn't exist and none of those students actually met me.''

''Ah, but this witch** does** exist. Dixie Heloise Étourneau, turned seventeen last June, born and raised in the small Wizarding community of Cazenac, located on the outskirts of the Muggle village Beynac-et-Cazenac in Dordogne. She passed all of her courses with good to excellent marks apart from potions, and is especially fond of magical creatures and plants. I will give you a notebook containing details that might have come up in conversations, had you actually spent over a month travelling with her. Naturally, convincing pictures are included of you and her. Barty has tracked her down and implanted false memories of your travels, plus several compulsion charms that will give her the desire to protect you and be friendly towards you to not arise suspicion.''

Harry tried his best to hide his astonishment. ''You... I had no idea that you had time for something like that!''

''Did you really expect that I'd just let you wing it after you barged in here and declared yourself to be** Harrison B**l**ack **in** Parseltongue**?'' Harry felt his cheeks flushing and blamed it on the fireplace. ''At any rate, you need not worry if you stick to the story, plus you might find it handy to have an ally in a foreign school already. The compulsions will wear off eventually, so I recommend replacing those with real friendship. Alternatively, you could blame them wearing off on drifting apart if you find her to be of disagreeable character.''

''Only you would come up with magically compelling a person to like me just to have a good cover story,'' Harry noted, slightly uncomfortable with that fact. Barty had spoken quite clearly of how horrible it was to not be in control of himself for all those years.

''I** will** do **anything** to achieve my goals. Parts of my grand plans are keeping you safe and leaving Dumbledore in the dark. Enchanting a single person is hardly the worst I could have done. She will be left no worse for wear afterwards.'' Harry found that the words sounded a bit too defensive, it wasn't as if he'd wanted to accuse Voldemort of anything. Curious, he tried to mentally reach out just like the other had done to test the link a few days ago, trying to send a comforting wave. Whether by his doing or not, Voldemort relaxed again.

''Understood, I'll already try to read a bit of the notebook in the morning, before I... before I go. How do I explain not knowing any French after a month though?'' he asked, suddenly worried. Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

''You're British,'' he spoke as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world. ''Enough of that. Let us talk about your compensation... name a reward and I shall see if I can gift it to you.''

Harry's mind drew an instant blank. He could choose anything? He'd expected Voldemort to have something concrete in mind that Harry would just have to be happy about no matter what it was. To be suddenly faced with unlimited possibilities -for after experiencing Voldemort's power, he was sure that there was very little the man couldn't manage- was a bit much. An embarrassing thought fluttered through him, his body craving to feel more of that magic, to curl up to Voldemort and bask in the rush of power that would flow through his mind.

''I wish to return,'' he suddenly spoke, mouth faster than his brain, a major flaw that he suffered from more often.

''Return?'' Voldemort inquired.

Harry fumbled with a loose thread on his jeans, not meeting the man's eyes. ''You said that I should stay away, to be Harry Potter again and not mingle in any fights. I can deal with that. However, I would very much like to... to do this again. Hang out, talk to you..''

~_Feel me_?~ Voldemort hissed, the sly grin with which it was said clearly audible.

Harry pressed his lips together, at least glad for the fact that it hadn't been spoken in English. Then again, Barty's expression, a mixture of suspicion and mirth did not ensure Harry that he hadn't known what Voldemort had just said after all.

''That too maybe,'' he mumbled. His heart was hammering in his chest now. ''It was also great to learn of the existence of so much magic that I had never even dreamt of. I wish to spend my next summer here again instead of being stuck at the Dursleys.''

Voldemort hummed and Harry was, for a moment, afraid that it would be denied. His breath rushed out in relief when the man spoke: ''You'd better keep in touch with dear Mademoiselle Étourneau then, we may need her mind again next summer. Your desire shall be granted. Go to sleep now, you will need a clear mind to keep strong under the interrogation of your trip that will surely follow. Considering how little time is left, it would be wise to leave tomorrow around nine. Your owl shall of course be returned to you by morning. You can also have** this** back.'' An impossibly long arm extended towards Harry, balancing a wand of holly on top of two smooth finger pads. Smiling, Harry reached out for it, sighing as the wand greeted its master with warm sparks of magic. He held it close to his chest. ''You ought to take better care of it though, the varnish is quite worn. Wands are fickle things, it might turn on you if you neglect it.'' Surprised, Harry looked up, having never thought much about it.

''Ah, thank you,'' he spoke awkwardly. ''I suppose I will... go then, yeah. 'Night.'' He got up from the cosy, warm rug, not really feeling like spending the last night separated from the others, no matter how much of a safe haven his bedroom had become. Not when the room was heavy with magic hat emanated from the Dark Lord. As he walked past the couch, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, making Harry yelp as he was dragged back on a suddenly much longer sofa. He only had time to briefly glimpse Voldemort's smug smile before he was lost again in streams of power.

''Silly child, sleep,'' the man said fondly, although the words barely reached Harry in his delirious happy place. ''He's such an bumbling little thing sometimes. Don't you agree, Bartemius? This place will be so lacklustre without the both of you, I envy you.''

''I'm sure he'll miss you too, my Lord,'' Barty smiled sadly, speaking not only for Harry.


	15. A homely Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About this chapter, I realise that I slightly altered the timeline of events without knowing it. I could swear that the Quidditch World cup was somewhere in July and that Harry spent the rest at the Weasleys in the books, but it appears that that event was canonically only at the 25th of August, so really shortly before the school year would start. For the sake of this story, please note that in this version the World cup already took place at the 17th of July, otherwise Barty would not have been able to be there previously at all. - And we wouldn't want to miss Barty, would we?-

The morning of Harry's departure flew by. Between packing, hurriedly reading the notebook and making breakfast, Harry tried to cram in everything he'd still wanted to do. In the meantime, Voldemort strengthened his amulet -and what a rush** that** had given-, Hedwig pretended that she was still mad at him but in the end perched on his shoulder, hooting happily. And just like that, with a last wave and a conspiratorial promise from Barty that they'd see each other much sooner than Harry could suspect, he was off.

The day was a dreary one, with rain slating down, turning the run-down bus stop into a pool of mud. While Voldemort was right in that it would be less suspicious to first travel by Muggle transport elsewhere instead of calling the Knight's bus instantly, it didn't mean that Harry liked it. When he arrived somewhere north of London, he'd had enough of the boring ride next to sweaty people. Getting out, he hid behind a tree on a lonely part of road and stuck out his wand. The only positive thing about the bus' neck-breaking speed was that he didn't need to avoid Stan's and Ernie's curiosity for long until the Burrow came into view. His heart jolted a bit at the familiar sight. Walking up to the house, he slowed down his pace as he noticed that it wouldn't be necessary to knock: Ginny and Ron were both busy trying to sweep the front garden as fast as possible while making it look like they actually cleaned. They cried out upon noticing him, dropping their tools in favour of tackling him.

''Harry? Merlin's ruddy socks, that really you? What happened? You could have been a tad more detailed in your letters!''Ron huffed. ''And you missed the World Cup in favour of touring some French chick around? Was she at least hot? Wouldn't blame you so much if so- OW, GINNY!''

Harry tried to cover a large grin at Ginny's sugar-sweet smile which appeared instantly after stomping her brother's arm. Flashing eyes told Harry that she perhaps wasn't quite as much over her crush on him as he'd hoped. ''Um, hi to you too,'' he spoke, scratching his head sheepishly. ''Sorry for dropping in so suddenly and for being so vague before. One never knows who reads letters that are sent out from the middle-of-nowhere by a flashy white owl.''

''Speaking of which!'' Ginny exclaimed. ''What was up with you just dropping off Peter Pettigrew at the Auror's office the same day that you disappeared? We all thought you'd been kidnapped or something until you finally bothered to write weeks after. You'll definitely be getting an earful from my parents and Dumbledore.''

''And Hermione,'' Ron muttered. ''She was besides herself. You just missed her by the way, she was here until a week ago, wanted to spend the rest of the holiday with her parents.''

''Oh... that's a shame,'' Harry said. ''About Wormtail, that was a bad coincidence. Dudley used the fact that I came home late to get away with beating me. Then I had enough and fled the house for the evening to cool off, where Dixie found me. I.. err.. kind of dropped everything at the chance to leave, which I later regretted majorly because I didn't pack anything apart from my wand and some money, not even my cloak or extra clothes. That made for some.. awkward situations when travelling,'' he laughed, actually becoming red at the thought of the encounters the notebook had described. Barty sure had had fun coming up with a detailed background story. ''At least Hedwig could still travel with me, she'd been out hunting.'' A fact that had heightened the difficulty of travel just now with Muggle bus, but his owl was thankfully smart enough to follow his instructions of flying above it.

''That was so reckless!'' Ginny reprimanded him. From the way she looked at him, Harry didn't exactly get the feeling of being scolded however. It looked more like she was mad that** she** hadn't had such an adventure.

He grinned at her. ''Worth it. So, what actually happened with Wormtail?'' He could barely believe that this was one topic he'd never actually discussed with either Barty or Voldemort despite Pettigrew being the reason why he'd found Riddle house in the first place. Now he thought of it, surely Barty should have known since he'd left regularly to do one thing or another for his Lord. ''I didn't have a chance to keep track of news of our world since Dixie and I mainly checked out Muggle places,'' he explained as he received surprised looks.

''Well,'' Ron said, awkwardly. ''No-one actually knows.''

''What?''

''Thing is, he never got to have a trial. Through some friends, dad found out that Wormtail confessed before already, spilled all the beans to the Aurors. Then they left him alone in a room with only security spells for a while before wanting to move him. And** then**, when someone came to check up on him he was already kind of... empty. It looked like he'd had the Kiss, y'know? Which can't be, since there weren't any Dementors near. I heard my parents talk about it, they got some more information from Dumbledore, but he also seems to be at a loss. They said something about that Wormtail didn't have a Mark. You-Know-Who tattoos his closest followers, did you know that?'' Ron shuddered. ''Dumbledore was somehow convinced that Wormtail would have gotten one but his arm was empty.'' Harry frowned, not entirely sure of whether Voldemort would have marked the rat. Considering the fact that it gave a sort of link, it would certainly have been useful. Maybe the Dark Lord considered Wormtail to be too much beneath that honour despite Pettigrew aiding in his revival in a way?

''At least he already confessed,'' Harry said, unsure.

''While true, it wasn't in front of any official judges,'' Ginny cut in. ''I'm sorry, Ron told me about Sirius Black... I somehow don't think he can use this much to go free now Pettigrew cannot make any official statement. I think they are still debating whether one of the Aurors can put in a memory as testimony but it is usually not allowed since they can be influenced and changed...''

''A memory?'' Harry asked, wondering how one could show that to others. Of course, he'd seen Voldemort's memories but only since he'd been in the man's head at that point. Legilimency then?

''There are ways to extract memories or something, I'm not sure how,'' Ron shrugged. ''Anyhow, we don't know what happened with Scabbers - Wormtail, I mean. Man, it's so weird still to think that he was my** pet**! Dumbledore seems to think it has something to do with You-Know-Who but that can't be, right Harry? He was a ghost-thing last time you saw him right?''

''Yeah,'' Harry agreed, his mind not reflecting his outer calm. Had Voldemort cursed Pettigrew somehow to not reveal too much? How was that possible with Voldemort being ill back then? Why had he not asked anything about Pettigrew before?

He let himself be brought inside by his now impatient friends where he was instantly crushed in Mrs. Weasley's arms. When she at last released him, Harry breathed in the warm, homely Burrow, feeling absolutely at ease. Now he knew how Dark magic felt, the difference was staggering. While enchantments were all around, he barely noticed them as they didn't weigh heavy on him at all. Easy, comforting and fleeting spells, a stark contrast to the streams of grinding rock and lava that had flushed his veins whenever he came close to Voldemort.

With a happy sigh he slouched down on a chair. As much as he had enjoyed those last days -even if he often had not wanted to admit that-, he certainly hadn't been able to** relax** much, always having to be careful of what he did or said. The easygoing nature of the Weasleys was absolutely great. The teen accepted the instantly offered piece of freshly-baked apple and cinnamon roll and gave it a nostalgic look before biting into the soft cake. The smell and taste would now forever remind him of his birthday. He put the rest down and poked it around on his plate a bit. Who would cook now that he was gone? With Barty botching up even cooking rice **with **instructions, he highly doubted that Voldemort would allow the Death Eater in the kitchen again. The thought of the Dark Lord himself baking an omelette drifted through his head and he stuffed his mouth with cake again to avoid grinning like a fool.

As Ron's mother came in again, he couldn't help but ask: ''Mrs. Weasley, I was curious... do you celebrate things like the harvest festival?'' Ron and Ginny both blinked at him and Mrs. Weasley looked confused by the out-of-the-blue question.

''Well dearie, I suppose we do a bit, just some superstitious old nostalgia. It's the only day of the year where we feed the gnomes by giving them some grain. It's not a big thing as it's mainly connected with families like the Blacks and Rosiers and such. You know...'' she hesitated. ''Since they kind of** claimed** it first, we don't commemorate a feast too much that is celebrated by that kind of bad people.''

''My godfather happens to be a Black,'' Harry said, a tad frosty. The woman flushed.

''I didn't mean to insinuate... Sirius was always a bit further away from his family. I mean, we didn't know until recently, but Dumbledore has** assured** us that he has only the best intentions in mind.''

Harry's hands clenched at yet another mention of the Headmaster meddling again in Sirius' affairs. ''But you celebrate Christmas and Easter and such, at Hogwarts we do as well. Plenty of** bad** Muggles have a good time on those days too. Wouldn't it make more sense to commemorate our own feasts so they are not forgotten?''

''What brought this all up?'' she laughed, slightly uncomfortable. The others just stared at him with curiosity.

''I heard some good things about it,'' he mumbled. ''I never thought much of it before, but due to Dixie I got to know more about magical beliefs and traditions. In France, magicians only celebrate Muggle holidays if they have Muggle relatives, as those are the only people who have roots in those religions and traditions. It looks a bit... inappropriate for purebloods to partake in Muggle festivities without even knowing what they are for, and at the same time neglect to honour their own history.''

''I never thought much of it like that,'' Mrs. Weasley contemplated, finally taking a seat herself too. ''Since the sabbats have had** dark** ties for centuries, my own ancestors have stuck to the Muggle side of things for ages, so you could say that those really** are** my own traditions. It gives a feeling of unity and solidarity with the non-magical folk too. We have magic, but that doesn't make us so different. It is nice to be able to connect with them a bit.'' Harry nodded slowly, the arguments of both sides understandable. If Voldemort would succeed though, magicians would mostly live in another dimension altogether. Those who wanted Muggle contact, to feel 'just like everyone else' might find that disagreeable. The man's words of losing jobs and freedom shot through his head and Harry lowered his eyes. The Weasleys would indeed be pretty hard-pressed to find any sort of positivity in the Dark lord's plans. It was a good thing that they most likely still had years to go, perhaps he could still try. It was better than giving up on those he held dear from the start to leave them to their own fates.

''I take it that you participated in the harvest then?' 'the woman gently smiled. ''Ron hasn't been very forthcoming on what you were up to'' she shot her youngest son a stern glare, who pulled a face

''Ah, I was travelling the country a bit with one of the students of Beauxbatons.''

''The** French**?'' Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. ''Are you can sure you can trust this person?''

''It's a hot girl mum, Harry will be just fine,'' Ron smirked.

''You don't even know how she looks!'' Ginny interjected, eyes shooting fire.

''I've got pictures, actually. Judge for yourselves.'' Taking out the notebook, he carefully extracted a few of the photos, well aware of that it wouldn't be a good idea to show them any of the rest of the contents.

Ron grabbed them and whistled: ''A blonde! Nice Harry!''

''It's not like that,'' he protested hurriedly, the narrowed eyes of both Ginny and her mother on him for different reasons. ''Besides, she's seventeen already, doubt she'd be interested in me like that, she just felt a need to protect me when she saw the state I was in.''

''And what state would that be?'' Mrs. Weasley spoke, her voice a bit shrill.

Harry shrugged. ''Dudley had beaten me up pretty good. No worries, I'm fine now. Dixie healed me right away.''

''Those Muggles!'' she exclaimed. ''If there were ever a pair of awful ones, then **those**.'' All thoughts on Muggle sympathy were apparently off her mind at the mention of the Dursleys. ''Bars on your window, no food, beatings, how can Dumbledore still let this go on? Since last summer I've written him letters about it and tried to breach the topic a hundred times! I understand there are some special wards in place but really, we wouldn't mind turning our house into a fortress each summer if it would mean that you'd be safe from** them**. Oh you poor boy!'' Harry lowered the pictures and stared at the way that Mrs. Weasley got so worked up on his behalf. He wasn't entirely sure what to do or say, trying to keep himself from doing something ridiculous like choking up. To know that she** cared** so much was... wonderful. ''I wished that he would at least... oh I don't know,** intimidate** them a bit or so with magic so they would treat you better!''

''I honestly think that would make it worse,'' Harry sombrely spoke. ''At least it will be first time they notice no-one **actually** checks up on me.''

''But that cannot be!'' she frowned. ''Surely the Headmaster has put someone in place to watch over you.''

''Not as far as I know,'' Harry shrugged. ''And even if, maybe only to protect me from Voldemort-'' he ignored the gasps and squeaks, ''- and not from anything my family does.'' She frowned again at him at those words.

''Well... we cannot have that! Ron, go prepare your room with another bed. Ginny, check on Fred and George will you? I do not want them assaulting our guest with their horrid experiments.''

''Oh, I can handle horrid experiments, trust me,'' Harry dryly said. ''I'll help you with the room Ron, it's my fault for appearing without so much as a warning.'' They disappeared upstairs, with Ron hounding him about any scrap of information Harry would give on Dixie and their travels, which was a bit of a challenge considering he'd never even met the woman. Or 'hot chick' as his best friend kept calling her, which was a nickname that Harry seriously hoped Ron would drop when they were back at Hogwarts and this Dixie Étourneau would actually** be** there. The Twins showed up at one point, talking enthusiastically about all the hiding spots they were putting a product they'd been inventing: candies that could change physical appearance and affect one's health. Harry thought it was rather genius, Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to agree. The only one who didn't show himself much was Percy, who had -according to the rest of the children- been a right git all summer. The Twins told him that their brother had gotten his nose permanently stuck in the air ever since he became junior assistant to some Ministry employee whose name was apparently banned in the house.

All in all, the day was quite easy-going and Harry settled right in, just as he had done the year before. He'd forgotten how comfortable it was in the bright and cosy Burrow. He also finally had the opportunity to meet Bill and Charlie, who had been staying over since the Quidditch World Cup. Harry found both of them to be absolutely fascinating, but they usually hung out either with each other or with the Twins so he didn't want to interrupt. It was only when evening fell that a slight tension was in the air, Mr. Weasley being incredibly nervous about something and shooting glances at his wife, who gave him some stern looks until Mr Weasley finally approached Harry.

''Ah, Harry! It's really great to have you back here. My wife told me that your luggage is still at your family's home?''

''Unfortunately,'' Harry said. ''Most of it can be replaced when I go to Diagon alley though.'' _But not your Firebolt, or the Marauder's map, or the invisibility cloak_, he thought with a pang of loss. He really should have prepared better when leaving...

''So... these Muggles... do they use fireplaces then?'' Harry blinked, taking in Mr. Weasley's half-excited, half-nerve-wracked face in fully now.

''Not exactly,'' he spoke slowly. ''They still have a chimney but it's boarded shut since they got an electrical fire.''

Mr. Weasleys face lit up for a moment and Harry was certain he'd start to ask a bunch of questions about sockets and power plugs if his wife had not shot him another glare. ''Right, erhm, so what would the **normal** way of visiting Muggles be?''

''By Muggle transport?'' he said, not knowing what the man was getting at. ''You know, trains or buses or cars.'' He cringed, remembering why the Weasleys didn't** have** a car anymore. ''I am still** so** sorry about the Ford Anglia,'' he spoke quickly. ''It was such an incredibly stupid idea back then.''

''No worries, that's all in the past,'' Mr. Weasley hurried to say. ''So theoretically, how would one go at getting on a bus?''

''Oh bloody get on with it!'' Ron's mother exclaimed, hands at her hips. ''Muggle ways are obviously not going to work, just apparate to little Whinging already!''

''Wait, what?'' Harry said, spinning around. ''You don't mean to say that you want me to go back to **the Dursleys**?''

''Not** you** dearie,'' she huffed. ''I can fully well understand you not wanting to see them anymore. **Arthur**, go and get the Twins! And make sure that when you check them for candies you do not remove** all** of those.''

''But Molly! Those could be dangerous, you banned them from the house, surely they don't have those anymore-''

''Last time I checked, there was an entire sack hidden behind the loose board next to the third stairway, a few stuffed down the gnome holes and little bags sewn to the inside of their briefs. Do **not** tell me that my own destructive children gave up on carrying those things around just because I said so.''

Left both impressed and slightly terrified, Harry asked: ''But why would you not want Mr. Weasley to remove all of them?''

''So they can leave some for your awful relatives of course! No Arthur, don't give me that look, I will have** no** mercy for those people even if they are Muggles, they** starved** him! And to not let Fred and George get away with too much, I can't have them think that they were allowed to do it, so make sure you remove** most** and overlook the candies they're sure to have in their shoes and folds of clothing. I will expect you back here soon, so chop chop!'' A fond smile curved on her lips as she watched Arthur run out hurriedly to the front garden, where the Twins had gone to set off some fireworks. Harry almost wished that he could see the results of their sweets. Almost, but not quite enough to actually face the Dursleys again.

Still, he waited in anticipation for their return, getting a feeling of deep satisfaction when hearing of how that Dudley had grabbed all of the stuff they had 'accidentally' spilled and not picked up again, of how Harry's cousin's tongue had increased so much in size that Mr. Weasley had had to resort to a shrinking charm, as risky as that was on sensitive human body parts. Harry couldn't care less about Duddykins' sensitivity. The twins shut up very quickly, wearing guilty faces as their mother came marching out, at whom Harry only grinned victoriously and got a secretive, indulgent smile back from.

Ron and he hauled the heavy trunk up the wonky stairs and Harry instantly started digging in for some robes that he** hadn't** worn for one and a half month straight with only an occasional hand wash. In the meantime, his friend spoke of the Quidditch World Cup as much as he could, detailing the formations and how the players had been, in particular Krum, the Seeker of the Bulgarian team who'd pulled off a Wronski feint during the match. Only at the end he became a bit more sombre. ''And well, afterwards, the victory celebrations were interrupted by** them** and mass panic broke out.. It was one of the reasons why mum and dad got so upset about you running around the country unprotected.''

''Them? Mass panic?'' Harry asked. Ron stared at him.

''Merlin, you really didn't keep track of** any** news at all did you? I'm talking about the** followers of You-Know-Who**!'' Harry sucked in a breath, an icy shiver running down his back. Had Voldemort contacted his Death Eaters again after all? Had all the talk of not gathering them to avoid a war been a lie? The instant after that, he relaxed again at the realisation that the World Cup had taken place during the time that Voldemort had been ill still. In fact, hadn't Barty broken free during the World Cup and muttered angrily about this exact thing? If Harry recalled correctly, he'd said something along the lines of 'a wanna-be bunch of snobs who caused a ruckus during the World Cup' when talking about the unreliable, cowardly followers of the Dark Lord.

Ron continued with his story, speaking of the Dark Mark that had appeared in the sky all of a sudden, upon which the Death eaters had oddly fled. Apparently Ron's dad had a theory about them being more afraid of Voldemort's return than anyone else as they had renounced his name. Harry couldn't agree more with that they should fear it indeed. His friend then elaborated on how hectic the Ministry was at the moment, since the Daily Prophet had brought out articles about the lax security, explaining why Mr. Weasley had had to break off his holiday and had long days at work now, only home today because it was weekend. Not much else was said upon the topic once Ron finished his tale. Harry didn't wish to slip up on his thoughts of Voldemort, nor did Ron seem willing to think much further about a group of murderers running wild in the country, hiding behind masks. They instead spent the day with chores - which Harry didn't really mind helping with even if he didn't have to -, playing games and talking to the Twins in hushed tones about their products.

At dinnertime, Percy finally showed himself and sat down without lifting a finger.

''Hey Perc, how wonderful of you to grace us with your presence! I wouldn't touch the food if I were you, we don't want that greasy attitude to rub off on the chicken,'' Fred smirked.  
  
''Yeah!'' George chimed in. ''Isn't your dear boss sick of your love letters yet?''

Percy reddened and puffed up, obviously trying hard not to take the bait. Honestly a bit curious about what Percy did exactly, Harry was unwise enough to sit down opposite of him and ask.

''I work as a personal assistant to the Head of International Magical Cooperation,'' he spoke in a tone that sounded as if he considered it to be a job on the level of being the Minister of Magic himself. ''A very busy job, you must understand, and the department has a much higher standing than.. ahum..** other** branches.'' He pointedly looked at his father, who ignored the stare but poked a fork into his baked potatoes with a bit more force than Harry was used to from the usually so calm man. ''It is also of the utmost importance that I keep up with all the news that goes around in the world, most people have such a narrow view of their surroundings. It's Britain this and that, and while it is of** course** important to have pride for our country, that means nothing if we cannot compare ourselves to others, isn't that right?'' Harry just nodded mutedly, already regretting this conversation now. It didn't help that when George walked past to bring out a plate, he whispered 'you brought this upon yourself' in Harry's ear. Bill and Charlie threw Harry some pitiful glances but kept eating without further comment.

''So, I write daily reports of anything I come across that might be relevant to my department. Up until now, I've had excellent feedback, Mr Crouch told me that-''

''Crouch?'' Harry sharply said before he could help himself. Percy looked a bit disturbed at being interrupted.

''Yes, Bartemius Crouch, the head of my department. Have you heard of him?''

''A bit,'' Harry admitted hesitantly. ''Not sure what to think of him.''

''Don't believe any of those rumours you heard Harry, Mr Crouch is an upstanding citizen who has a strict moral compass and a high regards for the rules,'' Percy fondly said. ''In fact, just this Friday he said to me: Weasley, this country needs more people who are earnest and respect the law. So many-''

''Oh, he's finally learned your name, has he?'' Fred threw in. ''Last time we met him it was 'Weatherby' and he hardly gave you a glance before handing you that cup of tea back. I'm surprised he can remember anything with how paranoid and distracted that guy is. One would think that having a stick up the arse would at least keep his thoughts straight too.'' Percy really did blow up now, slamming his hands down on the table as he threw daggers at his brother, making the tableware rattle dangerously. Harry thought that the Twins could be glad that their mother had disappeared into the kitchen again to prepare dessert.

''You are exactly the kind of rule-breaking scum that Mr Crouch fears will cost us dearly! No regard for rules, no respect for elders, not obeying anyone if only out of spite!''

''Oh no!'' Fred spoke, throwing his hands up dramatically. ''Whatever would we do in the face of Holy Sir Crouch! Would he throw us in Azkaban too if we dare to offer him a fake wand?''

''I've had enough,'' Percy bit, shoving his chair back forcefully. ''Father, I shall be up in my room if you need me and leave for the office at six in the morning. Bid mother good night from me. Ron, Ginny, I do hope that you will not follow the example of** these** two, else you will never get respectable careers. Harry, I apologise that you had to see that display, I appreciate you taking the time to inquire about my work, no-one else here seems to care.'' With that, he swept from the room with as much dignity as he could still muster. Ron and Ginny both burst out into nervous giggles at the slamming of the door.

''I'm so glad I don't have to live with** him** anymore,'' Charlie said, rolling his eyes. ''Dragons are much more pleasant company.''

''Boys, you really went a bit far this time,'' Arthur spoke wearily, taking off his glasses and cleaning them slowly with a slip of his robe.

''But dad, he all but insulted you personally with his 'important department' talk! Now who hasn't got any respect? I don't understand how you tolerate the git! Is he like this at work too?''

''I don't have much to do with Percy at work, he's on a different floor,'' Arthur stiffly replied. ''And it still does not give you the right to rile him up so much, I am happy that he was able to get into such a high position as he wanted to. Both Bill and Charlie here had much more trouble finding employment after school. Your mother and I do not have the best contacts or the finances to secure a place for you.'' The pain in his voice at that admittance was audible, muting the children, including Harry. ''Fred, George, you will be out of school too and haven't performed to the best of your abilities. I know you have some plan about a shop but really, I strongly recommend not searching self-employment. I've seen so many shops pop up and vanish again... Having a business is hard, especially when you are doing something so... out of the ordinary.''

''But Zonko's also runs well!'' Fred said.

''Zonko's is right next to a school full of children, who are their only customers,'' Bill reminded them. ''They will not be waiting for competition in Hogsmeade. I'm personally not against your idea but you should definitely plan it out well.''

''Exactly,'' Mr. Weasley agreed, then looked confused and threw Bill a look. ''Or no, not exactly, I am still very much against the idea entirely, just like your mother is.''

''We've got a plan, just** trust** us a bit dad.'' George begged. With a final sigh, Mr. Weasley put his horn-rimmed glasses on again.

''I'll have no choice but to do so, have I? Try to not mention it to Molly too much, she worries even more than I.''

The Twins fell into dark muttering and stuck their heads together after that, quickly gulping down the dessert when Mrs. Weasley brought it in before rushing upstairs. Ginny followed them, possibly to help. Harry thought of his previous conversation with Mrs. Weasley and really wanted to continue it but didn't know how. There was no easily explainable reason for why he would suddenly have such an interest in Pureblood traditions and such. Travelling with that French woman was not going to be a plausible excuse for wanting to talk about views on dark magic either. Still, while he could talk to Ron, Ginny and even the Twins at school and perhaps strike up some careful conversations throughout the year, their parents were another matter as Harry hardly ever saw them. Considering the fact that Voldemort had been certain of that they would contact Dumbledore, he wondered if they were part of the Order of the Phoenix already, or if they would be once Dumbledore revived that group. Harry unfortunately couldn't think of a good enough reason to talk about such topics and retreated upstairs with Ron too.

The next few days weren't much different: He spent them with games, Quidditch and light conversation. The main theme seemed to be the speculation about who their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would be, at which Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared knowing smiles, causing them to be hounded with questions by their children after. It felt very odd to not have anyone around who was brooding about the fate of the world. That didn't mean that Harry didn't** enjoy** his time, for he certainly did, but there was something... missing. He knew that only a few hundred miles away, Voldemort and Barty were deciding on plans that would soon affect all magicians in the country. They were probably having duelling sessions and learning more. Did he ever come up in their talks? Had he made the right decisions?

''Harry!'' Mrs. Weasley yelled from downstairs, sounding excited. ''You have a guest!'' He and Ron exchanged confused glances over their collection of cards, which they'd been trading at that moment. They quickly concluded their deal: Harry's Roland Kegg and Xavier Rastrick against a rare card of Ron of the wizard Quong Po, who was famous for his studies on Chinese fireball dragons. While Ron had completed his own base collection last year when finally getting his hands on Agrippa, he was building up a spare one to increase trading in Hogwarts and keep the collection of cards alive. His friend had lamented the fact that the other collections of cards - a line of creatures- was not obtainable in chocolate frogs, instead needing to be bought separately or acquired at events.

He went down carefully, wondering who it could be. Surely Dumbledore would not show up personally to interrogate him, would he? Or had the compulsion spells on Dixie Étourneau been a tad too strong and did she now stand in the Weasley's living room? Was it maybe Barty in disguise to check if Harry wasn't doing anything stupid? He gasped in surprise and joy when seeing who was there to greet him. Harry took in the black, tousled hair that fell just past the man's shoulders, the thin, still worn-out face that was lifted up by a brilliant smile.

''Sirius!'' he exclaimed, rushing into the man's open arms. Maybe it was odd for him to be so trusting and open, he'd only met the man a couple of times after all, but just like with the Troll in his first year, there were some things that you could not go through without forming a strong bond. Freeing someone from Azkaban, a werewolf and a flock of Dementors was one of those.

''It's so good to see you again!'' Sirius spoke fondly, hugging him tightly. ''Wow, I almost forgot again how much you look like James. And what have I heard? Escaping from your family to trek the country? Good one kiddo, that gave me an amazing laugh.''

''Mr. Black, really now!'' Ron's mother huffed. ''That was a very dangerous and reckless thing to do.''

Sirius ignored her, crouching down in front of Harry, still smiling, and whispered, so that only Harry could hear: ''Good on you for running, I would have done the same. Hell, I **did** do the same at your age. Such spirit!'' With a pat on Harry's shoulder, Sirius rose again and looked around. ''Also great to see you again, I know we were briefly introduced by Dumbledore but never met in such an informal setting so... just call me Sirius, none of that Mr. Black or Sir. The latter is already in my name anyways so no need to repeat yourselves for me. I hope you have taken good care of my godson or else I will really need to blow some people up! Kidding, kidding,'' he added hastily at the looks he got. Harry had the feeling that he would get along swell with the Twins. ''Could we maybe..'' he said, gesturing at Harry and himself. ''Get a private word?''

''Oh, naturally!'' Mrs Weasley agreed, looking none too happy about leaving Harry alone with someone who had been branded a dangerous criminal for the past thirteen years. ''I sure hope that my blasted children will finish those listening devices soon,'' he heard her mutter as she left the room, guiding Ron out again too. Harry had the feeling that, if the Twins' idea of a joke shop were to succeed, they would have at least one anonymous bulk-buyer. Sirius sighed and rolled his shoulders, sitting down on the armrest of one of the comfortable, bulky armchairs in the sitting room.

''How have you been?'' Harry instantly asked.

''A lot better, mostly thanks to you. Harry... I** cannot** express how much it meant to me that you caught Peter. I don't know how it happened, and am pissed about that in the end he didn't get a trial but the fact that you went out of your way for me is.. is...'' he cleared his throat. ''What I meant to say is, I'm in your debt kiddo. I wouldn't be able to walk around at all if not for you, having to hide away on some faraway islands, or worse, in my own house.''

''Why'd you flee from your own house?''

''Because it is a dreadful place, full of curses and bad memories, which are possibly even worse than any dark magic. Would you return to the Dursleys' place even when they were absent?''

''No,'' Harry admitted, understanding Sirius well.

''As to what I've been doing... not so much, some jobs for Dumbledore, he was the one who orchestrated the whole plot to get me free after all.'' Harry's nails dug into the palms of his hand. Could he risk talking about this with Sirius already? Was it wise to show any animosity towards the Headmaster? Then again, wouldn't it be stranger if he went along with it now and later 'changed his mind'?

''I've thought a lot about Dumbledore,'' he spoke, sitting down himself too. ''I wanted to see if I could get some confirmation of you.''

Sirius cocked his head. ''Sure thing, anything you need.''

''Is it true that Dumbledore was the creator of the Fidelius charm on my parents' house?''

The man nodded, making Harry's stomach sink. ''And were you** ever** the secret keeper?'' If they had switched the keeper after the wards had already been in place, then perhaps Dumbledore** hadn't **known.

''No, James and Lily wanted me to be but I voiced that it would have been too obvious.'' sorrow filled his eyes. ''I shouldn't have done that, it was stupid of me to suggest Peter when knowing it was likely that someone in our close vicinity could be linked to You-Know-Who.''

''But then...'' Harry hesitated, not knowing how to break such an important fact. ''Then Dumbledore **knew** that Wormtail was the secret keeper, not you.'' Withered hands fell away from Sirius' face, which had been cradled in them before.

''I... I suppose so,'' he spoke with cracking voice. ''Merlin, I never thought about that, but from what I know of that ward, the secret keeper needs to be specifically keyed in. Then how come that Dumbledore **didn't** know?'' The lost look and unwavering faith in Dumbledore broke Harry's heart, but he had to push through.

''He did Sirius, he did know who really betrayed my parents. He was the caster and not a man to be lightly controlled or fooled by confounding magic or anything like that which may have tampered with his memory.''

**''No**,'' his godfather protested, frowning. ''That cannot be, it was Dumbledore who instantly offered his help to me after I explained the facts to him! What value would he have in keeping the truth from anyone about my innocence if he had known?'' then, his face fell. ''Though I could understand... I mean, I really did think that I had succeeded in murdering Peter, the main reason why I was shipped off to Azkaban was because everyone thought I had killed Peter and those thirteen Muggles he blew up with himself. Even if professor Dumbledore would have stood up for me and confirmed that I did not betray Lily and James nor was a Death Eater, there's a high chance that I would have gotten lifelong on charge of murder. Without a body, no-one could have checked anymore if Peter was a Death Eater or not.''

''It would have made** every** difference,'' Harry angrily argued. ''Perhaps not for your sentence, but to the public, to** me** it would have mattered! Because I would have known that you avenged my parents' death instead of being a traitor yourself, I would have known that it wouldn't have been likely that you killed those Muggles along with him. You would have become a martyr instead of a traitor and murderer. Do you want to know why Dumbledore kept his lips sealed on your at least partial innocence that he knew of? Because he wanted to put me with the Dursleys from the start, because it would make me look up to him and make me easy to control when I finally attended Hogwarts, having no knowledge of the Wizarding World before. He couldn't have my godfather there to take care of me!'' He saw red now and wasn't able to stop the flow of words, which increased in audibility a tad too much. ''He took everything from me and you both, only so I could be manipulated without him telling me one damned thing of importance!''

''Harry...'' Sirius weakly spoke. ''Harry, be quiet...''

''NO, I SHALL NOT BE QUIET ON THIS. I WAS BEATEN AND STARVED JUST SO DUMBLEDORE COULD PLAY ME FOR A FOOL!''

Arms were around him again and all of Harry's frustrations washed away with his stinging tears that dripped on his godfather's robes. ''Harry, shh, it's okay now, I'm here now.'' After a few long minutes, during which the Weasleys miraculously did not appear again, Sirius held Harry at an arm's length and gave him a taxing look. ''You really do have Lily's temper. By Morgana, I had no idea that you could blow up like that. Good thing I cast a privacy ward before, it is not wise to speak ill of Dumbledore in a house like this. The Weasleys owe that man quite a lot and wouldn't be happy about this, true or not.''

''So you believe me?'' he pleaded.

Sirius carded his hand through his wild hair. ''Kiddo, this is all a bit much. I agree on that he must have known about Peter but that doesn't instantly validate all of your accusations about his motivations. Before that fateful day, no-one even knew that you were going to become so important, it wouldn't make sense for Dumbledore to have some kind of great plan about you. How did you even come up with all of this?''

Harry chewed on his lips. He'd hoped that Sirius would realise just as quickly as he had what Dumbledore's role had been in this. -Though hadn't he also been more hesitant at the start-? ''I can't say,'' he admitted, dropping his gaze to the floor. As much as he would love to indulge everything that had happened this summer to Sirius, he had to be certain first that the man wouldn't go to Dumbledore. Harry hadn't forgotten that the man** had** been part of the Order and cast away his dark family.

''You can talk to me about anything,'' Sirius muttered. ''Look, I'm not judging you about your doubts with Dumbledore, it does sound fishy and I know how his grand schemes can be sometimes.''

It was so tempting, confiding in his godfather... but Harry couldn't. Not yet. So instead, he said: ''I'd actually love to hear some more stories of what my parents were like. When I caught Peter he kept babbling on about them to perhaps please me or something, but I didn't want to hear it from** him**. Still, one thing caught my attention: were my mum and **Snape** really friends?'' Sirius barked out a laugh at that.

''Oh my, yes they were. Childhood friends from even before Hogwarts actually. Then the slimy git got sorted into Slytherin and hung out with the wrong sort of people. He was one of those kids who... I don't know a good metaphor. You know how lots of guys think all girls are nasty and bully them apart from 'the one more perfect girl' and expecting that one to be then all grateful for them making an exception? Sevvy was like that but then with blood purity. All Mudbloods were trash apart from her in his mind.'' Sirius growled. ''Then he had the audacity to be mad when she didn't want to hang out with him and his little friends who wanted to see all the rest of her kind dead. But oh, it was fine of course, because **she **would be spared. I just cannot believe that he is allowed to teach** children**.''

''Dumbledore spared** him** from Azkaban,'' Harry helpfully reminded. He instantly regretted his words when Sirius curled a bit in on himself. The prison was obviously a sore point. ''I don't get it either,'' he hurriedly added. ''Snape's a horrid teacher too, not only nasty personality-wise but also really bad at teaching anything! So... do you think you could tell me more about mum and dad?''

Sirius smiled indulgently. ''Sure kiddo, I'll go get the others back in the room though, I cannot take up this space for just us all the time, it is** their** sitting room we're occupying.'' As soon as the privacy wards were cancelled, half of the family bustled in. As he chatted on with his godfather, Mrs. Weasley kept shooting Sirius suspicious glances. Time flew again, and at the chime of five, the woman suddenly jumped up. ''Oh! Arthur and Percy will be home soon. I am sorry Mr... Sirius. You'll have to leave now. I didn't dare tell Percy about you, he is devoted to the Ministry and your name isn't completely cleared.''

''Oh? What does he do?''

Mrs. Weasley's face twitched nervously. ''He's the personal assistant to.. well... Mr. Crouch.'' The reaction was instantaneous. Sirius' face hardened, deep lines of suffering appearing on his face at the mention of the man. It was then that Harry realised that Crouch must have been the one to send him to Azkaban too.

''I see,'' Sirius whispered. ''I must go then. Stay tight Harry, keep in touch this time. That one flimsy letter I got from you all summer wasn't nearly enough. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, so at least try to stay away from anything that could most definitely get you killed. Everything else is up to your own level of courage.'' With a roguish grin, he was off, apparating as soon as he stepped outside.

''He didn't even apologise for my leg!'' Ron muttered.


	16. In Dreams and Thoughts

_The vague floating notes of a violin drifted through the dark, overgrown ruins of a once grand villa that Harry found himself in. He blinked owlishly. Was he dreaming? Looking down upon himself, the Gryffindor concluded that he must be, wearing a set of extravagant dark blue robes that he most definitely didn't own. It was a good sign that he seemed to be himself, he'd almost feared to have accidentally ended up in Voldemort's dreams again. That rush of relief screeched to an abrupt halt when he found the source of the violin: the Dark Lord, sitting on an ivy-covered, half-crumbled stone wall. Harry watched in amazement, observing the man's fluid movements as Voldemort swayed with the music he produced: a slow, sorrowful song that fit the scene of abandoned rubble all around._

_Harry froze as red eyes opened slowly and focused on him. They looked uncanny, until Harry realised why: whereas Voldemort usually had red irises, even the white had now bled into glowing crimson, the pupils mere slits. It looked definitely even creepier than the real-life version Harry had come to expect. _

_~Evan, how good of you to join me,~ the man hissed. He lowered the violin that had been propped up against his chin, and a second later stood in front of Harry, gazing down in a way that made the teen feel like he was going to be eaten in a moment. His gaze flicked to the pale patch of skin of Voldemort's visible chest that wasn't covered by robe, fascinated when seeing a few shimmering scales. _

_~You look... different,~ he replied._

_The lipless mouth curled into a smirk. ~And I know you still find me just as repulsive as you did before.~ Harry spluttered a bit at that, not wanting to hurt the man's feelings but not able to deny it either. Voldemort certainly wasn't conventionally attractive for sure. The only thing that could be said something positive about were how his eyes normally looked. ~I am not in any way offended by that, my opinion on my own body does not change simply because of your judgment. It did nothing to prevent you from coming** closer** to me when feeling my power.~ Harry looked away at that. ~Also, I am not the only one who changed my appearance, so did you. This** is** a dream after all.~_

_Looking around, Harry could finally confirm this to be true: some of the walls were rather vague and a few of his senses appeared to be dulled. He couldn't smell anything, for one. ~Is this mine or yours though?~ he asked, feeling calmer than he imagined he should be. ~I thought that with the connection stabilising, I wouldn't slip into your dreams again. Also, it's much different than last time... for starters, I am not** you**.~_

_~Ah, so many questions again. Let me simply enjoy your company for a bit first. We have all night.~_

_Harry felt like he should perhaps be more disturbed by those words than he was. He chalked it up to all of this merely happening inside of his head. Or Voldemort's head, whichever fit better. He walked besides the much taller man and enjoyed the light of the stars, which was brighter than a regular night sky, especially considering there was no moon in sight. They finally sat down beneath a part of roof that was still standing, being held up by a low, twisting tree that had sprung up from the tiles beneath. Harry settled on one of the curved branches while Voldemort unceremoniously slid down to the floor against all expectations. _

_~This is my dream, if you are still curious. I invited you here. Do not worry, the link is still under control.~ Harry felt flattered at being invited into the Dark Lord's head, considering how mad the older wizard had been about the last few times. ~I wished to see how you are faring. I thought it would be more convenient to check upon you like this than to elaborately disguise myself and sneak into Hogsmeade.~ _

_Harry chuckled at the thought.~ Now that would be a sight...~_

_~So, you have managed then to keep your cover?~_

_Harry nodded with hesitance. ~Mostly. I did towards the Weasleys, but one of the days Sirius visited and... well, I couldn't keep my anger in about Dumbledore. Thankfully he didn't ask me more about how I knew of Dumbledore's lack of action in his sentencing once I told him I couldn't give him my source.~_

_~That was reckless of you,~ Voldemort spoke disapprovingly. Harry ducked his head._

_~I had hoped that at least Sirius might support my decision in the end.~_

_~Sirius Black... that man has cost me dearly.~ The bitter sadness that tinged his voice gave away that this was about more than Sirius being a mere enemy who had fought Death Eaters. Harry suddenly realised that Regulus had of course been Sirius' younger brother. Had his betrayal something to do with Sirius as well? Harry didn't dare ask, not wishing to disturb the dream nor give away that he knew anything about Voldemort's past relationship. ~Although I doubt you can convince him even with Dumbledore wronging him, I will not stop you from trying as long as you do not reveal any vital information. I forbid you from mentioning to **anyone** that you are a vessel for my soul. In fact, you should not mention my means of immortality at all, it would be... risky.~_

_~But you have all of your vessels near you apart from me, right?~ Harry frowned, counting in his head. There was him, Nagini, the diadem, the cup, the ring and finally the already destroyed diary. Harry blinked, only now realising that that** had** to be what the diary had been. What else would have had such power and personality? Those were six vessels in total already, surely Voldemort hadn't put even** more** pieces of his soul away? How far could one shred one's soul in the first place?_

_~Barty did not manage to retrieve all,~ Voldemort spoke. ~I would prefer to withhold any further words on that topic for now. If you ever come across a piece -which I highly doubt-, bring it back to me, you should have enough knowledge now on how they feel and how to connect to them.~ Harry nodded in agreement._

_~So, what is up with the violin?~ he hissed, gesturing to the instrument that had appeared in the man's hands again._

_A thin eyebrow rose. ~I happen to have hobbies.~_

_~Wait, you play? Like, in real life too?~_

_~Yes... during my childhood, music was considered an expensive luxury, so naturally I wished to possess it, master it. I had plenty of time and resources to get started with several different instruments, in the end settling on this one, finding it to produce the purest sound. It also brought forth a new challenge, since it is considered to be a way to express emotions, which, at the time, I did not fully understand. Naturally, I conquered that obstacle in the end.~_

_~Is that also why you like chants so much?~_

_~In part, yes. Another reason is that they leave much additional room for adaptation and personal expression than simple spells do. A few supplementary or replaced words can triple the power involved if you pick them wisely. It is like writing a poem that then unfurls into reality, granting more rewards the better it is written.~_

_~I somehow had not held you for the artistic type. It is... interesting. I was never good at any form of art. The only hobby I really love is Quidditch.~_

_~So I have seen, Quirinius didn't even manage to knock you off your broom,~ Voldemort said in amusement._

_~What** was** that about anyways? You said that you didn't try to harm me back then.~_

_~It wasn't to harm you. With all teachers watching, getting you to fall from your broom would hardly have caused any damage. No, I wished to test your resilience to my magic, to find out if you had any sort of special powers that had hampered me the night of my death. Needless to say, while you stubbornly clung to your broom, there was nothing there. Only Severus' counter spell and then your friend's little trick with her fire in the teacher's stands prevented my spell from taking hold. Speaking of magical resilience, I did not merely invite you to check on you. I have thought much about your words on serving me and the way in which to have you aid me.~_

_~Oh?~ Harry perked up._

_~I have decided on a way to both test your current powers and to widen your horizons on magic, dark magic specifically. I need to both see how you deal with overcoming problems as well as to have you publically using sacrificial magic. Since you are currently seen again as the beacon of all that is good, it would benefit the image of dark magic if you use it. Naturally, I am not talking about curses or anything labelled illegal. There are many obscure and forgotten wards, charms and so on that are not in use anymore but were also never explicitly banned due to them having no ill effects if used correctly. They are only dark in the most technical sense of the term in that they are heavy magic that requires an offering in return. I shall send you a few books on those, you can pretend to have received them from your new contacts in France or from your godfather if he is willing to cover for you on this. Since you arrive at Hogwarts the day after tomorrow, I will send them out first thing in the morning.~ Harry worried about having to explain why he suddenly had an interest in old tomes on forgotten and possibly harmful magic. ~They are not dangerous by any means,~ the other added at Harry's look._

_~So what will this... this way of testing be?~_

_~I shall leave that a surprise still, it was merely my intention to warn you of that I will be testing you. I do not wish to be** like Dumbledore **after all.~ Harry felt himself getting red, which was absolutely stupid because this was a** dream** damn it._

_~I know by now that you are nothing like him. Thanks for the heads-up, I will do my best.~_

_~That is all I ask.. ah, it seems the day is dawning.~ And indeed, as he said so, rays of sunlight broke through the deep midnight sky, setting the clouds ablaze with gold and red._

_~Will I see you in my dreams again?~ he asked, but as he turned around, Voldemort had already vanished. There was only the orange and white of the sky now. Orange and white that was... moving? And had blue eyes?_ Harry groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake Ron away, who was looking way too frantic.

''Harry, Harry! Wake up! Stop it!'' Ron yelled. Harry finally fully woke and shot up, nearly colliding heads with his friends.

''What is going on? Are we under attack?'' he asked, looking around to see what the fuss was about.

''You tell me! You've been hissing and spitting in your sleep for over twenty minutes now. Maybe longer, I only woke up from it then. Does it have anything to do with** You-Know-Who**?'' All colour drained from Harry's face. He'd been talking in his sleep? Merlin, he wasn't sure whether to be happy or not about the fact that he'd been speaking in Parseltongue with Voldemort. It had clearly freaked Ron out, but he was certain of that his friend would have been much worse off, had Harry actually mumbled all of his conversation in English.

''No, it's... I just dreamt about snakes, that's all,'' he lied, instantly feeling bad for doing so. ''The one I saved from the zoo a couple of years back, to be specific. Sorry for freaking you out, I didn't even know that I could do that in my sleep.''

''I totally forgot that you can do that at all,'' Ron muttered. ''Damn, I am glad that it turned out to be nothing, you had me freaking out here, thinking you might be possessed. You also didn't wake at all... Sure everything's fine?''

''Don't sound so much like Hermione please,'' Harry groaned. ''What time's it?''

''Barely seven, we still have two hours before breakfast.'' Harry nodded, not feeling like he'd slept at all this night. He gratefully let his head sink back into the pillow once more to dream of normal things that did not involve a certain Dark Lord.

Being one of the last days before their return to Hogwarts, they finally went to Diagon Alley to get the shopping done. Mrs. Weasley had wanted to go all by herself, but Harry, who wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts to see if there would be any other interesting books on sacrificial magic, convinced her that it would be nice to all go together. She only softened up on the idea when Harry mentioned that Diagon Alley had a much better selection for gift shopping than Hogsmeade did and he still hadn't gotten anything for his friends yet. She had already tried for days after to get everyone moving, but each time it had been postponed until now, on the last Saturday of the holidays, it finally could not be pushed back any further. The list of books they had to get was thankfully rather short, but among their required clothing was one item that Harry had not expected.

''Dress robes?'' he asked. ''What are those?''

''Oh, just some more festive wear, also usable on formal occasions,'' Ginny explained. ''I'm thankful for being the only girl in the family, I bet Ron is going to get **those**.''

'Those' turned out to be a frilly thing that had been handed down from brother to brother ever since Bill had to get one. -Who had also received it from one of Arthur's uncles apparently- Despite Mrs. Weasley's insistence that all dress robes looked like that and the lace was perfectly normal, Ron didn't seem one bit happy with the announcement.

Ginny's face fell a bit when she looked at her own parchment. ''They're not on my list, maybe it's for an event that only the higher years are allowed at,'' she scowled.

''We'll see what we can do dear,'' her mother said. ''We might not be able to afford brand new ones, but it becomes time that you get some dress robes anyways, one can never know when a party is happening. Bill is about the right age to finally get married.''

Bill sighed. ''I don't even have a girlfriend yet, ma.''

''Becomes about time that you meet someone then,'' Mrs. Weasley insisted. ''Let us finally leave, we only have a few hours for everything. Boys, get your stuff in order, **now**!''

''Yes mum,'' the Twins chimed together.

Shopping was more uneventful than Harry had thought. After his landing in Knockturn Alley once and having been in Diagon Alley three times, it had lost some of its wonder. They made a regular round to Gringotts, the apothecary, Flourish and Blotts -which thankfully held neither Lockhart nor the Monster book of Monsters- and ended it with Madam Malkins. Mrs. Weasley had wanted to go in and buy Harry a robe that would be a surprise until he arrived at Hogwarts, but not being sure whether she even knew his size and style, he headed inside himself, where it took Harry some persuasion to pay for his own robes. After trying on a few, he forewent bottle-green robes, which he'd spotted first, for some that resembled the blue ones he'd worn in Voldemort's dream.

Both the shopkeeper and Mrs. Weasley complained about it not fitting his eyes and skin well, but he didn't care, having a good feeling about it. After another long, whispered argument with Mrs. Weasley, he could also convince her to buy some new robes for Ron and Ginny, insisting those would be their combined Christmas and Birthday presents. Fred and George both already had theirs, the frilly ones having skipped them since they had suggested at the time to rip it up and each wear half -one the bottom, one the top-.

Ron couldn't keep from constantly giving Harry relieved words of thanks when they left, incredibly happy with his new vivid dress robes in Gryffindor colours. Ginny too kept smiling brightly, hugging the bag with her new robe to her chest. She had gone for something that more resembled a Muggle dress, although it still had a hood and flared sleeves. Harry had wanted to offer some new robes for Mrs. Weasley as well as thanks, but realised that she would never accept it when he saw her guilty expression at seeing the happy faces of her children at finally receiving clothes that weren't hand-me-downs.

With full bags, they sat down at Fortescue's ice cream parlour, where they had fun trying all kind of magical flavours and tastes. Harry could recommend quite a few, having spent a week at Diagon Alley last year and eating here nearly every day during that time. He didn't manage to get free ice cream out of Florean this time, but it was nice to chat up with the cheerful man again.

When they returned, Harry already started packing and flipped through a few of the new books, determined in his new quest to finally start learning more, ignoring Ron's complaints about acting like Hermione. Their new book for Defence looked promising: it seemed that they would be dealing less with dark creatures this time and rather focus on shielding from curses. One piece of magic caught Harry's interest in particular: Hex-deflection, which would send the enemies' curse back at its target. It wouldn't work for any strong curses, but could be useful when having a Stunner or Jinxes thrown at oneself. It was also one of the first books to provide a solid theoretical explanation with the spells it described and background information. This was the first time that Harry found out that, while things like charms and curses were obviously different types of magic; hexes, jinxes and curses were purely human-made classifications to describe the 'grade of severity' of a curse. Additionally, all dark hexes and jinxes had been grouped in the 'curse' category about a century back to be able to outlaw them for the general public.

Harry closed the book to look at the cover, surprised that a book which described dark magic like this was allowed on their school list. The neutral title of 'The Art of protective Magic' didn't give much away, neither did the author that Harry had never heard of. Whoever was giving the subject this year seemed to know better what they were talking about than either Quirrel or Lockhart had, at the very least. The oddest thing about the book though, was that it was split in two parts: the first one covered defensive spells, whereas the second part was dedicated to a list of curses, against which in-text was then not only given possible spells for protection from those specific ones, but also the precise way those curses themselves were to be cast. While Harry was thrilled at the prospect of actually perhaps being able to learn some of those then, he hesitated about someone like Malfoy having access to such a thing. He just knew that Malfoy would misuse them purely for bullying...

As engrossed as he was in the book, Harry barely noticed the time pass. It was really wondrous how much a change of heart could make a difference. These past three years, while he'd always loved seeing magic, he'd still kept a school-attitude: anything in a required textbook was by definition only worth reading at the very last moment the teachers said they had to. He'd been an idiot, having been given the means and place to explore a world in which he could bend the laws of nature to his will and all he could do was complain about foot-long essays? He deeply regretted taking Divination now -arguably **still** a useless subject in his mind- and Care of magical Creatures. From what he'd seen during Voldemort's rituals, both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy were absolutely vital for any advanced forms of magic. Changing subjects was most likely not an option though, he couldn't even **image** going to McGonagall and trying to explain why he suddenly wanted to switch.

Harry sighed. That would mean additional hours of nightly studying then, and he hoped that next summer he could pick up a bit from the Dark Lord if the man would allow it and wasn't too busy. An incredulous laugh slipped past his lips. How was it possible that after only a month after starting to believe in his former enemy, two months after being dead-set on killing him, Harry was now hoping for crash courses? Perhaps he'd better go to Hermione, who would not put up so much suspicion as he imaged the teachers would. He'd bet that she would be happy about him finally taking his studies seriously.

The next morning, he was more energised than he'd ever been at six 'o clock as he got his trunk downstairs and nicked a piece of toast and egg off the large plates that Mrs. Weasley had prepared the evening before. Harry briefly wondered how the Weasley family kept their food cool. Fridges wouldn't work, but Barty had explained the difficulty of binding a freezing spell permanently to an object. Well, who knew, Harry had absolutely no idea how skilled Ron's parents actually were in various areas of magic. One hour later, after waving off Mr. Weasley to work, Molly shoved them frantically out of the door towards two Muggle taxis that were waiting for them. Harry couldn't help but think that Voldemort would disapprove very much of how close Muggles could get to such an obviously magical home. Ron kicked a gnome back behind a tussock of grass to hide it from view.

The ride was cramped, Harry wedged between Ron and Fred, with Bill sitting in front. Molly had taken the other car with Ginny, Charlie and George, thinking it best to have at least one adult per car and to split the Twins up to avoid any mayhem. Harry was of the opinion that it would just mean that both taxis would end up the target of a range of pranks instead of only one of them. That theory was proven correct when, after the four-hour long ride to King's cross, the Twins wore identical, devilish smiles as the taxis swerved off, the lacquer of one turning suspiciously pink and yelps coming out of the other as sparks flew out of the windows.  
  
''You think we're going to meet our teacher in the train again this time?'' Ron asked. ''Would be wicked, we should check the compartments.''

''I'd rather not if it can be avoided, don't want to run into Malfoy,'' Harry reminded him. ''I could do without talking to that ass for as long as possible.''

Humming in agreement, Ron instead tried to search for Hermione on the busy platform, who came running with a loudly protesting Crookshanks in her arms. ''Oh shush gorgeous, I know, I'll let you wander free in the train,'' she cooed. ''Harry, Ron!'' Ron eyed the cat warily, who was staring at him with its rather ugly squashed face.

''Hey 'Mione. You think that monster is fine with me now that Scabbers is gone?''

''He's not a** monster** Ron, he's just a very smart cat! You should be thankful to him! Isn't that right Crookshanks? Yes, yes I know.'' She hugged the cat even tighter and Harry could picture her in fifty years, sipping tea and reading a book with thirty cats surrounding her rocking chair. ''Oh it's so good to see you both again! Harry, I will definitely have a good word with you still!'' she pinned him with a stern gaze that reminded him of their Head of House.

''Sure,'' he meekly spoke, hoping she'd get it over with quickly. She didn't, reprimanding him about his reckless behaviour for the better part of the first two hours of the train ride, wanting to get every little detail about how he had ensured his security during his cross-country travel. Her interrogation definitely pushed the boundaries of his little notebook. He'd have to start adding all the things he was forced to make up additionally so he wouldn't forget them and slip up after... Hermione finally calmed down when Harry seized his chance to ask about Runes and Arithmancy when she finally took a breath during her waterfall of words.

''You want to switch subjects?'' she asked in surprise.

''Not exactly. I mean, it would be great to rid myself of Divination at this point, but it is a bit too late I think. I haven't been such a model student up until now so I also doubt they'd grant me a time-turner for attending classes of the third-years or things like that. Besides, what would Hagrid think if we gave up on Care of Magical creatures after only one year of him teaching it?''

''I'd say he'd probably get the right idea about what we think of the course,'' Ron muttered.

Harry gave him a grin, ''Yeah, but that would still be awfully mean. Maybe we can drop it after the OWL's or so.''

''Two more years of holding off teeth and claws?'' Ron protested. ''Oh well,** I** think it is probably still better than anything that involves math. I completely zoned out at that at elementary school. Loved history though, especially about all the battles and such, 'twas only a shame that Muggle history was taught there exclusively.''

''You went to a Muggle school?'' the girl asked in surprise. ''I never heard of that, but I suppose there are no magical equivalents, are there?''

''There actually are a few, where do you think all those rich little snobs get sent off to?'' Ron scoffed. ''They're not subsidized by the government though, instead funded by parents. There's nothing official about them, but it's better than having each kid be only home-schooled. While I don't doubt that some parents are good teachers, others just can't do that. My own parents were certainly too busy to teach us anything besides some basics.''

''But if you went to school with** Muggles**, how come you know so little about electricity and all those kind of things?''

Ron shrugged. ''It was only a tiny school in our village, and most people are also not exactly rich there. They didn't have any fancy equipment or technology at school and us kids were not allowed to bring anything from home either. Sure, they talked about phones and stuff but I never really listened much. I mainly stuck to my brothers and a few other kids whom I knew were magicians since I couldn't very well become best buddies with a Muggle whom I would never be able to show my house. It sucked. Still, mum and dad insisted that it would do me good to have a 'basic education' of the Muggle side of things and to interact with them. I half agree to that I guess, it did get rid of the superiority complex that most purebloods seem to have. They never got to see Muggles as people, not even when they were small. I did. That makes a large difference in how we view the Muggle world. Also, as I said, some subjects were really interesting like geography and history, it really is a shame that we have Binns for magical history. Would have loved to learn more about the strategic decisions made in the goblin wars and such but I can forget about that with the old ghost and reading is really not my thing.''

''I wouldn't have guessed,'' Hermione dryly stated.

''Haha, very funny.''

''So Harry,'' the girl spoke, turning towards him again. ''I think it is wonderful that you took an interest in some of my favourite subjects. They are so useful! I will make sure to point you in the right directions with books, you can even have some of my notes from last year, I have them all in a folder. You'll definitely need to spend a **lot** of time if you want to catch up, but ask me anytime you have questions!''

''Thanks, I knew I could count on you,'' Harry smiled.

''Still think you're nutters,'' Ron mumbled. ''You don't need those for most jobs and you cannot even do your OWL's in them since they're not your official electives either.''

''Maybe not, but it will give me a better understanding of other areas of magic. And as far as I know, OWL's are regulated by the Ministry right? I could maybe apply to take them later after all if I think I grasp it well enough.''

''It's never too early to start,'' Hermione decided, and she started rummaging in her bag, pulling some of her books out. ''I'm afraid I left my copy of volume one at home as the library also has it and I don't need it for class anymore, but there should be a revision in the first chapter of my current book. Here, see this shape? This means-

The rest of the ride was filled with runes and numbers that swam in Harry's head. He'd judged her character well: she indeed did try to cram a full year into his head in the space of a couple of hours. This was going to be an eventful year.


	17. Back to Hogwarts

''Stop that!''

Hermione frowned for the thousandth time, taking away the knife that he had been tapping against his empty plate during the welcoming feast. He couldn't help it, nervous as he was to await the owl post. Voldemort had said he'd send books... how would that even work per owl? And how was Harry supposed to react? Would there be a letter too? Would post from the Dark Lord just be let into Hogwarts? Surely there was some security in place that would recognise the man's magic or so. What if Dumbledore would instantly be alerted of their correspondence? Thus, he hadn't been able to stop himself from the nervous tick all through the Hat's song and now half of the Sorting Ceremony. For once he was happy about the raging thunder that was roaring outside, since it drowned out his clinking noises. His nerves were not helped by Colin and his newly-sorted brother who tried to get pictures of him. Harry did his best to ignore them like he'd done most of second year with Colin and Ginny, mind too preoccupied with the books he was expecting to pay attention to the two hyper boys, also not wanting to give Malfoy any reason to sneer at him again over his 'fans' or bully the new first-years.

He looked up when Nearly Headless Nick popped up out of the table. ''You're lucky there even is a feast,'' he commented. ''There was a terrible ruckus in the kitchen before. Peeves, of course. Wished to be there at the feast and wasn't allowed to.''

''Yeah, we noticed Peeves' behaviour before,'' Harry said. Before they had entered the Great Hall, the poltergeist had pelted all of them with water balloons. ''So what did they do in the kitchen?''

''Oh, the usual. Mayhem and destruction. The entire kitchen was swimming in soup and the House-elves were in blind panic.''

A loud sound was to be heard as Hermione dropped the knife she had confiscated from Harry before. ''There are House-elves here? In Hogwarts?'' she asked with a shrill voice.

''Of course, more than anywhere in Britain, I've heard,'' the ghost of Gryffindor answered. Harry wondered what this was all about, Hermione had never shown much interest in House-elves. She started inquiring about their living conditions and pay, to Ron's and Nick's great amusement. In the end she refused to eat another bite, muttering about slavery. Harry frowned, thinking of Dobby and knowing how badly he was treated. Ron thought Hermione's behaviour was a great joke but she** was** onto something. He knew himself how awful it was to be expected to have to behave like a small slave and get punished otherwise. It still didn't keep him from eating, he doubted it would make much of a difference to go on a hunger strike.

''I didn't know you cared much for elves,'' he asked the girl in all seriousness. She pressed her lips together and ogled the food with disgust.

''During the Quidditch World Cup, there was this one elf, Winky. She belonged to Mr Crouch and, in the turmoil after the Mark appeared in the sky, ran away in panic into the woods. Ron had lost his wand and she happened to find it and pick it up. Mr Crouch absolutely blew up at her for not staying where she'd been and for touching a wizard's belongings. He fired her on the spot despite her begging him not to leave her.''

''She sounded like she was quite happy being in his employment,'' Ron commented.

''Yes, and he treated her like the dirt under his shoe! I have no idea what became of that poor Elf, but I** do** know that it isn't** right** to treat any sentient beings like they are less than we are! They have their own culture and magic, why should they be bound to serve humans? It's horrible!'' At her last words, a loud crash of thunder rolled through the Hall again, and Albus Dumbledore stood up once more, any sounds apart from the rain and wind dying down. He gave his regular speech about forbidden objects and places before making the large announcement that Harry had known about already. An announcement that he'd completely forgotten to mention to his friends, now he thought of it.

''- the reason for this,'' Dumbledore continued with a loud voice, as he had just mentioned the cancellation of Quidditch this year and had to try and speak over the loud roars of discontent that followed, ''Is an event that will start in October,'' he grinned. Harry looked at the rest of his friends to see their reaction. All members of the Quidditch team, Oliver Wood in particular, were frozen in their seats. Harry himself had mixed feelings about it. He absolutely loved Quidditch, but he** had** just taken it upon himself to catch up to an entire year of two elective courses. It did come as a surprise to him that the Triwizard Tournament would only start next month, he'd expected the students of the other schools to already have arrived. Good thing that he hadn't mentioned it to anyone then, it would have been odd for him to have gotten that fact wrong. As Dumbledore continued, another loud wave of thunder crashed down, and the doors to the Great Hall fell open.

A man came in, who instantly had everyone's eyes glued on him. He walked with a stick and wore a large black travel cloak. During his walk towards the teacher's table, the mysterious figure took off his hood and shook the rain from mid-length, grey hair. Lightning flashed and lit up a face full of scars and one entire blue eye that shot into all directions. Harry watched the imposing form as he went up to Dumbledore, fascinated by the disfigurements on the man's face.

''That's Mad-Eye!'' Ron whispered with barely hidden awe.

''Who?'' Harry asked.

''Mad-Eye Moody, ex-Auror. Completely bonkers but in the First war he was responsible for filling half of the cells in Azkaban with Death Eaters, I've heard form dad! Nowadays he's even more off his rocker, a couple of weeks ago he thought someone was sneaking around in his garden and set some enchanted garbage bins on them. Dad figures it was just a cat, but he had to pull a lot of strings to get away with charging Moody with only a light offense for Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.''

''Why did he?'' Harry frowned. ''Isn't he supposed to treat everyone equally?''

''Well yeah, normally, but Moody is a hero, and he's tight with Dumbledore too.''

''I see,'' Harry replied darkly, glowering at the Headmaster, who signed for the stranger to sit at the only empty seat. So this was their new teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts? Harry frowned suddenly. Moody... he'd heard that name before somewhere. Had it come up in conversation before with his friends? No, he didn't think so... He watched the man like a hawk, who sat down and, in doing so, revealed both scarred hands and an elegantly-carved wooden leg that ended in a claw. Both of his eyes, the large blue and black small one, met Harry's in a piercing gaze. The teen thought to see a quick smirk flash over the man's face. A moment later he wasn'T so sure anymore if it had been there at all: any movement was hard to see in the flickering light and on the jagged mouth. Moody instantly started eating, taking a small knife of his own instead of the cutlery next to his plate to stab a sausage. During Dumbledore's continued announcement to welcome the man, he continued in silence, also taking a small flask to sip from.

Harry ignored most of the rest of Dumbledore's speech about the Tournament in favour of taking in the man, wrecking his brain to remember where he'd heard the name before. It was a horrid feeling, reminding him of when they had tried to search for Nicholas Flamel and in the end figured it had stood on a Chocolate frog card. Despite his focus on Moody, he still heard enough of Dumbledore's words to decide that only a reckless idiot with a death wish would try to participate in this thing. Or someone who desperately needed money, judging by Ron's instant enthusiasm, which diminished at the mention of the necessary age restriction.

He remained a lot calmer during the whole speech than many of his classmates, having already decided that he didn't need fame nor glory, and the age restriction also made it so that he wouldn't need to worry about any of it. As he would not participate, he also wasn't very interested in the rumours that spread instantly about who the judges would be, where the students of the other schools would sleep or how to trick the age line. He looked up as a few owls flew in. There weren't many, as most parents had seen their children just this morning still. Harry sadly did not spot any with a package, and neither did any owls land near him. He would have to postpone his nerves to tomorrow then.

The anxiety certainly returned with much more force as he sat down at the breakfast table with his friends the following morning. Hermione had instantly given up her hunger strike again, having enough insight to see that it would not be the most effective method of showing her disdain for the House-elf treatment. Harry poured himself another glass of ice-cold pumpkin juice, hoping it would wake him up a bit more. They could really do with some coffee at Hogwarts to be entirely honest. He hadn't been able to get much sleep, having tried to explore the link between him and Voldemort. If the other man could actively invite him in dreams, shouldn't Harry be able to do the same? He'd failed spectacularly, not being able to get through at all.

Owls screeched and he looked up as the morning post came in, hundreds of birds bringing newspapers, letters and items that the students had forgotten to take with them. Neville had a total of five owls throwing packages at him and he had to hide under his plate to not get wings in his face. Harry was so concentrated on searching for a large package that he was completely taken off-guard when a letter and a tiny box landed in between his strips of bacon. Perplexed, he took it in between his fingers and studied the little black chest. Failing to figure out a way to open it after a few unsuccessful tries, he decided that it would be better to read his letter first.

''Is it from Padfoot?'' Hermione whispered, leaning closer to look at it.

''No, just something from... a shop I was at. Book order.''

''And they write you a** letter**?'' she asked, raising her eyebrows. Harry shrugged, not able to come up with anything better, his eyes flying over the lines.

_I hereby send you what was promised last time we spoke. It will certainly aid you in your studies, on the curriculum or otherwise. I also included a few other tomes that may spark your interest. At your request, I am certain that we could arrange for another meeting if you need aid.._

_I expect that you will do your best.  
The box will reveal its contents only to those who speak._

There was no signature, nor did there need to be. He found it interesting that Voldemort's handwriting was not the same as it had been when the man had attended Hogwarts. His changes in appearance showed even in things like this, the writing was much thinner and more elegant than it had been in the diary.

''Doesn't look much like a regular book order,'' Hermione said in a clipped tone, clearly miffed about Harry not having spoken the truth. ''What does 'those who speak' mean?''

''Doesn't matter, I'm going to bring this up now,'' he answered, stuffing the small box into his pocket. His heart was beating fast at the thought of that the most powerful wizard in at least half of Europe was sending him books and letters. The line about requesting meetings made him pause. Did that mean that he should write Voldemort about when he wanted to be invited into dreams again? That could be... interesting. He was the first to arrive in the common room and went straight to the boy's dorms as there were a few paintings too many in the common room that he didn't want listening in or reporting to the Headmaster.

Throwing himself on his bed, Harry took out the box again. ~_Open_~ he hissed, yelping after when it grew vastly in size and crushed Harry's chest. ''Damn, could've warned me,'' he moaned. Eagerly, he unpacked the box, revealing a set of old books with fragile, yellowed pages. Had he been sent originals? He placed them all on his bed and looked at the titles, trying to decide which ones to start with. _Our Forgotten Rites_? Or rather_ An introduction to bindrunes, clusters and more_? Then his eye fell on one book which he at first had thought to have no title at all. It had a leather-bound cover and a relief of a hand on it. As he looked closer, he made out tiny, silvery letters that formed the lines of the hand, spelling out_ The hand that guides, offers and protects._ Intrigued, he cracked it open and looked at the introduction. Unfortunately, it did not contain a list of contents. It became clear pretty soon as he started reading that the book was a treasure-trove when it came to sacrificial magic. It described the different types of dark magic in the sense of how Voldemort had spoken of it, as heavy magic that needed offerings to work. The first chapter alone covered all types of possible sacrifices, among which were many surprising ones such as time, lifespan, relationships and other intangible matters.

Voices woke him from his reading and he scrambled to pack all the books away again before anyone came in. He almost succeeded, just taking the last one, an incredibly heavy and thick black book that he hadn't glanced at before, as Ron and Dean came in, talking loudly about the World cup. ''Hey Harry,'' Ron greeted. ''You were gone quickly at breakfast. What's that?''

Not entirely sure himself either, Harry quickly peered down. His heart shot up in his throat as he read the title, not because of what it said -_Praecantatio_ _Levis et Gravis: a correct classification-_ but because of the handwriting, the same fine slant that stood in the letter that burned in Harry's pocket. Had Voldemort just fucking sent him a book that** he wrote**? ''Only a book on magic classification,'' he spoke, his voice feeling unnaturally high. ''I read in our Defence textbook that some hexes and jinxes were put into the 'curse' category to have them banned. I wondered if that happened to other types of magic too.''

''Oh,'' Ron said on a bored tone. ''You do realise we've barely started out first day of class and we don't have Defence until Thursday yeah?''

''I know, I wasn't planning on reading this through instantly, look at how thick it is! I just wanted to see if it has the Patronus charm on the list. With how difficult it is I wondered if it was really a charm or not.

''And?''

''I didn't find it yet,'' he shrugged, putting the book on his nightstand. At times like these, he was incredibly glad that he shared a dorm with Ron and not with Hermione, who would not have stopped before she knew everything about those books. He truly loved the girl, but sometimes her sense of precaution and thirst for knowledge combined bordered on annoying curiosity. ''Will have another look later, we've got Herbology first thing right?'' Without waiting for Ron, he started packing his bag for the day: Herbology, Care of magical creatures, Divination... he was glad to not have Potions or History of Magic on Monday, he didn't think he could bear to deal with such horrid classes so soon, especially not when Snape was involved. All the information about him and Harry's mother had still not been fully processed.

The day was pretty eventful with all the practical lessons they had, from dealing with rather angry plants, to even angrier spawn from hell that Hagrid lovingly called his babies, to Trelawney's new predictions about all the ghastly ways in which Harry would die. Though he had to admit, knowing now that the woman had made at least two real prophecies certainly did make him a bit more wary of her, even if she didn't get a raspy voice and trance-like state during class. That wariness watered down a bit again when she stated that his birthday definitely had to be in midwinter. He was surprised that she didn't even have enough foresight to look up basic information about her favourite victims for predictions.

The next two days were rather boring. He wrote a short letter of thanks back to Voldemort, knowing that Hedwig should be able to find him. She- or he, as Barty had reminded Harry, a fact which he still didn't much care about since she was just an animal- didn't look happy one bit to return to the people who had locked her up in the attic. Harry couldn't exactly blame his pet. In his reply, the teen had also added, after much internal debating, a request for another dream meeting as soon as possible. As Hedwig had to fly all the way down to the south of England, he didn't expect an answer for a while. In the meantime, Harry tried to ignore Snape as much as possible, which cost him quite a few house points which were rewarded back to him by Hagrid for every little thing Harry did, much to Malfoy's protesting. He also spent quite a bit of time with his new books, all of them containing fascination new information. Harry did actually look up the Patronus charm, which Voldemort classified as 'Heavy, instantaneous defensive charm' with the listed sacrifice of pure happy memories. The explanation that came after made him do a double-take:

_'The Patronus itself is not, as many believe, a personification of the chosen memory. Rather, it is a summoned guardian that uses the emotions in this memory as attraction and distraction for any Dementors present. These feed on the happiness the Patronus exudes, giving the spell a chance to use its real power of then repelling or even harming the Dementors. It is still unclear how it achieves this exactly. Considering the fact that Dementors could consume any positivity around them, it can be ruled out that the provided happiness is used as its weapon since that would only nurture the very beings it tries to repel. As a result of the caster offering happy memories, any nearby Dementors may consume these emotions, leaving the chosen memory void of such. While classified as a heavy charm due tothe sacrificial nature of the spell, it could also be said to lie in between light and heavy, since the sacrifice offered is not guaranteed to be consumed. Patroni may also be used as messengers, in which case no Dementors are present to take its bait._

Harry's mind had whirled at that for quite a while, not having known that those memories he used to create his Patronus could actually be damaged by it. Had Lupin known? Possibly not, Voldemort did say that the Ministry meddled in classifications of spells for a long time already. He had put the other books aside for now to flip through this one, finding it useful to first see which of the spells he had learnt in these past years fell under dark magic without him ever knowing it. There actually weren't many, since most spells that had been identified as dark had been made illegal even when they weren't very harmful, but some had had such a good reputation that they'd just been branded as 'light' instead and taught anyways. Besides the Patronus charm, other spells classified as dark were the Exumai series, which he'd actually first seen Tom Riddle use in the diary with _Arania Exumai_ to blast off Acromantulas, Homing spells, Hermione's famous bluebell flames, _Deprimo_ and detection charms. All of these required a sacrifice in one way or the other. It wasn't always a large one either: the bluebell flames only required an offering of a constant stream of magic and a bit of the caster's body heat to fuel it even after casting.

There were other dark spells that he could vaguely recall reading about when flipping through his textbooks too, but not an awful lot. It reminded him of when the Dark Lord had told him that most spells were light in nature and that even dark mages thus mostly depended on light magic in their everyday lives. He could see why it would be so difficult to balance out light and dark magic considering this. Then again, wasn't Voldemort only chosen as a Dark Lord because the balance was now** extremely** off? There had always been dark and light families even without any Dark Lords being around, hadn't there been? And in other parts of the world, dark magic became so strong that there was even a need for Light Lords to shift the balance back. Perhaps the man was being a bit overzealous with his job... There had to be a reason why so many more spells were light in nature if Magic had intended for balance to be completely half and half. Wouldn't one heavy spell also have a larger impact than a couple of light ones together?

He suddenly looked at the time and cursed, realising that he was nearly late for his first class of the day. McGonagall would never let him live after coming late the first time he had her class in the year. He could forget any and all favours or sympathy from her until after next summer if he did. He snatched the Marauder's map to scan for shortcuts and see where teachers and Prefects stood around -in which case he couldn't run in those parts of the castle-. With the help of his trusty map, Harry barely made it in the nick of time, red in the face and with his tongue on his heels.

It was a small mercy that Transfiguration was together with the Ravenclaws, who had never cared much about him or his appearance in class. If Malfoy had been here... but the only courses this year that were together with the Slytherins were Care of magical creatures, Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts. All other classes were split with either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, which was a nice change. In his first year he'd had nearly everything with Slytherin as far as he could recall. He also hoped that Moody, as an ex-Auror who went up hard against Death Eaters, wouldn't let Malfoy and his cronies get away with anything. He still had to wait a couple more hours to see. First he had to sit through the mostly theoretical lecture of McGonagall, who explained that this year they would start with interspecies Transfiguration after two weeks of reviewing animate-to-inanimate spells. Later that year they would also move onto transfiguring matters they hadn't yet before, such as live plants and fungi. They'd always focused on either lifeless or animal matter until now.

After class, Harry, Hermione and Ron went to the library for their double free period after strong insistence on Hermione's part, who was adamant on not letting either of them slack off on homework this year. Harry had to admit that the workload had certainly risen, even Binns had given them an essay to write, and Binns didn't even know he had students half of the time. It slightly annoyed him that he couldn't run up to Gryffindor tower to continue in Voldemort's book but that couldn't be helped. Apart from being swamped in homework, he also hadn't had a chance to make a good start on his self-chosen misery of taking on two additional courses in his spare time. Hermione quickly remedied that, apparently seeing it as her duty to ensure he wouldn't quit before even starting. At least it meant that she wasn't as harsh on him about regular homework as she was on Ron.

Finally, it was time to sate their curiosity about Mad-eye, who they had heard the wildest rumours about, mostly stemming from the Twins and Lee Jordan. The three had already had Moody on Monday and could only speak of him with awe, although they were awfully tight-lipped about what they'd actually been taught. As a result of the hype around their new teacher, for once every student was there early. Harry, Hermione and Ron managed to quickly take up three spots in the front row to see everything well. Malfoy, being the little prick that he was, sat down right behind Harry and poked him in the back a few times with his wand, snickering softly as Harry ignored it as well as he could.

After the last people had taken their seats, Moody entered, both of his eyes flicking into other directions to watch his students. ''So,'' he barked. ''I'm just going to go ahead and skip the introductions. You know who I am. And as for who** you** are...'' he cleared his throat and took out a list to call their names, both eyes unnervingly lingering on the student whose name he was at as he went down the list. ''Well then, I've received a note from your previous professor to get me up to date on what you've learned so far. I admit that Lupin left behind pretty impressive knowledge on dark creatures, but you are far,** far** behind on dealing with actual curses. In the coming year I'll try to remedy that.'' Harry noticed that Ron wanted to say something, but Moody already continued. ''And I see that one of you lot already volunteered for the first demonstration. **Oi Blondie**,'' he shouted, shooting a blue beam out of his wand that fizzed past Harry's ear and resulted in a loud yelp from Malfoy. ''If you have enough time to be a little prick to your classmates, you have time to suffer. Come up here.'' The class broke out into excited whispers, with a few Gryffindors who were more regularly bullied by Malfoy wearing wide grins. Harry couldn't help but have the same reaction, watching with interest as the pale boy went up to the front of the classroom, trying to hide his shaking with a sneer.

''All of you can put your books away too,'' Moody huffed. ''I'll give you some reading to do between classes, but none of that during the time I could show you more interesting things. Now, as far as curses go, they come in all levels of nastiness. According to the Ministry I should just teach you shields and counter-curses, but I think differently. There has been a war before and Dumbledore seems to be convinced there might be another one soon.'' Harry raised his eyebrows at that. Dumbledore had already caught onto something? Or was this because of Voldemort's attempt to gain the philosopher's stone? Shaking the thought from his mind for now, he tried to pay attention instead as Moody continued: ''As such, you need to know what you are up against to defend yourselves against it. So, let's jump straight in with the worst curses of all... who has heard of the Unforgivables?'' Draco looked at Moody with wide eyes and started to stutter, paling even further. ''Ah, my target has, hmm? Come then, tell me what I should demonstrate as your punishment.''

Ron's hand shot up in the air, slightly trembling as Malfoy only shook his head and pressed his lips together. Malfoy was too busy being scared to throw Ron a dirty glance. The rest of the class had also fallen silent, and Harry gave Moody a thoughtful stare. The man was kidding, right? He wouldn't actually be allowed to cast unforgivable curses on a student, right? Barty had told him briefly before what those curses did and he couldn't imagine Dumbledore being very happy about one of his students turning up dead.

Moody was eyeing Ron now, a seldom smile on his face. ''Mr Weasley... Arthur Weasley's son, yes? Your dad did me a favour a few weeks back... I take it that you know one of the spells I wish to hear?''

''The... the Imperius curse,'' Ron said hoarsely.

Moody's smile vanished. It was almost as if he would have liked to hear another one. Harry sighed in relief. While certainly dangerous, the Imperius was still the milder one of the three unless Moody would actively command Malfoy to do things that would harm the boy. Without a further word, their teacher pointed his wand at Malfoy and cast it. Harry leaned forward, studying Malfoy's suddenly blank face. Interesting, if he wouldn't have known that Draco was cursed, Harry probably would have mistaken that expression for boredom, it was no wonder that it was hard to prove who had been under the Imperius curse and who hadn't. ''Now, what should I have him do?'' Moody asked in a dark voice that rang a couple of alarm bells in Harry's head. ''The Imperius curse lets you control your victim in any way that you want. I could make him do handstands or sing a duet with himself...'' a few people laughed. ''Or... I could make him humiliate himself by undressing in front of everyone.'' Another laugh and a few whistles rang through the room. A knot formed in Harry's stomach. ''Or I could make him jump until he is so worn out that his feet bleed. Let him take his wand and snap in half, make him crawl to that window there and throw himself to his death... swear an unbreakable vow to his worst enemy. The possibilities are endless.'' The class had fallen silent now, each and every person holding their breath, wondering what Moody would make Malfoy do. When the boy finally moved, it was as if an electric shock went through the classroom. In horror, Harry watched as Malfoy walked down from the teacher's podium again with that awfully blank face and halted next to Harry's desk. The blond crumpled together in front of him.

''I'm sorry for being an awful human being Potter. I apologise for every single thing I did to you. It was horrible of me to insult you so often, to bully you, I just cannot cope with who I am as a person and need to act out my self-hatred on others to feel superior.''

''Stop it,'' Harry whispered.

''I wish I could be the one who others looked up to. I wanted so desperately to befriend you in my fist year and you turned me down for a blood-traitor. I need to save face, I need to-''

''**Stop!**'' Harry shouted furiously, looking at Moody now, who flicked his wand a single time to lift the spell. Malfoy gasped and looked up at Harry, face reddening. Without another word, the boy snatched his bag and walked out of the classroom, head hung low. ''Why did you make him say those things to me!'' Harry demanded.

''I didn't,'' Moody calmly spoke. ''As interesting as the result was, I only told him to confess the reason he bullies you. Didn't know that he had such an inferiority complex. That is the other aspect of this spell: it leaves much room for interpretation. You do not need to control every single action of the victim. Simply ordering them to go about their lives as normal would be enough of a command to make them act like everything is fine while they are still under the influence of the Imperius curse.'' Harry sat there, stunned, and then glanced at the door where Malfoy had disappeared off to.

''How much do they remember?'' he asked.

''Every single word,'' Moody grinned, a smile which wavered as he took in Harry's stare. ''Don't sweat it kid, thought you'd be happy with some justice.''

''I do not think that bullying bullies solves the problem,** Sir**,'' Harry replied stiffly. ''And neither does just locking them up forever, for that matter, certainly not when the spells you threw them in prison for are the same ones you now act out in involuntary student demonstrations.'' He stood up, feeling his anger rising. Sure, Malfoy was a ball of hateful slime but that didn't mean that it was right to publicly shame the guy, especially now that Harry knew the entire reason for Malfoy's behaviour was such a pathetic one as not feeling good enough. ''Would you also like to demonstrate the other ones Sir? I've been told that I am the only survivor of one of them so I'd probably make a perfect target.''

Moody only stared at him for a while, a staring contest that Harry was hell-bent on winning. ''You sure are a hardy one Potter. No worries, I only got permission to cast the Imperius curse on students. If you'd like to have a go though? Let's see if you are just as resilient against that one as against the Killing Curse.''

''NO!'' Hermione suddenly shrieked, standing up and pushing a perplexed Harry down in his chair. ''Professor, with all respect, I do not think that professor Dumbledore-''

''Albus is the one who asked me to confront you with these curses girl. Sit down and tell me the one Unforgivable that hasn't been mentioned yet.'' Hermione's eyes flashed, but she couldn't resist answering a teacher.

''The Cruciatus curse, which inflicts pain by stimulating pain receptors in the brain. While it has no physical consequences, it can drive people insane in the most extreme cases after being used for an extended period of time,'' she rattled off. ''It was invented during the early Middle Ages by dark witches and wizards and declared unforgivable in 1717 together with the other two, resulting in a life sentence in Azkaban when used on another human.''

''Very well done with that extensive explanation Ms. Granger,'' Moody spoke, eyebrows rising in surprise. ''Twenty points to Gryffindor. The Cruciatus, or Torturing curse, is a force to be reckoned with when the caster knows what they are doing. An addition I would like to make to all three curses though, is that while these were labelled as unforgivable, the Ministry has made many exceptions over the years. During the last war, the Killing curse was free to use on dark magicians for all Aurors, and many trials were bypassed in favour of torturing information out of suspects.'' He didn't sound one bit sorry, Harry noticed. In fact, it sounded as if Moody was completely detached from those happenings, as if he had not been part of that taskforce. Even though he hadn't wanted to participate in the debate any further, Harry still rose his hand when a thought struck him.

''Yes, Potter?''

''What is their price?'' he asked, receiving a few non-understanding looks from his peers. ''All dark arts need sacrifices, right?''

''You're right,'' Moody muttered, taking him in with fascination. ''All dark spells require very different offerings. With the Unforgivables, two out of three need sacrifices.'' He left the implications of that unexplained, which reminded Harry of that Barty had also said that one of the Unforgivables was a light spell. ''One might think that the Killing curse would be satisfied with the life it takes, but its real price is that the caster's very soul becomes damaged. Not an awful lot each time, small rips, but over time enough to cause the caster to grow dehumanised if no preventive measures are taken.''

''One's** soul**?'' Dean Thomas scoffed. ''Are you telling me that souls are real? 

''Very real, Mr. Thomas, and they are very fragile things. Damage your soul enough and you will not even be able to become a ghost even if you wish for it.** Now**, onto the Cruciatus curse, very interesting piece of work that one. Can you guess as to the offering involved, Mr. Potter?''

''Errr..'' Harry said, rubbing his neck and trying to remember if he could think of anything. Had Voldemort mentioned anything about that? Or Barty? He knew that the effects could cause the victims to go insane, but knew hardly anything about its effects on the caster. ''It causes instability?'' he guessed, randomly picking one of the more common sacrifices he'd read about now in the book upstairs.

''Not as a direct effect, although it has been debated that mental troubles may be linked to casting the Torturing curse on people. In which direction that correlation goes is not entirely clear yet. No, the sacrifice is** emotions.** To be specific, one has to channel intense hatred for the victim and a strong will to cause pain.''

''But wouldn't that cause those who cast it often to lose the ability to do so if those emotions get taken?'' Harry asked, confused.

''Ah, you come to the crux of the matter. The Cruciatus curse is what we call a living curse, or a continuous curse, meaning that the second time you cast it, it will remember the offering of the first time etcetera. This means that yes, you will lose those emotions to a certain degree, but you also will** need** less of it each time. Those who become proficient enough in casting it do no longer require a sacrifice at all. The effects on those people is still severe however, a general indifference can settle in if the after-effects of losing part of one's emotions isn't well-taken care of. Just as a note though, the effect **can** be artificially reversed when done quickly enough.''

Harry listened with interest, trying to shove the whole thing with Malfoy to the back of his head for now to concentrate on the lesson. It wouldn't do to spend the rest of the time refusing to listen. While he might not agree with Moody's form of punishment, his further teaching was absolutely amazing. The man liked going off on a tangent as a response to whatever question they had, rather explaining it all at once than cutting corners by claiming that part 'wasn't in the curriculum' as so many other teachers loved to do. Consequently, they learned perhaps more in a single lesson than had ever been the case, not only the Unforgivable curses themselves being explained and demonstrated, but also much knowledge being given about living curses, sacrificial magic, magic addiction and how to purify oneself and counter negative effects of offerings. Harry now understood what the Weasley Twins had meant when they had gone on about someone who 'got' how real life and real magic was. As someone who had hunted many dark wizards, Moody had become an expert on the topic himself.

The last half an hour was not so pleasant. He was forced back into reality when they had to practise resisting the Imperius curse, with Moody demonstrating it on a few other people, including himself. Surprisingly, he was rather resistant against it. Professor Moody thought it was due to his stubborn nature, Harry thought it more likely that Voldemort's protection played a large role. His temper had risen again as the practical part brought forth images of Malfoy's face.

At the end of class, when Harry started packing his back, he was held back by a hand that roughly clapped on his shoulder. Looking back, he jumped slightly at seeing that blue, spinning eye so close up to his face. ''Potter, stay behind,'' the man spoke, his tone so neutral that Harry couldn't begin to guess as to Moody's intentions. He motioned for his friends to continue on without him. When the room was empty, the man took a chair and sat down in front of Harry's desk, having his chair the wrong way around. Judging by the added difficulty of doing so with a wooden leg, Harry wondered why. He met Moody's thoughtful stare head-on, not afraid of this fanatic ex-Auror. He'd had Voldemort carve into his skin and hold him under the Cruciatus curse, there was nothing that his teacher could do that would compare.

''You don't agree with my methods, do you boy?'' A note of wry amusement eased Harry's worry somewhat. ''Despite knowing that Malfoy is a little, arrogant bully?''

''No,'' Harry answered. ''No I don't, there are far better ways of punishment than humiliation and pain.''

''And what about your opinion on locking people up? Do you disagree with our country's legal actions for murderers?''

''For** some** murderers,'' he corrected coolly, squaring his shoulders. ''As far as I recall, you taught us today that the Killing curse was also used by Ministry employees, including, I suppose, yourself?''

A smirk spread over rough, chapped and scarred lips. ''As much as I loathe Severus Snape, he was right about one thing. You absolutely despise figures of authority, don't you Potter?''

''I could see how you would reach that conclusion sir, but no, I harbour great respect for those who deserve their position of authority, such as professor McGonagall.''

Moody barked out a laugh, a very out-of-place reaction for a teacher who was getting talked back at by a student. ''I can see why you are both so popular and loathed at the same time. Run along now.'' Harry blinked in surprise. He wasn't getting punished? ''You'll be late for your next class if you keep sitting there, gawking at me.''

Thinking it best to not make the man any wiser than he was, Harry omitted the fact that he didn't** have** any other class that day and gathered his things. When outside, he opened the Marauders map, having an idea. After searching the map for a good while, first checking the dungeons and other classrooms, he found the tiny dot of Draco Malfoy on the fifth floor in a seldom used corridor that led to nowhere but old storage rooms. Making a decision, Harry quickly went up to Gryffindor tower first before heading two floors down again, carefully approaching the little dot and stuffing his map away again when he saw a whiff of blond hair. ''Malfoy,'' he greeted, making the others' head shoot up. Red-rimmed eyes glowered darkly. Had Malfoy been sitting here for the entire rest of their double class?

''What the hell are you doing here, come to gloat? Is the Weasel, or that annoying little runt who always buzzes after you, around the corner with a camera?''

''I'm not like you,'' Harry sighed and fished something out of his pocket before throwing it in a wide arch to Malfoy so the other could catch it easily.

''I don't need your disgusting Muggle stuff,'' he sneered after eyeing the package suspiciously.

''First of all, it's not mine, I borrowed it from Dean. Secondly, I've sneaked after you enough times to Hogsmeade last year to know that you smoke when you think no-one apart from your cronies are around.''

Draco huffed. ''And why didn't you report it then?''

''Like how you instantly ran to Snape when you found out I'd gone to Hogsmeade without permission?'' Harry smirked. ''I already told you that I'm not like you. I don't care much for others breaking school rules. If there even is one against it, I haven't heard of any smoking restrictions, either at school or by other laws. We're also allowed to drink alcohol at thirteen already so... I wouldn't know. Not my business anyways. If you want to waste your lungs, fine by me. For all I know, there's a spell to fix them up in a second.''

Without answering, the other boy clenched a cigarette between his teeth and lit it with the tip of his wand. Harry slid down the wall next to him and waited in silence. ''You want to play saviour for me now too Potter? Expect me to cry out all of my woes? You'll be sorely disappointed.'' Malfoy made a disgusted noise, then took a second cigarette. Harry found it was a good sign that the boy hadn't run off or tried to hex him yet.

''Don't be stupid, I hardly care enough about you to do that. No, I came here because.. well, to fix my own mistake I guess. I had no idea that a large part of the reason why you hate me so much was because I refused your hand of friendship that day. I figured it had more to do with you finding out I was a disgusting half-blood, got in Gryffindor and had friends you didn't like.''

''None of those made me** less** inclined to give you hell here. You don't belong at Hogwarts.'' Those words were a harsh blow that Harry tried very hard not to get angry over.

''I belong here like any other who got their letter,'' he said between clenched teeth. ''And apart from here, I don't belong anywhere else either.''

''Oh? Don't tell me that the little saviour of the Wizarding World didn't get enough cookies as a kid to regard whoever you grew up with as your home?'' Harry's mouth twitched and he bit his tongue. This was not a good moment to blow up at Malfoy, that was exactly what he was trying to prevent now. He reminded himself that for all their differences, they were on the same side now, even if for entirely different reasons.

''Look Malfoy, I came here to try and talk things out, we're not eleven anymore.''

The blond laughed bitterly. ''What would you have me do? Act like the example we've been given from adults and cast the Imperius curse on** you**? I bet you must have loved that, having **me** grovel at** your** feet.'' Grey eyes flicked to his face, uncertainty visible beneath the act of arrogance.

''If I'd have loved it I wouldn't be here giving you a smoke, would I?'' he dryly replied. ''No, I told Moody exactly what I thought of his little stunt. I already hate it when Snape tries to make people look dumb by asking them impossible questions and then insulting them after. This was so much worse... Dumbledore was, in my opinion, out of line too in giving permission to some paranoid old loon with obvious prejudices against your family, to use the Imperius curse on students. It was obvious that nothing good would come out of that, no matter how good of a teacher he turned out to be after.''

''Whatever,'' Malfoy eloquently answered. Half the package was empty by now, Harry was glad that he borrowed the thing without telling Dean first. Now he could just play it off as if he had no idea where the boy's cigarettes had gone. For a while, Draco made shapes in the smoke with his wand.

''I'll be sorry for refusing your handshake if you'll apologise for insulting every nice person I had met in this world up until that point. You were a right prick you know that? Still often are.'' Malfoy just rolled his eyes at that.

''Go away Potter, we're not in Kindergarten. You think a smile and a wave is going to settle my issues with you?''

''I know that your reputation is probably in shambles now because of Moody and that it means the world to you to get it back. You can either try for years to earn it back by regaining your fearsome reputation as first-class school bully and sucking up to Snape, ** or **I can vouch for your pride not being damaged by me in any way. If you refuse, I'll let the Weasley Twins fuel the fire as much as I possibly can.''

''You're a bastard,'' Malfoy spoke, but his words lacked their usual venom. ''What do you want in return?'' Harry honestly hadn't really thought of anything, just hoping that Malfoy would be a little bit less of an arse if they talked things out. Having Malfoy owe him a favour however, might be incredibly handy... He could ask to get in contact with Draco's dad so he could keep track of the man's workings for Voldemort once the Dark Lord contacted his follower. Or he could end all the bullying in the castle from Draco's side. Then again, that might not go down well with the other Slytherins.

''I want for us to chat sometimes and to keep whatever you hear a secret,'' he decided. ''I have a few topics that I can't discuss with anyone else.'' He hesitated, wondering if this was really such a good idea. Wouldn't Malfoy snitch on him in the end? ''I know I'd be pushing a lot of trust on you, someone I haven't been able to trust for three years now. Then again, I've recently gotten to know a few people whom I also thought were out for my blood and that worked out well.''

''You'd be stupid to trust me Potter.''

''Maybe... but I know some things that you'd also profit from to being kept quiet. You were home this summer, were you not?''

''Yes, and?''

''Does the night between the 20th and 21st of August ring any bells? Somewhere around midnight?'' Draco's face paled a few shades further than Harry thought could be possible. Apart from that, the boy was surprisingly good at not showing any emotions.

''Why, did I miss a newspaper about you finally losing your virginity or what?'' the boy snapped. Harry reddened at the suggestion, especially when that image was instantly accompanied by how he'd practically rubbed all over Voldemort's naked, newly-born body. He coughed to cover up his embarrassment.

''No, but that tattoo on your daddy's arm should have turned a whole lot darker than it was before. Think on that, I'll need to head back to the common room now before anyone misses me.'' Harry stood up and walked away far more calmly than he felt, feeling Malfoy's piercing glare on his back. He could only hope that this hadn't been a too stupid move.


	18. Chosen Champions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting for a couple of days. Wasn't around my computer much, so I'll post a couple of chapters at once to make up for it :D   
Btw, to those who are not a fan of OC's: don't worry, the few OC's I will have do not play a major role in this story.
> 
> Also: I'd like to point out that other than in canon, I am having the Beauxbatons students stay with the Ravenclaws and Durmstrang students with the Slytherins. Because honestly, I know that originally they stayed in the Carriage and Ship at night but... if you have a huge castle and expanding charms, it is kind of a dick move to have your guests sleep outside...

Peering over to the Ravenclaw table, Harry tried to make out which one of them could possibly be Dixie Étourneau. The Great Hall was abuzz with noise as all of them ate, excitement over their newly-arrived guests reaching heights that were usually reserved for the End-of-year feast. All were still impressed by the method of arrival of both schools. It was nearly the last day of October now, one day before Halloween. He could hardly believe that two months of school had passed already, time really flew by. Hermione made sure he kept track of schoolwork and had devoted massive amounts of time that Harry hadn't expected her to have, to teaching him Runes and Arithmancy, joined sometimes by Ginny, who both wanted to help Harry and pick up some of Hermione's knowledge on Runes.

Class went by much faster now he actually paid attention, than it had when he'd tried to pass time by counting the seconds until his lessons ended, an irony he hadn't ever thought possible. No wonder Hermione always thought there was no time for anything. The dreams he'd been having also had not altered his perception of time for the better, often confusing him when he woke up. He knew he dreamt of Voldemort, and that they were filled with topics of magic, but annoyingly, most content of those encounters slipped from his waking mind. It made their connection more useless than Harry had hoped it would be, and he wondered if that was only the case on his end, because Voldemort still continued to visit him regularly.

To take his mind off the topic of the Dark Lord, Harry looked over to the Slytherin table where the Durmstrang students were sat, including the very same famous Seeker that had won the match at the World Cup, whom Ron wouldn't shut up about. Krum was currently talking to Malfoy, who had unfortunately not exactly kept his word. While he hadn't given Harry much trouble all month, Malfoy had tried his best to avoid the other teen at all costs, even though it meant that his reputation hadn't recovered much. Had his words shaken Malfoy that much? Or had the blond perhaps received a letter from his father, advising to stay away from Harry?

He switched his gaze back to the Ravenclaws and the students of Beauxbatons, his task of trying to find Dixie not made easier by Ron, who impatiently asked every few seconds for Harry to point her out. It was made even more difficult by the people blocking his view and the fact that all Beauxbatons students, whether male or female, wore nearly the exact same robes. While he could not deny that the azure outer robes of pure silk were beautiful, it wasn't helpful to differentiate people like in Hogwarts, where the cut on the robes differed by sex and the colours matched one's House. Finally, he thought to see someone who fit the look on the pictures: long, curly blond hair and light-brown eyes -although from this distance, the eye colour was a bit harder to see so he wasn't entirely certain still-. He hesitantly waved when she looked at him. By the sudden wide grin he received in response, he'd been correct.

All through dinner, Ron kept complaining about the unfairness of their guests having to sit with the other houses and rooming up with 'nerds and slime balls', for which Parvati Patil threw Ron a dark glower over the table, obviously not appreciating the comment as her sister was in Ravenclaw. Harry couldn't blame his friend too much though, also wanting to get to know the twenty-three newly arrived guests. He thus only nodded and made affirmative noises at the appropriate moments in Ron's rant. An added factor to Ron's foul mood sat at the teacher's table. Apart from the new headmaster and headmistress, the organisers of the Tournament had also been invited: Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch senior. The latter had, according to rumours, fallen gravely ill and not left his house for the past three weeks however, and had thus been substituted by Percy Weasley, as Crouch's personal assistant. Percy looked as proud and pompous as ever, clearly feeling up to the task. Harry wondered about whether Crouch was really ill, or if Voldemort had already kept his promise to Barty: in return for his aid in the resurrection ritual, the Death Eater had wanted the head of his father. It made Harry uncomfortable to think about, since it didn't really rhyme with the beliefs he followed Voldemort for now.

His attention was pulled to the teacher's table once again as he continued eating and observed the new faces in the meantime. They hadn't been officially introduced yet by Dumbledore, but Ron had whispered Bagman's name to him and something about the man having played Quidditch. He was a round-faced, cheerful man who looked like he refused to accept that his age had any influence on his life. Madam Maxime sat next to him, a woman just as tall as Hagrid, though he didn't think she could be a half-Giant considering the fact that one had to be proficient at magic to run a school for magicians, an impossibility for any Giant descendants according to Voldemort. Lastly, there was Karkaroff, who received dark looks from Moody, which sparked Harry's interest further. He knew nothing about the headmaster of Durmstrang apart from his appearance: a surly, nasty face that made him look like one of those shady men that Harry wouldn't want to bump into in Knockturn alley. He hadn't even followed his students' example: all of them had taken their fur coats off to show blood-red uniforms that rather looked a lot like the battle-robes Barty had worn before.

Damn, he really missed Barty, Harry suddenly admitted to himself. He kept comparing or relating everyone and everything to either him or the Dark Lord. Up until now, only Alastor Moody had, ironically, liven up to either of them teaching-wise. He started tapping his fingernails on the wooden surface while he ate some soup. Barty and Moody... that annoying feeling of something of importance slipping past him made itself known again. Moody and Barty... Hadn't there been something worth of notice related to them? Hermione gave him a disapproving look as he quietly growled into his soup, accidentally making a few droplets fly off the spoon and land on his friend. He kept having a foul mood over his own frustrating brain until the dishes vanished from the table and Dumbledore rose, welcoming the foreign students and introducing their guests properly. He also explained the procedures of the coming Tournament, opening a chest to reveal a roughly-hewn wooden cup from which blue flames sprouted.

Harry stared into the fire with fascination. It was obvious that he still lacked much of the necessary fundamentals of magic, but even he could see that this object was heavily enchanted. From the given explanation, it seemed to be comparable to the Sorting hat, although instead of dividing people by determining their most present traits, it chose a single person from each school who was the most capable of them to represent their group. It almost sounded as if the Goblet of fire had its own consciousness, using only handwriting somehow to find out what school a person was from, what their level of strength was, and possibly even take personality into account. To figure out all of that at once was more complicated than Harry could understand. With his current knowledge however, no-one could fool him about this cup being created with light magic only.

With excited whispers, the Hall started to clear out. Thinking it would be odd not to, Harry went over to the Beauxbatons students, receiving a few very disapproving glares from them. He could imagine that none would be happy to see a young teen with unruly messy hair and not the greatest looks try to mix with them instantly. The sneers turned into surprised looks however, when Dixie stepped forward, squealed 'Harry!' and gave him a tight hug. Those spells from Barty were really something... her eyes glowed when she finally broke the hug and held him at arm's distance. ''Survived eeven wizout me, how surprising,'' she grinned.

''As if you would have survived two minutes without a tour guide!'' he huffed, curious about her open personality. Most of the French students had looked pretty reserved.

''All of you, I'd like to introduce Harry. Harry Potter, he was an absolutely gentleman and aided me in my summer project. I'd suggest all of you to be nize to him if you don't want to get on my bad side.'' A few rolled their eyes or turned away, not feeling very threatened. Harry was pleasantly surprised by her accent. It wasn't nearly as audible as from what he'd heard from most of her peers until now. The H's sounded rather forced and airy but it was much better than the way many others just omitted the letter altogether. ''I need to go now Harry, we'll catch up later, yes? Then you can also introduce me to your friends!'' She turned around and hurried after the Ravenclaws to be shown the dorms all guests from Beauxbatons would reside in. Harry smiled after her, having the odd feeling of really having been friends with this person for a while. It might not be that difficult keep up pretences. He was incredibly glad that Voldemort had not chosen some of the other students he'd seen here, especially the one girl serving them bouillabaisse before, who had had all eyes in the hallway on her when revealing her silvery hair and elegant walk. Harry only didn't understand why she had turned Ron into such a stuttering idiot. The boy had said she was a 'Veela', but that didn't tell Harry much.

''Wow, she's really great!,'' Ron now said, staring with open mouth. ''She** hugged** you!''

''That's what friends** do**,'' Hermione spoke with annoyance. ''We hug too!''

''Yeah but with you it's different!''

Harry tried to keep out of it by striking up a conversation with Neville instead. The poor guy seemed terrified by even the thought of **watching** this whole Tournament. He also kept shooting nervous glances at the head table. After they'd more thoroughly covered the Cruciatus curse in class, Neville had freaked out and it seemed he had had a few talks with Moody. Whether those had helped or worsened the situation, Harry didn't know. Still talking, they walked out, ignoring Hermione trying to recruit everyone she came across for her new-founded organisation S.P.E.W., on which he had mixed feelings. Forcing people to give you money just to shut up didn't sound like a solid foundation for success.

''So what do you think about this Tournament Harry?'' Neville asked him. ''You looked like you knew some of the people from the other schools?''

''Only one of them, Dixie. She's from Beauxbatons and we met in summer. I'm not sure if I should cross my fingers for her to be chosen as champion or the opposite. She seems very excited to participate and prove her worth but this entire thing sounds like suicide. I'm happy about the age line, now no-one will try to pressure me into joining.'' he threw a look at Ron, who just grinned.

''Come on, it would be fun! Dumbledore wouldn't actually let anything dangerous go on, right? And just think of the money, and the glory and fame Harry!''

_You never cared for fame, did you?_

Voldemort's words hit him like lightning and he abruptly halted at the memory, his heart clenching as he met Ron's confused gaze. How was it possible that his former worst enemy understood him so much better than the person he'd shared most of his time with for the past three years? ''Nothing,'' he said after a moment in reply to his friends' questioning gazes, taking brusque strides to catch up. He didn't talk much with either Ron or Hermione anymore after, although they didn't seem to notice, speculating too much over the Tournament and who would put their name in tomorrow. Harry wondered if he should even go look or not, not exactly wanting to waste his free Saturday, more interested in reading. He'd finished both Voldemort's own book as well as the one with the hand on the cover that dealt with the theory on sacrificial magic. He'd now started reading an interesting one on the cultures of various magical beings.

In the end, he did just that, spending most of his time in the boy's dorms, only joining up with Ron and Hermione for a quick visit to a rather flustered Hagrid who had put eau the cologne in his beard for some reason. The only real good news they heard all day - the blast-ended skrewts starting to eat each other- was delivered in such a grave tone that Harry didn't have the heart to openly celebrate it. When it was finally time for dinner, he was so engrossed in his books once more that Ron had to come get him.

''Come **on** Harry, why've you been in here again? Is it really that interesting what some dusty old vampire said two-hundred years ago? Quidditch being taken away really took its toll on you, didn't it?'' Harry gave him an apologetic smile and put the book away.

''Maybe, we should go fly together at one point, that would do me some good.'' Ron's face lit up at the suggestion and Harry also got enthusiastic at the mere thought of taking to the skies again. Feeling so free was the best thing in the world, even rivalling Voldemort's magic racing through him. Ron got him up to speed on everything that had happened since their visit to Hagrid: from the Twins trying to trick the age line and growing beards to listing everyone from Hogwarts who had put in their name.

''I don't understand why anyone would want to do that with everyone gawking at them,'' Harry commented as they sat down at the dinner table. ''I would definitely have put it in at night when no-one was looking to avoid the stares and expectations.'' '  
  
Ron shrugged. ''Some people want their friends to see how much they are willing to risk. Speaking of which, I heard that your friend from Beauxbatons was disappointed in you lack of support.''

''Shit,'' Harry cursed, glancing over at the Ravenclaws, totally having forgotten that it would be strange for him to not be present as Dixie put in her name.

''You should go to her,'' Hermione suggested. ''To not make things worse. Now is your only chance. Whether she'd picked or not, it would look bad to apologise after. Either you'd look like you are just sucking up to the new champion again, or you are rubbing salt in her wounds after finding out that she wasn't chosen.''

''You're right, thanks 'Mione, what would I do without you?'' She only answered with a faint, proud smile as Harry stood up and tried not to look too guilty when going over to the Ravenclaw table, where he received many strange and hostile looks. It wasn't common to switch tables, certainly not when there was tension and in-house rivalry going on about who'd become Hogwarts champion. Only siblings or really tight friends sometimes dared to go over to another house's table... ''Dixie,'' he spoke, catching the attention of the girl. She gave him a hurt look that made him feel even more like a jackass. ''Sorry I wasn't there before when you put your name in. I kind of wanted to stay away from the crowds, you know? For some reason, whenever I am at some important event, either something horrible happens or people make a fuss about my presence. One would think they'd be over that after a couple of years but there you go.'' He threw her his best begging look that also worked on Hermione sometimes with homework. Dixie's expression defrosted somewhat and she patted the spot next to her on the bench, which he took.

''You're right, it was stupid of me to expect... anyways, I don't even know if I'll get in right? It all depends on ze chosen tasks. I'm a weak dueller, but if zey choose things with lots of preparation time involved or puzzles, I should have a good chance.''

''I didn't know that the tasks themselves are used to determine the Champion. Thought it was based mostly on magical strength.''

''Not as far as I know. The cup is given information about ze tasks and then picks zose people most suitable.''

''I see,'' Harry mused. ''I guess that is fair. It would be more difficult on strength alone if one person highly specialises in the magic necessary for those challenges whereas another doesn't.''

''Exactly. Now, hurry back to your seat, it should begin soon!''

While he had told himself to not get excited over this thing, Harry couldn't help but get carried away with the rest of the crowd, loud speculations being made over who the three Champions would become. The entire Gryffindor table hoped for Angelina, including Harry, even if that would make it more difficult to cheer Dixie on if she became the Beauxbatons champion. He ignored the accusations around the table of him 'fraternising with the enemy' in favour of discussing possible tasks and weighing the dangers. The dinner seemed to last an eternity before the food finally vanished and Dumbledore stood, raising his hands in a request for silence, which for once instantly was granted. Everyone, even the teachers and judges -well, except for Snape, who as always looked as if his mere presence was too good for this world- leaned forwards in expectation. At Dumbledore's request, they all waited another few long minutes before the fire in the goblet all of a sudden turned a bright red instead of its previous icy blue flames. One could have heard a needle drop in the hall as everyone held their breaths, a charred piece of parchment floating down after being spit out- until a wrinkled hand caught it.

''The Champion of Durmstrang is Viktor Krum!'' Dumbledore's voice echoed through the Great Hall.

''No surprise there!'' Ron yelled in Harry's ear as thunderous applause went off. Harry actually** did** find it surprising. That someone was good at Quidditch didn't mean they were intellectually or magically up to something like this. It only went to show that multi-talents really did exist. Krum didn't react arrogantly or surprised, walking up to the teacher's table with a curt stride as if he wanted to get it over with. Maybe international Quidditch stars wanted just as little attention as Harry wanted for his 'famous' status. Intriguing. Even before Krum reached the door through which he had to go behind the head table, a second piece of parchment was shot out.

''The Champion of Beauxbatons. Fleur Delacour!'' Harry instantly looked at Dixie's disappointed face and gave her a sympathetic look, secretly happy that she would not play a main role in this Tournament. It would be much harder to keep a low profile and just enjoy his school year when being friends with one of the Champions. He only looked up again as the last piece flew from the fire.

''The Champion of Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!'' Angelina huffed but gave a general thumbs up to the Hufflepuff table. ''Better than a Slytherin,'' she shrugged. ''I can deal with one from Hufflepuff.'' Harry clapped for Cedric too.

''He went part of the way with us to the World Cup,'' Ron told Harry. ''He's okay I guess, but his dad is an arse. Wouldn't shut up about Cedric 'beating' you once at Quidditch, he's the Hufflepuff seeker. His dad didn't like my reminder of that that particular match was only won because you were attacked by Dementors and fell off your broom.''

''Thanks for defending me mate,'' Harry laughed. ''I hope Diggory has it in him to win this from Delacour and Krum.''

''Sure thing, I hope so too and-''

The hall suddenly fell silent again as for a fourth time, the flames turned bright red. Harry felt as if his insides were suddenly being twisted. Why did things at Hogwarts never go as expected? Somehow, his feeling of dread worsened in the two seconds that it took Dumbledore to grab hold of the parchment and read it. It no longer came as a surprise to him when the headmaster read: ''Harry Potter.'' There was no school name mentioned further. Perhaps there didn't need to be. He refused to get up at first, hoping he'd wake up from a nightmare.  
  
''Harry Potter!'' Dumbledore spoke louder even as the other Heads and the jury rushed down to discuss what had just happened.

''I didn't put my name in,'' he said weakly. ''You know that I didn't.'' He received no answer, being pushed up by other people, forced to walk through the aisle with weak legs and confusion. Whispers broke out and he missed both the murderous look Ron threw his way and the baffled one of Dixie. After an eternity of stares, he faced Dumbledore, whose face was more serious than Harry had ever seen it, all twinkles and smiles gone. It couldn't have been Dumbledore's plan to test him this time then.

_Oh._

Harry nearly gasped for breath as he finally, **finally** understood what was happening. That first dream in which Voldemort had invited him... the man had** warned** him. How could he have been so dense? The Dark Lord had literally told him that he'd participate in a large event as a test. What** else** could have been meant with that? He didn't know what to feel even as he went through the door behind the teacher's table, refusing to meet the gazes of the other champions as parts of the muddled dream suddenly cleared up in his mind. 

_...test your current powers and widen your horizons on magic, dark magic specifically... need to both see how you deal with overcoming problems as well as to have you publically using sacrificial magic._

He'd even specifically been sent all those books for this, he now realised, wanting to bang his head against the wall. The only thing left to figure out was** how** Voldemort had managed to trick this well-guarded magical cup into believing that Harry wanted to and was fit to participate. He underwent the anger of those around him as Madame Maxime declared him a liar and Karkaroff blamed Dumbledore for Hogwarts having two Champions now. At which point Moody spoke up:

''It's not like that, Karkaroff. There was no school listed on the parchment. Besides, if Harry here would have simply put in his name, it should still have chosen only one Champion, and I can bet that Diggory is more suited than Mr Potter. No, someone specifically** wanted** to force the boy to participate. And is anyone hearing him complain?

''Why would he complain?'' madam Maxime scoffed. ''He gets away with this, can try to hog all of the prizes-''

''There's a good reason this Tournament demands a minimum age of seventeen from its Champions,'' Moody scoffed. ''Potter won't be seeing any prizes unless you think that a fourteen-year-old from Hogwarts can beat your own champion, who is in her final year?'' The woman looked offended at the mere suggestion and stayed quiet after, only throwing Harry dirty looks. A hand clapped on his shoulder again and Moody tried to look into his eyes. ''You alright kid?'' his tone was softer than it had been before and as Harry looked up, he saw worry shining through the one real eye. Although Harry didn't confirm or deny it, the man turned to Dumbledore. ''It can't be that it was Potter, it would take an incredibly powerful Confundus to trick the Goblet into thinking four schools participated instead of three. Potter's name was most likely added under a fourth school as the only participant, forcing him to compete.'' At that, Karkaroff shot forward and started arguing about Moody's credibility, while Harry fell back into thoughts.

He desperately wanted to know if he really was forced to compete but kept his mouth shut. This was Voldemort's doing. Voldemort, who most definitely did** not** want him dead this time. A test, the man had said, an opportunity to learn more. Harry took a deep breath. He could do this, somehow. He did have the added benefit of literally being unkillable by anyone but himself and the Dark Lord. It would, however, be a hassle to rely on that without being able to show that he had additional magical protection. After much further arguing by Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, the question was brought up anyways by McGonagall, who demanded to know if her student could avoid going into a death trap. Percy, who had been suspiciously silent up until that point, cleared his throat and stepped forward.

''The Goblet of fire creates a magically binding contract that cannot be broken. He has to compete, it is clearly stated in the rules.''

''And what would the consequences be if he **didn't**?'' McGonagall demanded.

''The rules are absolute,'' Percy insisted.

''Now listen young man, I-''

''Minerva.'' Dumbledore warned her. It was as if McGonagall's face sucked in on itself, all wrinkled trembling anger, her mouth pursed as she tried to prevent herself from letting out a stream of colourful insults. ''Very well, Harry will have to compete. We must remember that the Tournament this year will be highly guarded and we have medical experts at the ready. We shall do all we can to ensure the safety of all four Champions. Now then, Percy, Ludo, if you would please not let our Champions wait much longer, this is a good time to finally reveal more to them about the first task.''

Percy, who had composed himself again, took the lead: ''This first task will test you courage and takes place on the twenty-fourth of November, giving you almost a month to prepare. All of the other students, teachers and jury alike, will watch the task. Accepting help from teachers or members of the jury is not allowed, nor are you allowed to bring any objects apart from a wand with you. The second task shall be given after the first one has been completed. You shall not have to partake in the spring exams, in order to concentrate further on the Tasks. That was all,'' he decided, putting away the paper from which he had been reading. Knowing Percy, he'd put everything in bullet points. It had certainly sounded like it.

''Well then,'' Dumbledore spoke, smiling again. Harry tried his best to look anywhere but the man's eyes. ''You had all better head to your dorms to celebrate.'' Somehow, Harry thought there would be little to celebrate for him. He didn't expect a great welcome.

The room cleared out and Harry lingered behind a bit, not too keen on going back to the dorms. Finally, he sighed, prepared to face whatever was waiting for him, and went to the door through which Diggory had just disappeared, only to be stopped by Moody calling out. He hadn't even noticed that the man was still here. ''Potter. Come with me to my office, we have something to discuss.'' It didn't sound very friendly but then again, he didn't expect much friendliness this evening in the first place.

''Why not,'' he answered, trailing after his Defence teacher through the Great Hall and dark corridors after, following him to the third floor. It had been a while since he'd been in this office, Harry mused. Odd, he'd rarely been in the office of any teacher apart from his head of house and Snape, but had somehow come here in three different years now, all under different teachers. He'd helped Lockhart sign his fan mail under the blinking teeth of the wall of Lockhart photos. He'd had tea with Lupin a few times and been shown the Grindylow, the entire aquarium gone now. And now he was here with Moody, all items of Lupin having been replaced by strange instruments.

''How do you feel about all of this?'' the man asked. ''You didn't answer me before.'' Harry groaned softly and sat down on a wooden stool.

''I honestly don't know? Certainly not** prepared**. This thing is supposed to be incredibly dangerous, I heard people died in it before, and it is designed for people who are older than I am and know a lot more.'' He halted any further comments when something drew his attention, a black trunk that stood next to Harry starting to rattle and a muffled scream coming from it.

"I wouldn't bother telling you what's in there. You wouldn't believe me if I did," the other said with a grin. Harry kept his eyes glued to the trunk nonetheless, a vague memory taking shape in his mind. Moody and Barty... Barty** had** mentioned the name before_... I got Moody, using his own traps against him._ Harry could slap himself -a common occurrence this evening it seemed- and looked at his teacher again, speechless as the Knut finally dropped. No wonder that none could compare to Barty. No wonder that Harry had had such a weird feeling all this time, no** wonder** that there had been concern in the man's eye before. _You okay kid_? Why would a stranger, teacher or not, have cared?

''Potter?''

Harry couldn't help but grin maniacally. Despite his own stupidity and horrid memory, he was absolutely ecstatic about his discovery. Barty was here, he wasn't alone, wouldn't have to keep his secrets in.

''Evan is fine again,'' he smiled.

Barty huffed. ''Took you long enough kid, I didn't know you were so dense as to not recognise me for two entire months. I kept dropping hints like crazy.''

''Why didn't you just **tell** me?'' Harry asked, getting up from his stool, hesitating for a moment. This may be Barty, but the Death Eater was still disguised as a very grumpy ex-Auror and hugging him felt strange. Barty seemed to have no such reservations, for he was with Harry in two strides and gave him a short but tight embrace that was made a bit more unpleasant by Moody's strong-reeking leathery robes.

''Merlin, it's so good that you now know. I was explicitly forbidden from revealing myself unless you figured it out on your own,'' the other scowled. ''Part of the test you know.''

''Yeah, about that.** What the hell**! Does he really believe that I can get through this thing unscathed? Never mind people not being able to hurt me on purpose, what about monsters, animals, plants, debris flying about? What if a rock flies through my eye socket and gets into my brain?''

Moody grinned. ''Why do you think** I'm** here kid?''

Harry gave him a suspicious look. ''I'm not allowed to receive help from teachers. Besides, how would this be a test for me if you help? Wouldn't that compromise Volde- our Lord's purpose?''

''Why would it? Look, we've told you before that his aim is not to harm you anymore. This is a test, sure, but more in the regular kind of sense, not the 'just see how you don't get killed' way. Also, I would be giving you** more** of a disadvantage if I didn't help. Krum may look like he isn't into this, but Karkaroff is relentless and will do** anything** to see that his Champion wins. And Miss Delacour isn't as fragile as she looks either and has much that she wants to prove to herself and others. Her Headmistress will definitely tell that girl anything she knows. It's tradition to break this whole set of rules and instead try to sneak around to get information you're not supposed to, because all other Champions will do the same. The only person who doesn't want to do that is Dumbledore, since he is all for **fair play,** ironically putting both you and that Diggory boy in a bad starting position compared to the other schools. So don't be afraid to try underhanded methods to find out what you need. As for my role, as this is definitely still a test from our Lord, I'm not allowed to tell you much or outright give you solutions, but I'll drop hints here and there and if you've figured out the task and chosen a way to tackle it, I'll teach you how to best do so. Remember, one of our goals is to introduce heavy magic to the public, so you should focus on those books you received to find useful spells and such. I just seriously hope that you pick up on my hints faster now you know I'm going to give them than you did before, kid.''

Harry started pacing, unsure as to how to reply to this. The Tournament before him just sounded like a gigantic unknown monster that he had to tackle without any clue as to how. He only stopped when he saw Barty's face, eyes narrowed at Harry and anger suddenly radiating off the man. If there was one thing that always put him on edge around Barty, it was the sudden mood swings. ''What?''

''Do you have** any** idea how many people would die to get this chance?''

Harry shrugged. ''Look, I know that many want fame and glory and whatever-''

''I am not talking about the Triwizard Tournament,'' Barty scoffed. ''What I am pissed about is how you take it for granted that the Dark Lord has his personal attention on you and takes care of your education. It took most people **years** to be allowed even a glimpse of him, to speak to him, to feel his magic. Yet you are making demands of our Lord and then do not even have the guts to follow up on the duties he gives you? Who do you even think that you are?'' He came closer to Harry again, voice changing to that familiar growl, which sounded even a lot more threatening coming from Moody's throat.** ''You** told him that you wanted to be useful. Well, you can be by doing this. Show your peers, your teachers and the press the magic that we all strive to have our world embrace, further your own abilities and contacts. You were handed this opportunity on a golden platter by the most powerful man in the world and you** complain**?''

Harry looked down as he let the words sink in. He was really good at messing up his own life, wasn't he? ''Okay,'' he whispered. ''I get it, I'm sorry.'' Barty sneered once more and then turned around, walking to one of his spinning instruments, checking on them.

''One more thing,'' Harry asked, frowning. ''Your father... he was supposed to be here, right?'' Barty's looked at Harry over his shoulder, a sadistic grin spreading over Moody's face hat told everything. ''I see, guess I will never meet the man in person then.''

''Not a loss for you, I assure you.''

''I guess I'll be going then, they might think I've been eaten by Karkaroff or so.''

''Be careful around that man, I mean it,'' Barty warned him. ''He used to be a Death Eater of the Inner Circle and was captured after the Fall of our Lord, only staying out of prison by giving up the names of several high-ranked other Death Eaters... He's a coward and a traitor, much like Wormtail was.''

''The Dark Lord really knows how to pick his followers, doesn't he?'' Harry spoke with raised eyebrows. Barty threw him a glare.

''Just like your parents knew how to pick their friends,'' he threw back. Harry balled his fists, trying not to show how much those words affected him. It had been a low blow but then again, so had his own words been.'' Anyways, Karkaroff is a wild card. He both lost his previous status and gained a new position after the war, I do not know if he harbours ill intentions towards you or not. That he used to be buddies with Snape right before it all went to shambles is probably not going to be favourable to you there.''

''Great,'' he sarcastically drawled.

''Evan.'' The serious tone make him pause and thoroughly look at the Death Eater. ''I think you are taking all of this too lightly. Perhaps we went a bit easy on you during summer.''

_Easy?_ Harry thought. _That was going easy?_

''What you** need** to understand is that all of this will decide the course of our country, our people. You have chosen to play a role in this, so now you are not going to be simply let off. I expect you to give this your **all**, even when our Lord is not here to reinforce that statement with his presence, words or powers. You are being depended on. Do your best, I'm not hearing any excuses.'' Harry nodded mutedly. It wasn't as if he didn't know any of this, it was just a lot easier to face anything when he tried to tackle it with cynicism.

''I've already finished a few of the books I was sent,'' he spoke, wanting to show that he was doing something to improve himself. ''As well as having started to study Runes and Arithmancy. I'm sorry if I gave the impression that I disregarded our Lord's expectations. I'll give everything I have in this Tournament, and will come to you if I have trouble tackling spells I want to use.''

''Good,'' Barty answered, finally relaxing. ''It is really great to see you, kid,'' he suddenly grinned again, ruffling Harry's hair. ''Now go, I get that you might not be accepted with open arms after today, but keep your head up and know that** I** am very proud of you.'' He was bid farewell with a wink and a thumbs up. A small smile spread on Harry's face as he finally returned to Gryffindor tower. It was good to have friends. Scary friends sometimes, but friends nonetheless


	19. A terrible Discovery

As it turned out, it looked like Harry had one friend less. For some infuriating reason, Ron did not believe a word about Harry not having put his own name in, having blabbered something about that Harry should have told him of his 'method' to cross the age line. The only positive point that he saw was that the rest of Gryffindor wasn't as mad as he'd imagined them to be. They were only miffed that it had taken him so long to return, Fred, George and Lee Jordan having organised an elaborate party. Their support was absolutely great and made him even a bit able to enjoy the evening despite Ron's glaring absence. He convinced himself that, although none accepted his words about not having put his name in as true, it was a good sign and he should absolutely try to keep all the support he could get. He didn't want to push anyone away by acting anti-social now, to tackle these coming months he'd need information from wherever he could get it. The more people who wanted him to win, the better.

Like his best friend, the other houses also seemed to be completely against him, especially Hufflepuff as he had now 'stolen' the only chance for one of their own to shine. One pinprick of light was that Malfoy, who could have entirely used this debacle to seize his previous position again... didn't. Instead, the blond often lurked behind, looking almost as if he wanted to speak to Harry at times, yet decided against it each time. Harry was too pissed at everyone to go to Malfoy himself, instead spending lots of time with both Barty, Hermione and Hagrid, the latter two thankfully staying utterly loyal, believing him right away. It only annoyed him slightly that Hermione, while finding fault in Ron's behaviour, still also defended him, saying he was only jealous. So what if he was? That didn't make it suddenly right to drop his best friend like a brick.

Another complication was Dixie Étourneau, who tried to both be around Harry to show her support and also cheer on her own Champion, putting her in a difficult position with her peers. Harry tried to convince the girl to not mind him, that he could deal with this himself and she should just support Delacour, but she wouldn't hear of it. Barty had really overdone it with those compelling charms of friendship... To not anger her, he gave in and sought Dixie's company regularly. She wasn't too bad to talk to, although personality-wise, she got along much better with Hermione than with him, both being fascinated by any book they got their hands on and discussing girl-stuff together.

He considered writing Sirius, as Hermione also recommended him, yet wasn't certain if he should. His godfather was still not cleared and Harry wasn't certain where Sirius was staying at the moment. He really should have asked when last seeing the man. Harry knew that he'd been told to write letters, but what if Hedwig would be followed to a hiding spot or safe house? Thus, he decided against it and threw himself into preparing for his task, which was made incredibly difficult by the fact that he didn't know what it would contain apart from 'testing courage'. He had hoped that the next time all Champions had to meet, they'd receive at least a shred more information. That hope died when it turned out to only be an interview with a horrendous witch, a photo shoot and a checking of their wands. At least the entire thing confirmed Ron's statement of Delacour being part Veela - something which Harry still had to look up, it might give him an advance to know what kind of creature blood and thus possible weaknesses and strength she had. For all he knew, one of the tasks would involve duelling each other.

Two weeks passed, in which Harry did not only have to deal with his nerves at the task coming closer, but also with the horrid article brought out by Rita Skeeter. The woman had taken every single one of his words out of context and filled in his silences with her own imagination, painting Harry as an ignorant, tragic child. Each time he saw the Daily Prophet now, shame filled him to his bones, knowing that over half of Hogwarts either believed this tripe or hated him even more for drawing attention to himself and thus away from the other Champions. Diggory hadn't even been mentioned in the entire article about the Tournament, infuriating the Hufflepuffs.

In preparation, Harry was concentrating on general spells such as shields, stunners and other offensive attacks for now, which would probably be** useful** but might as well not be depending on what they would have to face. Barty taught him an especially useful shield that made him both hard to see and would stop most any light spell. Its only drawbacks were that he also would see the outside world pretty blurry, and the sacrifice that was required were pieces of his own body. That was fine at the start since he could just pick his hair, but the longer he held the shield, the more hair it would require, not exactly perfect for long-term use. It also limited how often he could practise it. In between regular classes and training, he tried to gather any info he could get his hands on. As of now, all of the rumours at Hogwarts had ended in nothing at all. Ron also hadn't spoken to him again and even insisted on switching partners at potions with Hermione, leaving Harry with Neville, costing them a great many house points. He had very much hoped that Ron would come around, and he might have, had Harry not spent so much time with not only Hermione, but also Ron's own sister and Dixie.

According to Hermione, those facts only fuelled Ron's anger and jealousy. The topic of Ron was now taboo between Harry and Hermione, since it hurt too much to even speak of their friend right now, even when Harry knew that the girl still hung out with the Ron too. Whenever Harry was forced to be in one room with him, there was either dead silence or snide remarks exchanged between them that Harry instantly regretted when he said them, and which cut deep into his soul when he was on the receiving end.

He sighed miserably and stared into the tea that Hagrid had just served him, the giant all ears to his woes. ''Wish I could help yeh, now it's pretty rubbish ter be a teacher.'' Harry nodded mutedly, knowing that if there was one thing that Hagrid respected, it was Dumbledore's standards. He would never outright be able to help Harry and tell him what he knew. Barty had been pretty tight-lipped too even though he'd said he would drop hints. Maybe Harry had just missed them again.

''I understand Hagrid, don't beat yourself up about it, I'll manage somehow. Have been training a lot, reading up on new spells for combat and such.''

Hagrid shuffled his feet. ''That's a good idea. Errr... have you looked inter special combat? Agains' the likes of creatures an' such?''

''Creatures?'' Harry perked up. Hagrid reddened and turned around, mumbling a bit.

''Shouldn'ta said that,'' he mumbled unconvincingly. ''Anyways, good luck! You'll need it,'' he hurriedly added. Taking that as his cue to leave, Harry went. Creatures... that was certainly more to work with than he had had before... He eyed the pen with blast-ended Skrewts specifically. No, surely they wouldn't have to face a most-likely illegally-bred species in a public setting. Acromantulas then? Possibly, there sure were enough of them out here. If so, Harry did know quite a few spells that worked against them now. What else could they use...? Would it be limited to those found in the forbidden forest or would the Ministry bring other, less well-known and dangerous creatures in? Which kinds** were** even all found in the forest? So many questions... then again, it did give him more specific ideas, knowing he'd be fighting a -definitely magical- animal. It also had to be something on land instead of water as everyone was supposedly watching the spectacle. Additionally, it had to be big enough to see the fight clearly then... Even without being sure of what he would face, he could search for spells that would protect specifically against scratches, stings and bites, that would be a good start. Maybe something to attack weak spots like the belly? Even Acromantula armour was weakened there. Or should he go for the throat like he'd done with the Basilisk?

Harry grinned grimly, wondering how many of the other champions had already faced trolls, giant spiders, a Basilisk, Dementors and a Werewolf. He sure did have experience with creatures, and his education of last year with Lupin had thankfully dealt with many others too. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. The main problem was that any creature had also specific magic: With a Banshee he'd have to protect his ears, while with a cockatrice he'd have to look out for venom. He couldn't possibly cover everything 'just in case' without magically exhausting himself.

He told Barty of his findings, who nodded enthusiastically and instantly started with teaching him a spell that Harry had chosen from one of the books he'd been sent. It hardened one's skin to make physical attacks easier to block. Harry considered it a good sign since Barty didn't reject the idea or seem reluctant about it. He also found that the book on rune clusters had an entire chapter on influencing animals. He wasn't certain if he should even attempt using it since his rune skills were rudimentary at best, but figured it wouldn't hurt to read through.

He fell asleep with the book still in his hands, oblivious to everything as soon as his head touched his pillow, another world blooming in front of his eyes.

_A fire crackled and Harry turned towards it, not at all surprised when finding Voldemort standing nearby, only the surroundings being rather off. The room was unlike any Harry had seen before, the walls painted with moving waves and all kind of seashells and pieces of white jagged rock-like things standing around that Harry couldn't place. ~Where are we this time?~ he asked._

_~Good evening to you too,~ the other replied, raising a single eyebrow at Harry's lack of decorum. ~We're not anywhere in particular. As in, this place only exists in my mind.~ The teen looked around, fascinated by the colourful and twisting shapes of all the objects on display in glass cabinets. _

_~You like the sea?~ he asked, finding out more and more interesting pieces of information about Voldemort's tastes with each dream. It was a pity that he could recall so little past that first dream they had actively shared. Only now he was here again, did all their shared conversations flood back. It felt as if his waking life was merely a dream instead here._

_~I find it to be both soothing and dangerous, the ocean is a complex ecosystem that humans can barely grasp the concept of despite it being the largest one in this world. Beneath the waves rests a magic of another level too, you wouldn't believe what creatures hide in the womb of the sea.~_

_~I wouldn't know, I've never even been at a beach, ~ Harry commented. ~I only know that the water is salty but I don't know why.~_

_He hadn't exactly expected an answer, but Voldemort still replied: ~The salt in the oceans stems from erosion of bedrock on continents and minerals getting trapped there, the salt levels of the water increasing over time. You'd imagine what millions of years would do. The only reason that not all water on earth is salty is due to rainwater replenishing rivers and lakes, although some lakes in dry areas turned salty as well.~_

_~Do you know everything?~_

_~While I naturally prefer to focus on all that is magic, I pride myself in learning the ways of this world as well, although this in particular is quite common knowledge.~ Harry tried to not let that comment hurt him. It wasn't his fault if his education had been bad and he hadn't been allowed to read books at the Dursley's home. _

_~Is there anything specific that you want?~ Harry asked._

_~Always getting to the point so quickly,~ Voldemort... scowled? ~Is it not enough to relish for a while in the magic that brought us to this state? You are so very impatient, Evan.~_

_~Other than you, I have limited time,~ Harry replied, sitting down and looking at the foam of the painted waves as they crashed on sharp black rocks. ~Everything at school is measured by time limits. Tests, homework, even this Tournament. My next task is up soon and the only clue I have found is 'creatures'. I suppose you will also not tell me anything else?~ he looked up at the Dark Lord, who wore a pensive expression, taking his words into consideration._

_~Not directly, but you would do well to remember your position. As much as you loathe your own status in this world, it can give you many advantages. Shunning away from your fame is only going to make life more difficult for yourself, whereas if you use it, you might find more help awaiting than you could imagine. Part of aiding me will be to use any methods that do not go against your own code of ethics at the moment. You are angry about Dumbledore using you, are you not? Then step up out of his shadows and control your social environment yourself.~_

_~And that will help me with the task too?~ Harry doubted. ~Contacts cannot be formed within a week.~_

_~You'll be surprised to find what weight your voice can carry if you speak out. Now, come here, I have been working on a spell.~ Curious, Harry came closer to the other, who opened a rather large jar of water and multi-coloured sand. With slight hesitation, he put his hand in Voldemort's offered one, the sensation feeling off as he could not feel the man's magic in their dreams, nor was the hand cold to the touch. Harry guessed that the man didn't perceive his own skin temperature as others did. This was Voldemort's dream, after all. Harry's hand rested like a dead weight in thin, fragile-looking fingers that curled around his in a reflex that reminded Harry of a constrictor keeping its prey in place. He was so distracted by the movement that he jerked in shock as part of the contents of the jar were placed in his palm, the water a floating blob in his hand in which sand swirled._

_~What am I supposed to do with this?~ he asked, bewildered._

_~Take it with you. _ _ **Ræið opna.** _ _~ Forcefully, Harry was cast from the room, feeling as if he was speeding backwards through a very unpleasant tunnel until he was cast out onto his own bed._

Gasping, he awoke, completely dizzy and disorientated. Salt stung his nose and eyes when he instinctively rubbed his face to get awake. ''What the hell!'' he cursed, taking his bed sheet to wipe the sudden wetness off his face to be able to stare at his hand. It didn't help much without his glasses, but he could certainly see that he was holding something. Something very wet and gritty. He gasped in astonishment as he recognised it or what it was, more by texture than by sight. Had Voldemort really transported something through his dream to Harry? What kind of magic could manifest items from pure thought?

That was a stupid question, he realised. Part of transfiguration was exactly that, transforming thought into magic, and that into form even if nothing else had been there before. Still, for someone else to conjure objects in one's mind and then send it like this? That was on another level altogether. He only wondered if Voldemort couldn't have chosen anything... handier than sea water and sand. His bed was ruined now. Curiously, he sniffed at the water, finding the briny smell interesting. It had a different odour than the saline solutions they had sometimes used in potions, as if there was more to sea water than that. Maybe there was, there were all kinds of living things in the sea. He recalled the zoo he'd visited and the small aquarium they'd had that was filled with brightly shimmering fish and aquatic plants. Voldemort's words of beasts lurking in the ocean came to mind.

He closed his eyes and tried to hold onto as much of the conversation as he could, knowing it would slip away otherwise. The smell certainly helped to recall the room with its waves, although details were already starting to fade. Had the other sat or stood? What had the floor and furniture been made of? He didn't know anymore, only an image of seashells lined up against walls with moving waves remaining. Not too important either, and yet the loss of that tranquil feeling he'd had there was disappointing. Instead, he concentrated on remembering the words of the Dark Lord. Something about stepping up, making contacts to find out about the task. A week time being enough...

Harry certainly had work to do.

It was because of this that he later called an emergency meeting in the library. He'd opted for a place where they could talk better, but Hermione wasn't willing to leave any of her books behind and she was already one book over the limit that any other Hogwarts student was allowed to borrow. She also made the argument that they would save time by being able to look up anything they needed instantly, which no-one could go against. Harry wondered just how long they'd be able to stay here however. For some reason, Viktor Krum made regular trips to the Hogwarts library, always followed by a group of giggling girls who made a ruckus. It annoyed Hermione to no end, who ended up leaving more often than not just to escape the noise.

''Creatures...'' the girl sighed when Harry told his friends what Hagrid had said. ''That does not narrow it down much, although I think you should concentrate on those ranked three or four X's. Anything below that isn't entertaining enough to watch for a large crowd and anything over would be far too dangerous to let students handle.'' Concern was written all over her face and reflected by Neville, Ginny and Dixie. Harry sorely missed Ron's presence and pretended not to notice. ''You've only got one and a half week left, any specific spells you might want to still learn would take days of intense practise at the very least! That would mean you'd have... oh, less than a week to decide what to do!''

''I** know**,'' Harry groaned. ''While I'm practising all kinds of magic for offense and defence, I'm still going in blind without any further clues.''

Dixie hesitated, then spoke: ''I do not know if zis is helpful to you...'' she trailed off, then started anew. ''Fleur already knows ze task, I am sure of it.''

''Then you could ask her, right?'' Ginny commented, slightly more pushy than she usually was.

''I will not betray my school!'' Dixie huffed. ''Besides, it is doubtful that she would tell** me** anyzing. I did not make a secret out of supporting Harry too.''

Harry nodded. ''Not expecting you to spy for me, no worries. Hagrid also said all that he could and there is no other teacher whom I think would tell me anything about the upcoming event. Percy is also definitely out, and so are the other Champions even if they do know what is coming. I'm not well-versed enough in mind-magic to extract anything from their minds.''

''Which would also be illegal!'' Hermione reminded him.

''As much as brewing Polyjuice at twelve years old in a bathroom with stolen ingredients,'' he shot back with a grin.

''What about Bagman?'' Neville asked. ''I've heard from Fred and George that he likes to gamble. He might have bet on you.''

'''Even if, I hardly know the man, what if I can't trust him? I've thought of searching for ideas outside of Hogwarts instead. Everyone is on their tiptoes here, careful not to reveal what they know. I might have more luck if I go directly to the source: the ministry.'' All of them gawked at him. ''Look, more than half of the school is accusing me of seeking attention, of only being able to get away with 'putting my name in the cup' or whatever because I'm famous, right? Well, I figured that I might as well use that fame for something positive then. My name carries enough influence that I could contact the Department for the Regulation and control of Magical Creatures and find out who is in charge of the Tournament. Even if they use Acromantulas or any other creatures that live near Hogwarts, they'll need someone to supervise, right?''

''But that's against the rules!'' Hermione hissed.

''The only rules I was told was that I cannot get help from teachers or the jury. The members of the jury are all from the schools, the Department of Magical Sports and Recreation and the Department of International Cooperation. If I decide to ask anyone outside of those authorities, that is entirely legal and within the rules. My main problem is that I don't know how fast response would be. The Ministry is all the way in London... A few owls back and forth would be too much loss of time.''

''What about floo?'' Dixie suggested. ''There are many fireplaces in this castle, right?'' Harry instantly looked to Hermione for confirmation, who looked doubtful.

''Hogwarts is not fully connected to the floo network,'' she spoke slowly. ''Security risk, you see. We cannot have people with ill intent just flooing into the common rooms, or students going back and forth to sneak into teacher's offices. There is a slight loophole that still allows contact by transferring only a vision of the person's face through the fire. Whether that will help in the Ministry, I do not know. I've never been there and don't know how the fireplaces are set up there.''

Neville shook his head. ''They've only got floo for employees at the entrance of the Atrium, no-one would see you there that would be useful speaking to... There are a few special fireplaces for certain departments that need quicker contact, but all of those have extra layers of security such as only certain people being keyed in, or the floo network only being connected at certain times. I'm afraid that won't work as a quick method of contacting. I do have a different solution though...'' It was so rare for Neville to speak for so long that everyone apart from Dixie looked at him with astonishment. Neville blushed and started to stutter a bit.

''My.. My gran used to work at the Ministry, you know. Before she found that it was all rubbish and she retired. Been moved around different department a lot... I am sure she also worked in Control of Magical Creatures for a couple of years, and she loves to keep in contact with old colleagues of hers. Even if she's not aware of what the exact task is, I can imagine that she'd know whom to contact.''

''Neville, that's brilliant!'' Ginny exclaimed, her face lighting up as if her life had been saved by this. ''One of the benefits of living in such a small society, I suppose. Everyone always knows someone useful... You know what, I'll contact mum and dad too, they might also have some info. It is true that you're not forbidden from asking anyone else from those people mentioned. With how much mum sometimes gossips I bet she's already fully aware of whatever creature they pick.''

''I cannot be of much help here,'' Dixie stated ruefully. ''My own family has no connections to ze Eenglish Ministry. I'll try to look for ozer info still but cannot promise you zat I will find what you are looking for.''

''That's fine,'' Harry told her. ''You know far more magic than all four of us combined, being in your last year and all. You can fully make up for it by teaching me if you want.'' He couldn't be seen too often with Moody after all since the man wasn't actually allowed to help him with anything. She nodded, her curls bouncing. ''I shall go now zen!'' she spoke, getting up and rushing out of the library. Harry caught Ginny's annoyed stare.

''I don't know why you like being around her Harry!'' the girl complained. ''She's so... overenthusiastic and bubbly and...'' she pulled a face that made Harry laugh.

''Not everyone likes to get cats chasing after stink-bombs,'' he snickered. ''Give her a chance. She may be a bit, err... overwhelming, she means well. Plus, it really is great to have someone of the same age as the other Champions to help, right? She might also know spells that we don't get taught at Hogwarts!''

''She does, quite a few,'' Hermione spoke. ''We've already had long discussions about the way potions work differently in France, for example. They work far more with spells to bind ingredients together and manipulate them, making potions a far more versatile course and less labour-intensive than we have here. They also combine that course with Alchemy, which we don't have at all. Nicholas Flamel used to attend Beauxbatons, did you know that?''

Harry hadn't known that and was also too preoccupied with other things to care much. He'd rather not be reminded of the whole incident with the philosopher's stone now that he knew it had set back Voldemort's resurrection by two years. In the next days, he waited with anticipation for letters from either Neville's Gran or the Weasleys, while also sneaking around the Hogwarts grounds under his invisibility cloak to observe Krum and Delacour. While he'd tried with Diggory too, it quickly became clear that the other boy was even more clueless than Harry was, only training general spells and pacing around nervously. The other two were noticeably more focused, interestingly enough both concentrating on protection rather than offense.

Delacour was mostly practising either on a charm that froze the surroundings or on a chant of which its main purpose was to make anything in its vicinity fall asleep. The latter could be really handy for any creature, but with how much difficulty Delacour had with it, and the fact that it was in French, Harry decided he'd rather choose a different method. The freezing spell** was** something he could master, and also slightly ruled out several creatures against which that would be effective, such as trolls, centaurs or other large beasts that focused heavily on physical attacks. Those would only be bothered by ice if it completely encased them, which didn't happen with Delacour's spell.

Krum had another method altogether, using transfiguration to create large shields that would block heavy impact attacks and shooting sharp, precise spells through the artificially created holes near the edge of those shields. It made sense, Harry found, for like this Krum would not need to get out of his cover to attack whatever it was they would have to fight. He couldn't copy the Bulgarian without being too obvious, but this tactic of creating a way to fight without fully breaking one's defence was something Harry wouldn't have come up with and thought dead useful. He was able to follow Krum more often than the Beauxbatons Champion, who spent most of her time in either the Ravenclaw dorms or the Carriage she and her peers had arrived in. Krum was nearly always somewhere in Hogwarts, most often in the library or wandering outside on the grounds. Harry wondered if he chose those places to try and get away from his fans or if he had another reason.

From his observations of the two other Champions, he deducted that what they would be fighting was large and did not only rely on force, otherwise Fleur's freezing spell and chanting wouldn't have any effect. That still left enough options to be worrisome, yet did give him an edge to work with already. He somehow doubted that many 3X creatures would be interesting enough to fight against, with perhaps exceptions being Hippogriffs, fire crabs and redcaps. Having covered all of those in third year already in either Care of magical creatures or Defence Against the Dark Arts, it was nevertheless unlikely that those would be picked for an exciting Tournament in which only adults were allowed to participate. He did not share Hermione's optimism about 5X creatures automatically being out either. Knowing that what he was about to do was incredibly stupid, but not as stupid as taking part in the Triwizard Tournament was, he drew his invisibility cloak closer and went further than he was allowed to go on the Hogwarts grounds.

The trees of the Forbidden Forest looked as foreboding and unwelcome as ever. He was no stranger to the forest though, and headed in without hesitation. He couldn't practise on dummies only, or on people he didn't want to hurt. Additionally, he wished to test the limits of Voldemort's protection without anyone able to watch him. It would protect him from harmful intent of humans... did that extent to animals who struck with the purpose of hurting him? Harry steered clear of the places where he'd met centaurs before, not necessarily wanting to cause any trouble with beings who could tell Dumbledore of what he'd been doing here. Instead, he headed down a trail he had never thought of willingly returning to, one that led straight to the valley of spiders. He wouldn't have made it out alive last time, so he took precautions in form of the protective spells that he had practised with exception of the haze shield, not wanting to become bald overnight. It was a lot harder to find spiders this time than it had been in his second year for some reason, almost as if they were hiding much deeper this time. He didn't plan on going to the centre of the nest, not in for a chat with Aragog. Harry hoped that Hagrid would forgive him for killing some of the talking spider's precious babies.

It was a good thing that he was cautious: his invisibility cloak didn't do much to hide him from the spiders, who had bad eyesight in the first place and located him the instant he ran into a few sticky strands of cobweb. Harry whipped out his wand, noting to himself that during the task he should really have it out already, and sent spells out as rapidly as he could. His repertoire had definitely increased since the last time he'd faced off against the giant spiders, for now he was not limited to only severing charms, knockback jinxes or small fireballs anymore, also able to cast Stinging hexes, Incarcerous and the Reducto curse. While not being much better, it made his attacks less predictable. He singed one of the spiders with Incendio, then instantly moved on to another, trying to cut off legs, hitting the belly while staying away from dangerously sharp jaws. He was doing quite well until a moving shadow suddenly warned him of danger. He tried his best to duck away as a full-grown Acromantula landed on the spot he'd stood just moments ago. Harry didn't fully succeed, his knee being crushed by the weight of a leg which was comparable in size to one of a horse. He cried out in anguish as he felt the bone splinter, red hot pain searing through his body. He looked death in the eyes in the form of a gaping maw and he knew he would be too late with blasting a curse through the spider's skull-

A bright light flashed and the animal was violently thrown away from him, shrieking as Harry watched it being ripped apart in mid-air. He gasped and sat up, the other spiders all scurrying away from him, maybe afraid now that the largest of them was dead. Harry scrambled up, trying not to put any weight on his useless right leg. Thousands of eyes were upon him as he tried to make a splint out of two branches and a couple of sturdy blades of grass and vines. All the while, the exhausted teen kept his guard up, not trusting the spiders to not fling themselves upon him again. So that was how Voldemort's protection worked then... his leg had been broken since the spider hadn't specifically meant to harm him with the jump itself. Since that last attack **had **definitely been filled with harmful intent, his protection had reacted... in a way that Harry didn't think was very acceptable if it meant that anyone who tried to hurt him literally got ripped to shreds. He'd need to talk to Voldemort about that...

He jerked out of his thoughts as the spiders around him reacted again and he saw the vague shape of something gigantic on a tree nearby. Clenching his teeth together, he started to run as well as he could as another fully-grown Acromantula sped down from the tree. Even if he was an automatic killing machine, accidental 'attacks' could still hurt and perhaps even kill him. Due to the spiders that had now regained their bloodlust and were on his heels, Harry was forced to run into a different direction, although if he wasn't too far off with his orientation, it should still lead him out of the forest, just in a wide berth hat led to a different side of the castle. Harry desperately wished he'd paid more attention to healing charms now, because he couldn't even think of the incantation, let alone successfully heal his knee.

He shot a few severing charms and a _Reducto_ over his shoulder, hoping it would cause enough chaos to slow down the creatures. It didn't help much, the only reason that the Acromantulas hadn't caught up to him was because they were - rightfully so- cautious around him now. One unfortunate spider decided to go for it and jumped straight up in the teen's face, blasted away only as it came far too close to Harry's liking, the image of venomous fangs burned into his retina. Interestingly enough, this small one didn't meet the same fate as the first spider, only screeching in pain and rolling over the ground, jerking its legs as if under the Cruciatus curse. Harry didn't stop to watch, making his way through the black thicket, which became harder each minute as the sun sank beneath the mountains.

All of a sudden, the spiders halted, and Harry looked around, confused. It was as if there was an invisible line that they wouldn't cross. A trap? He took a few tentative steps further, nothing happening to him, only more distance being put in between him and the hairy murder machines. A low hissing went through the flock of spiders before they quickly turned and, within seconds, were all gone. Confused, Harry walked further, still not anywhere near the edge of the forest. What had made them turn around?

Thunder ripped through the evening sky. It was only peculiar that in this case, the lightning came after instead of the other way around. Something moved beyond the thicket... something massive. Harry's eyes widened and his only good knee weakened as he came closer and took in the sight that he had, in the darkness, mistaken for a row of thin tree trunks in the distance. Beyond the ancient trees stood a fence now, and ** behind** that... He swallowed thickly as flames lit up the fence once more, a gigantic, scaled head rammed against thick oak planks. ''No,'' he croaked, taking in the dragon. It was easily over fifty feet and spit fire about half that length. Razor-sharp claws as long as Harry's full arm curled around the wood, pulling in a way that Harry was sure they'd splinter and break. A second jet of fire could be seen behind the gigantic black beast, mushroom-shaped puffs that came out of a brilliant ruby snout. Holding himself up by grabbing hold of an overhanging branch, Harry watched as the spectacle unfurled, four equally terrifying dragons of different colours spitting out their displeasure, coiling over the ground and trying to spread their chained wings.

He didn't recall how he made it to the castle afterwards, nor how his head was able to fall into such a dazed state that he hardly noticed his splintered knee anymore. He only knew that whatever he had expected of the first Task, this definitely had not been on his list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spell Ræið opna means something along the lines of 'open travel' or 'a door for travel'.


	20. Friends to the Rescue

''Harry, Harry!'' he looked up from his book and cancelled the privacy spells around his bed that he always put up since the incident with Ron hearing him speaking in Parseltongue in his sleep.

''Neville?''

''Gran answered already,'' the boy enthusiastically said. ''And guess what, she can help!'' The door to the boy's dorm flew open and Ginny ran in, another letter in** her** hand.

''Mum wrote back, she said she didn't know anything about the Task itself, otherwise she'd instantly have told you, but she said I should ask** Charlie**. Apparently he's involved. Harry, do you know what this could mean?''

Both halted, looking at each other's letters and then at Harry, who was certain that his appearance wasn't any better than it had been since Madam Pomfrey had healed his knee the evening before -after a long scolding and deducted points over being out past curfew. He hadn't slept a wink, instantly digging through his books for anything he could find on dragons. The other boys of the dorm had now woken too, rather groggily and annoyed at not only noise being made so early in the morning, but also because of Ginny. Especially Ron threw her a vicious look, which the girl easily ignored. Harry was surprised that both she and Neville had been up early enough to check the Owlery already instead of waiting for the post in the morning. Well, the entrance **was** on the same floor as the Gryffindor common room, so they might have made a quick trip there right after waking. He felt touched that they were helping him so much. However...

''I already know,'' he quietly spoke, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. ''Found out yesterday evening. Dragons. Couldn't exactly talk to anyone about it since it was very late and I was in the hospital wing.''

''Hospital wing? Going on adventures alone again?'' Ron spoke, his mouth twisting into a strange smile that wasn't a smile at all.

''It involved a lot of eight-legged nightmares, I think you'd have passed even if I asked you.''

''Wow,'' Dean spoke. ''Sounds exciting. But did you mention** dragons**?''

Harry nodded mutedly. ''I saw four of them, all as big as a house. I've... I've got no clue what to do guys, honestly. All of the spells I've learnt till now are pretty useless, dragons are impervious to nearly any magic! I can only cast shields and protection charms and hope not to get hit.''

Not to mention that it would be odd if the dragon would die a horrifying death if it tried to eat him, not something he'd want to reveal.

''Wait...'' Harry looked up at Ron with irritation. The guy's attitude was really grating on his nerves. That disappeared when he was met with a look of pure horror. ''Dragons? Adult ones?''

''Looked like it,'' he answered slowly. ''They sure spit loads of fire and their claws were about _this _long.'' His estimated gesture made Seamus whistle through his teeth and Neville choked on air.

''Charlie has told me loads about those things,'' Ron continued, an edge of panic in his voice. ''They're vicious, normally a fully-trained team of magicians is needed to even stun them!''

''So I've read,'' Harry answered curtly.

''And you are** sure** that this is for the Tournament?''

''They're hiding four different dragon breeds in the forbidden forest, on a place where I know that we definitely didn't have dragons before. So yes... yes, I'm damn sure.''

Ron sat down on the bed and looked down at his hands. ''Merlin... I... Harry.'' When he looked up, all contempt from the past weeks had melted away. ''No-one would be stupid enough to voluntarily fight a dragon. Not even you and you've gone up against a Basilisk. Harry...'' Ron's voice became rather weak. ''Whoever threw your name in that Goblet definitely wants to kill you!''

Everyone stared at Ron, including Harry, although he could feel a smile pulling at his lips and the knot in his stomach finally loosened. It was as if the past weeks hadn't counted at all. He stared at Ron's insecure face and suddenly had the feeling that he had to say something before Ron broke out in a waterfall of apologies.

''Forget it. It's okay,'' he said, ignoring the half-stuttered 'Sorry'. ''**Really**.''

''We'll... we'll go then,'' Dean spoke awkwardly, walking out of the door despite being in his pyjamas, followed shortly by the Seamus.

''Both of you,'' Harry called out before Ginny and Neville could sneak out too. ''Thanks a lot. It's great to know that, even if I hadn't found out myself, I wouldn't have had to face that thing without a clue.''

The door closed and he turned to Ron again, who was staring at his feet. Harry let himself fall down on the bed, right next to his friend. ''Good thing Hermione isn't here now, I think she would have broken out in tears over our stupidity,'' he spoke to lighten up the mood. Ron perked up and grinned at him.

''I know right? Totally crazy, our Hermione. Hey... does that offer for flying together still stand?''

''Only if you help me to survive this battle. I think you know more about dragons than I do.'' It was absolutely great to be able to converse again with his friend, who also sounded as if he'd missed their talks by the way Ron wouldn't shut up for the next hour about anything that came to mind, drifting from dragons to anything Harry had missed during his time being 'locked up in the library by Hermione' as Ron called it. They only made their way downstairs when their stomachs started to rumble too loudly, only to find out that breakfast was over and they were late for their first class already. In true friendship, Harry hexed Ron and together they headed for the Infirmary, Harry with the excuse of his knee still hurting and Ron obviously needing to as his hands had swollen up to the point where they looked like fleshy, cartoonish gloves.

''Mad idea Harry. Brilliant, you're starting to equal Hermione in scariness,'' his friend whispered when Madam Pomfrey was at the other side of the room. Harry just grinned at him, glad he'd managed to convince the nurse that his knee still hurt and needed to be looked at again. ''So,'' Ron continued. ''You need a tactic for a battle like this.''

''I figured I'd just shoot everything I've got,'' Harry said.

''No, that's never going to work with a dragon! You've got to play on your strength, or its weaknesses, or both!''

''I don't feel particularly strong in anything... I am mediocre to bad in all of my classes. About dragon weaknesses I also have no clue yet. I read that all dragons have very different abilities and while I saw them behind a fence, it was pretty dark and I am sure that there are multiple red dragons for example.''

Ron put on his thoughtful look that he usually only had during chess games. ''Get as much info on your opponent... I suppose you don't know how the dragons get assigned?'' Harry shook his head. ''Bugger. Then you'll have to either find that out still and see if you could manipulate the outcome, or prepare for each dragon, which will be difficult considering that you don't have much time left. I only know that one of the basic spells Charlie always uses in a flame-freezing spell that binds to his clothes so they don't catch fire, I'd recommend that in either case. It wouldn't work to stop an entire direct stream of dragon fire, but could avoid getting you burned nonetheless.''

''One spell that I do know already then,'' Harry sighed in relief. They'd covered that one last year in Transfiguration. ''Not sure what you mean with binding though, you mean enchanting my clothes?''

''From what I gathered, if you just cast it on your clothes it won't work, it needs to somehow be woven into it or connected to it, much higher-level in magic... Maybe your French friend can help you there.''

Harry nodded. ''Okay. And further?''

''Not sure.. stunning spells only work in large groups of people, so do most other offensive spells. The only one whom I thought could deal with dragons at Hogwarts handed his a teddy bear,'' Ron shrugged. ''No idea how to contact Charlie on this short notice. Romania isn't next door. So Harry, are you in for another crazy idea?''

''Shoot.''

''We're going to have to find out what dragons you're fighting, so we have to return to the forest, preferably tonight.''

''Glad to have you back, mate,'' Harry grinned. As much as he loved Hermione, he much preferred Ron's hands-on approach in tough situations than the advice of pouring over books for hours in the hope of finding a single shred of theory that might be helpful. The door to the infirmary was slammed open and they both jumped at the sound.

''Silence in here!'' Madam Pomfrey shouted, getting red in the face. ''My patients need** rest. **Professor, that also goes for you, you cannot just** barge** in here and-''

Barty ignored the nurse and strode up to Harry, glowering at his leg. ''Heard you had an accident Potter.''

''I fell off the stairs,'' he said with an as neutral face as possible.

''I'm sure. Office, now.'' With an apologetic look at Ron and a fake limp, Harry got off the bed, reassuring Madam Pomfrey that he'd return again. He lost the limp the instant they walked out the door. ''You should really get sneakier if you run around in the forbidden forest,'' the Death Eater grumbled. ''Half the school knows you got injured now and the judges are worried that you know something.''

''They'd be right to worry then,'' he simply replied as they went into Moody's office. ''Just like they should worry about Delacour, and Krum. Both of them have known for far longer, I've observed their training.''

''I know. Good move, that cloak you have is useful. Can't stop this thing though,'' Barty grinned, tapping on Moody's blue eye. ''The only good thing that comes out of impersonating this bastard. So, fill me in. It became about time that you figured out some clues.''

Harry got comfortable in the small, dark room, lighting the fire as if he owned the place. It felt like it, after having spent quite a bit of time here in the past weeks. It was easy to fall back into the routine of taking care of everything like he had at Riddle house when Barty was around, even if he didn't look like himself. ''I had hoped that your hints would be more obvious, but in the end I stumbled across the dragon pen on accident,'' Harry shrugged when he was finished and sat down on one of the leather chairs Barty had brought in recently. ''Probably one dragon for each champion that we have to fight. Krum uses heavy defence and something that looked like stingers, Delacour focuses on ice and a sort of lullaby to get the dragon to fall asleep. Up until now I've only heard that I should bind a flame-freezing charm to my clothes and apart from that, I don't know. I'll have to go back to the forest today with a friend of mine who knows more about dragons than I do, to identify them. You wouldn't happen to know how the dragons are assigned?'' Barty stroked his chin.

''Had hoped you'd have slightly more than that... it's a rough start to work with. Hmm, I** do** know how you get your dragon... I suppose it wouldn't count as me directly giving you large clues, I doubt the info will be very useful. They'll have you pick miniature dragons from a bag. While that means that you could probably feel for shape and size, it won't do much good, you'll have to pick last as the youngest one. Trying to manipulate the other Champions into all not fishing out the dragon that you want to have is magic that goes way above your head still, so don't even try. Identifying the dragons is a good idea still though. I could tell you of course which ones they'll use but I think it is better for you to see them up close yourself. How did you end up in the forest 'on accident', is what I want to know.''

''Not in the forest itself, only that particular spot. I went there to fight some Acromantulas.''

A silence filled the room for a moment until Barty broke out in wild laughter. ''You went. to fight. Acromantulas?'' he wheezed. ''Thought it was a good idea to die** before** the first task?'' Harry gave the other an annoyed look.

''I don't see what's so funny about it. I've escaped the herd before when I was twelve and figured that I certainly should be able to deal with some now. I cannot only practise on lifeless dummies, plus I needed to know what those fancy shields the Dark Lord gave me did. And good thing that I did too, I now know that I should not let any direct attack from that dragon even graze me, else we'll have an unexplainable bloodbath on our hands. The spider that tried to chomp my head off literally got** shredded**. Another that tried to bite me wailed in pain as if tortured. How would you have me explain** that** to Dumbledore if one of those dragons kicks the bucket.''

''What do buckets have to do with dragons?'' Barty asked, entirely confused.

''When it gets dragged down by merfolk,'' Harry translated after a moment of searching for the wizarding equivalent.'' What I'm saying is, that it perhaps wasn't a good idea to put me in a Tournament where things attack me when I cannot let anyone in on the fact that I have dark magic hanging around me, ready to murder whatever hits me. It's even more inconvenient than just letting it blast my arms away.''

''Just find a way around it kid, you're much better with arms intact in my opinion. Also try not to piss off any spiders, you can be lucky that those shields work and they didn't actually rip your head off. I would have been majorly pissed at you otherwise. So, are there any spells until now that you'll need help with?''

Harry thought of commenting about Barty not having anyone to be pissed at anymore if he was headless now, then decided it wasn't worth the argument. That realisation might just set the man over the edge. ''I have no idea how to bind charms to objects. I thought I'd actually ask Dixie about that first. It is getting suspicious if you constantly drag me up to your office, the judges might catch onto you helping me. As for the rest, I'll come up with a strategy after identifying all the dragons. If I cannot pick my own, I'll have to prepare for all, right?'' Barty nodded at that.

''Good luck then, come here if you need anything. Don't forget to have another look at your books, there should be specific spells against dragon fire.''

Ron was still waiting when Harry showed up in the Infirmary again. His hands had been healed by now and it looked like he was using any excuse to stall leaving. When catching a glimpse of Harry, he finally abandoned those tactics and ran to the door, thanking Madam Pomfrey, who wore the typical annoyed look that she always had when knowing students were only here to skip class. ''Can't wait till Fred and George finish testing their skiving candies,'' Ron groaned. ''Would have made all of this a lot easier. So, we still have a good chunk of the day left. You think we can get away with not attending any other classes?''

Harry checked the time and considered their options. ''They're on the first hour of care of magical creatures now... Then there's a free period anyways and lastly double transfiguration. I seriously doubt that we can skip McGonagall's lesson when she finds out we were already dismissed from the hospital wing now. Hagrid won't mind if we take the rest of Care free I think. How about we wait for Hermione? We can't really be seen hanging out anywhere else than the common room now. I want to check some of my books for some spells anyways, it isn't smart to try sneaking into the forest by day.''

''Why not, we can just get your cloak,'' Ron suggested. ''We've got nearly two hours, so. The more time you have to prepare, the better right?'' Harry tried to find excuses not to, in the end admitting to himself that he just didn't think he could face those dragons again so soon. Pushing that aside, he gave Ron a nod. He couldn't hide and run and pretend those things did not exist.

''Hermione will kill us for still not being there during our free period,'' Harry warned Ron. ''I'm sure she'll have been told about the dragons by now.'' The boy suddenly looked very concerned.

''I hope that her worry for you will outshine her murderous intent. Let's do this!''

One would think that a trip to the Forbidden Forest would be much less creepy by daytime, but all the sunlight in the world could not penetrate far beyond the forest's border. An unsettling chill lay beneath the crowns of the tall trees, trails of fog drifting low over the ground. It reminded Harry heavily of the Dementors he'd had to face at a lake not far from here. Perhaps the forest was even worse by day. At least at night he could pretend that the cold seeping into his bones and the ominous shadows were normal. He finally removed the cloak when they were in far enough, because he didn't want to have Ron breathing down his neck all the time. Hopefully his friend could find the way back because he wasn't going in front again.

''It should be around here,'' Harry muttered, straining his ears. ''Oddly quiet.''

_**''Amplio**_'' Ron spoke, pointing the wand at his ears. It was a spell that they'd recently learned in Transfiguration, Harry recalled. He stayed silent to not interfere with Ron's now enhanced hearing, which would last for a couple of minutes. ''This way,'' his friend finally muttered, apparently having picked something up.

Why do I always forget that I can use magic at the most inconvenient times,'' Harry spoke. ''Thanks.''

''I noticed that both you and Hermione do that. Remember the Devil's snare when Hermione asked me for** wood**?'' They had a hearty laugh at that as they continued down an animal track, until they could hear shouts in the distance. Keeping low to the ground, Harry and Ron headed in further, until finally he could make out parts of the pen. It looked like the dragons weren't alone this time. ''Shit,'' Harry muttered, throwing the cloak over again. ''Of course there would be animal handlers by day, I forgot about that. Didn't see anyone last night.'' One of the dragons suddenly roared and with astonishment, Harry saw that a person had jumped on its back, patting the spikes to try and calm it down. ''Wait, is that...''

''No way!'' Ron hissed. ''Charlie?'' he threw off the cloak despite Harry's warning and ran up to the gate to watch his brother point his wand at the dragon's temple and firing off a spell that had the beast falling down, unconscious.

''Under control!'' Ron's brother shouted, wiping the sweat on his forehead away. ''Man, this is a nasty girl, not envious of whoever has to get past her.''

''Charlie!'' Ron shouted, making Harry mutter a string of curses beneath his breath.

The man jumped off the dragon and rushed to the palisade. 'Ron? What are** you** doing here? You're supposed to be at school. Don't tell me Fred and George set you up to go into the forest. If they did, I'll tell mum so she can rip them to shreds.''

''Nothing like that, I heard some rumours and... erhm... so these are for the Tournament then, I guess?''

Charlie didn't answer at first, turning away to reply to one of his colleagues. ''Sure. No Frank, it's fine, just my little brother. Merlin knows how he found us. Ron! we're going to open the gate so you can come in, but stick close to me, yeah? Don't want to send mum and dad your charred pieces back.

''Wicked!'' Ron exclaimed as the wood creaked, a gate appearing. Harry secured the invisibility cloak once more and snuck closer to be able to go through the gate as well before it closed. ''Wow, dragons huh?'' his friend said, watching the foul beasts in awe. All four were tied to different parts of the large pen, groups of animal handlers standing around with drawn wands.

''Yep. No idea why the Ministry allowed it apart from that they'll definitely make a spectacle. We had to get that one here in a rush,'' Charlie pointed at the smallest dragon, a plump green one that snarled at them. ''Not as dangerous as the others, they couldn't order a fourth dragon from abroad on such short notice. A Common Welsh Green,'' he told Ron. ''Still pretty vicious... It doesn't like humans very much, neither being around them nor actually hunting them. Preys on cattle and such, especially sheep. Not much to it apart from its regular dragon traits of magical resistance, flames and sharp teeth and claws. It's the only dragon to have four legs though, quite a rarity, we're still not entirely sure how that happened and how its related to other species, considering that in the animal kingdom, a few legs more or less are usually a sign of animals belonging in entirely different families. Should still be a challenge, considering the Champions don't actually have to fight them.''

''Oh?'' Ron perked up. Charlie gave him a calculating look.

''Are you on terms with Harry again?''

''Depends...'' Ron carefully said, making Charlie throw him a rough grin. The man bowed down and whispered something to his little brother that Harry didn't quite catch, but which had Ron laughing.

''Sure thing. Then yes.''

''Good. Well then, while these girls will definitely attack, the aim of the Champions won't be the dragons themselves, but a false egg. They wanted nesting mothers specifically, so that is why they're so aggressive even now. Each dragon on its own is more dangerous than they normally would be due to this, but as I said, they've only have to get past them and remove the fake egg that lies in the nest. My main concern is the real eggs, the Ministry insisted that we do not remove them. With how rare dragons are, I am terrified of any getting damaged. I sure hope Harry will be careful with that.''

''Will tell him,'' Ron muttered so softly that the other handlers couldn't hear. ''So what about the other three?''

''The one I just took out was the Swedish Short-Snout. Very quick to blow up and strikes suddenly. It has a hotter flame than any of the others, so hot it turns blue. For humans, its fire-breath is actually an advantage, because the heat doesn't matter much when you fight it: dragon fire, no matter of what heat, will melt straight through flesh and bone and the range of the Short-Snout is much shorter than the others'. Other things to watch out for are the claws, arguably its strongest weapon, and the back spikes. It will literally roll over its prey just to pierce it on its back. They use this also to hunt aquatic mammals, diving in the ocean and ripping open the belly of their prey by swimming under them. Advantages are that you won't have to watch for poison on this one, and it's eyesight is quite bad. Sneaking around the back from a large distance might be a good idea to not even get noticed. Most dangerous position to be in is right next to its flanks.

Moving on, that red one over there is a Chinese Fireball. Its elongated body is quite typical for most Asian dragons as they are related more to snakes after some breeding with Naga. Still dangerous enough, it can release large clouds of fiery breath in quick succession, effectively without pause if it wants to. Those golden spiked folds of skin you see at the neck are responsible for that, they channel air through there in gusts, puffing them up. That also gave it its nickname 'Liondragon'. Even if you target that and stop the fire, it has enough tricks up its scales to be lethal: constriction, agile aerial movement, sharp eyesight... not to mention that these are** clever**.''

''Any weaknesses?'' Ron asked hopefully.

''No, you can only hope to disable its advantages. Attack its eyes first and then the air sacks.'' Harry would have laughed at that word if he wasn't feeling so sick to his stomach. ''It's pretty deadly all around and can move fast enough. It's also long enough that no matter where you stand, you'll be in a bad position.''

''They really thought of something evil for these tasks, didn't they,'' Ron commented, looking a bit green. What about** that**?'' he jerked his chin towards the last dragon, a gigantic black, horned thing that looked more like a lizard than any of the other species. It was calm now, or at least seemed that way, lying down flat on the ground, observing each movement with large amber eyes.

''That? That's a Hungarian Horntail. Honestly, my advice would be to try and run as fast as possible to grab the egg without even bothering to attack it. It won't work. I love dragons but** that** is a nasty breed if I've ever seen one. Armed from front to back with spikes, poison, fire, you name it. Quick temper, long range of breath, massive strength in those muscles. I honestly don't know if the Champion who gets this shouldn't just give up unless they can figure out a way to get super speed...''

He and Ron were both silent on the way back, the sight of the Horntail swimming through Harry's mind.

''You okay?'' his friend asked with concern.

''Not in the slightest. What if I get the Horntail?''

''Only a one in four chance right?'' Ron tried to cheer him up.

''With those spikes? Fat chance, if the other champions know what dragons there are, they're going to avoid that one, I found out that we'll have to draw miniatures from a bag, and I'm going to have to go last.''

Ron whistled softly. ''We'll better get a damned good plan for all of these then. I suppose you'll only have to get a tactic for three dragons though, anything that works on the Horntail, Fireball or Short-Snout should be enough for the Welsh one.''

''Only three deadly beasts to conquer then,'' Harry spoke, not feeling very optimistic. ''You don't figure that they can speak Parseltongue? Charlie did say something about Naga...''

Ron hesitated. ''I hadn't thought of that. They are a kind of reptile I suppose. You want to turn around again?''

Harry frowned. ''It's a bit late to turn back now, we'll only make class in the nick of time. I'll see if there are any mentions of it in books, I really don't feel up to returning here once more. It could be a possibility to keep in mind, the Basilisk also spoke Parsel and that is also not exactly merely a snake. Then again, I can imagine dragons are more like lizards...'' Perhaps he'd dream about Voldemort tonight and could just ask, that would save him time.

After a long trek to the castle, they came face-to-face with a hysterical Hermione in the common room, who had a shouting session at the both of them for being reckless, stupid, and mainly for not including her. She still acted pissed when walking to Transfiguration, but by the way she suddenly drew the both of them close, they were safe. ''You are both such** idiots**,'' she cried. ''I've been trying for** weeks** to get you to talk to each other again and then you just sneak off for hours after finding out that Harry has to face those** dreadful** creatures.

''Don't let Hagrid hear you, he might be offended on behalf of poor little Norbert,'' Harry said. His attempt at humour flew over Hermione's head, since she asked with a shocked face:

''Norbert isn't one of them, is he?''

''No no, they're all female dragons,'' Ron hastened to say. ''No worries, none that we know back there. Come on, we should celebrate that I stopped being a jerk.''

Hermione exhaled in disdain, her nose flaring in a way that reminded him of McGonagall with startling clarity. ''If we'd start with that we'd be having parties every few months with how often you make a fuss. I still haven't forgotten last year.''

''I'll do better,'' Ron promised, sulking a bit.

''No chattering!'' their Transfiguration teacher reprimanded the three of them. She strode past them, and as she did, he could swear she whispered ''Good luck with the dragon, Potter,'' to him. It was so fleeting that he might have imagined it. Still, her possible words of encouragement gave him enough strength to sit through the lesson and actually pay attention, even when his stomach felt hollow at each thought of dragons. The fact that it couldn't kill him wasn't such a comfort as he'd hoped: being revealed in front of his friends to have turned his back to what they believed in, without having a chance to explain himself to them, may be worse than being ripped apart by teeth and claws.

That feeling of dread stuck with him throughout the rest of the day and evening, giving him trouble with sleeping as well. Harry tossed and turned under his blankets, wiping the nervous sweat off his hands every few minutes. It wasn't long now anymore until there wouldn't be any chains and tamers in between him and one of those beasts, not long until the flames would sear through the open sky, trying to reach him. He could feel the heat, tongues of fire licking at his heels as he desperately tried to escape a gigantic shadow with wings that obscured the sun.

_Scales glittered and an amber eye stared into his soul, its pupil narrowing as it focused on its prey. Harry was helpless here. He stumbled over rocks and branches, uselessly trying to grab his wand, which was of course nowhere in sight. Panicking, he grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it up, hoping to hit those evil eyes of death so he could make a run for it. Up in the air soared a dragon egg, which split open and revealed the faces of his friends, crying out for help. Help he couldn't give them now he was trying his best not to die. The dirt missed - Harry hadn't expected anything else -, and so did any stones that he sent after it. The earth shook as massive paws ripped it open, the dragon ever coming closer, a mass of angry black spikes and fire. He froze like a deer, unable to tear his gaze away._

_The jaws snapped shut. Not, as the frightened teen had expected, closing over his head, instead halting an inch away from the outstretched hand of Voldemort, who had appeared out of thin air in front of Harry. The dragon growled lowly, then bowed its head and retreated. ''Having unpleasant dreams, I see.'' the Dark Lord spoke, turning to observe Harry with a calculating look. ''Dreams can be a useful tool for all sorts of things, but you should not let them overwhelm you. Just like you shouldn't let this coming task engulf your sense of reason.''_

_''Reason!'' Harry croaked. ''I've only been able to beat the monsters I have till now with pure luck and because I had no time to do anything but fight in that moment. This... stepping into that arena willingly is...'' his voice caught in his throat._

_''All you need is preparation and a strategy,'' Voldemort spoke, his face serious. ''Evan, I told you that I shall not give you any tasks that I feel you cannot handle and I fully think you are capable of this. What you lack is trust in your own capabilities, and the ability to keep a cool head in situations such as these. You cannot always accidentally find yourself in danger and run on adrenaline alone. This, a task where you know days in advance of it taking place, is a prime opportunity to learn how to prepare for and handle future battles. And trust me, you are much better off having a dragon as opponent than a particularly skilled magician.''_

_Harry thought upon that for a while. He supposed that it would indeed be horrible to have to fight against an opponent who could use a varied range of magical abilities he had no idea of. At least with dragons, he knew where their strengths and weaknesses lay. With the ones who _ _ **had** _ _ weaknesses, that was. He looked around at the make-shift arena his mind had come up with. It wasn't even very realistic, now he took a good look. Half of it consisted of half-drawn, hazy lines and parts overlapped with forest. His dreams were definitely not comparable to the clear, pristine spaces of Voldemort's mind, which could have existed in reality. A branch flickered in and out of existence, reminding Harry of something he'd still wanted to ask._

_''Dragons don't happen to speak Parseltongue, do they?''_

_A smile tugged at the corners of Voldemort's mouth. ''What a Slytherin thing of you to think of. Regrettably it shan't be that easy for you, none of the species imported for this Tournament would be apt at speaking it. The Fireball may understand a few words, but not more than a dog is able to understand human language beyond simple commands. Very few dragons are related close enough to snakes to speak Parsel to an acceptable degree and most of those are aquatic species.''_

_''What did you do to the dragon here?''_

_Voldemort rose his eyebrows. ''This was a mere figment of your imagination child, I simply dispelled it like I would do with any dark thought, its form had nothing to do with that.'' The man spread his arms. ''All the answers you need are either in your own head already or in the books I sent, and Barty will help you master any spell you choose to use. You are making this much more difficult for yourself than necessary.''_

_''Perhaps that's what it looks like to someone for whom the earth could bloom beneath his feet if you only wished for it.''_

_''How poetic,'' Voldemort remarked dryly. ''No, it is how it looks to someone who has seen the potential of many people, either under my own tutelage or that of my followers. You are a magician, as long as you have the will and the power, you can achieve anything. And I certainly do not believe that the one person who is linked to me is not_ _ ** powerful ** _ _enough.'' He stepped closer to Harry, so close that each speck in those dark ruby eyes was visible. ''You will not disappoint me.'' _

_The teen swallowed any sarcastic response he could have given to that and only nodded, trying not to let anxiety rule his head. ''I won't,'' he promised. Even if he didn't yet know how he would possibly be able to keep his word, he'd agreed to this and would do anything he could, even if he'd have to return to fight Acromantulas each night for the coming week._

_''Good. Go now, you know your orders. I will be looking forward to see how you tackle this, especially how you'll incorporate heavy magic to display it to the public.'' _

_''I haven't forgotten about that,'' Harry hesitantly said, ''but I am not very confident about learning such difficult magic in such a short period of time.'' An annoyed look clouded the man's face suddenly._

_''You shall, the consequences if you do not even make an attempt will not be pleasant for you.''_

_As soon as the threat was uttered, the world around Harry vanished in a whirl of colours._

He woke confused and more than a bit scared, instantly grabbing the books he'd hid under his bed to frantically flick through them in search of anything that could possibly help.


	21. Never tickle a sleeping Dragon

Just like he had noticed with his courses, even this overwhelming assignment became a bit brighter when Harry bit his teeth into the reading material. He desperately wished he had a time turner now to attend classes and practice outside of those. It was great to have Ron at his side again, who drew up elaborate plans and schematics for each dragon, aided by whatever obscure information Hermione and Harry could find. They'd ranked the dragon from best to worst, starting with the Welsh green, then the Short-snout, the Fireball and lastly the Horntail.

''It would be perfect if you could influence which one you get,'' Ron commented once again, sighing. ''It would be much easier to only learn spells for one of them. With the Fireball you'd need cutting and slicing spells, with the Short-Snout a way to avoid the fire and spikes, and with the Horntail you should move as fast as possible... The latter will be a problem, you're only allowed to have a wand with you and previously taken potions also disqualify you right?''

''Yeah,'' Harry confirmed darkly. It was a shame. Not that he was good at potions, oh no, but brewing based on heavy magic wasn't nearly as taxing as direct spells. In fact, most potions actually counted as Dark, considering that any once-alive ingredients were literal sacrifices. Perhaps that was why Snape was so obsessed with both Potions and the Dark Arts. It did make Harry wonder why the subject had not been banned centuries ago. Perhaps insects, plants and other small animals weren't cared about enough? It also finally made it clear to him why Potions were so much more powerful than equivalent spells. One great example for that was the Polyjuice potion, which only asked for one piece per hour of the person the user wanted to turn into.

All spells he had found until now that could help him asked for things Harry wasn't very willing to give up, be it bonds between people or literally one of his kidneys -two uses only, the book had helpfully reminded him-. Still, he** had** to choose some of them soon if he still wanted to practise them, with or without his friends, depending on the nature of the spell. There was exactly one week left now till the Tournament really started, which was why he was, once again, spending his free hours in a dusty unused classroom which he could use for spell practise with permission from his Head of House. They had shoved all tables and chairs aside, clearing a space in the middle, although currently they were huddled over one of Ron's drawings.

''I came up with something,'' the redhead said, a bit reluctant. ''To pick a dragon I mean, or have a better chance to get an easier one at least.''

''Oh?'' Both he and Hermione suddenly listened attentively to Ron, who flushed and looked out of the window to avoid their gazes.

''It's a bit... underhanded. Not sure how desperate you are, it might not make you popular.''

''I'm trying to survive here,'' Harry reminded him. ''With as little burns as possible. I'll consider anything... or almost anything, I wouldn't kiss Snape's slimy arse even if not doing so would put me six feet under.''

''Fine,'' Ron said. ''I was thinking and... Diggory still doesn't know about the dragons, does he?''

''Unless he suddenly found a clue within the past few days, no. He has acted nervous all month and isn't practising **anything** specific. What, are you suggesting I tell him?''

''Look, we know you go last in picking your dragon, so you won't have any chance to manipulate it there. Since you are apparently last because of your age, it would make sense that it goes from oldest to youngest, right? And Diggory only just turned seventeen in September as well so he could participate as a sixth-year, whereas Delacour and Krum are already in their seventh. That means that those two will get the first two choices... depending on what they pick, it might be handy to strike up a deal with Diggory. Like, if you tell him what is awaiting with this task, he should pick a specific dragon that's left in the bag. It will give him **more** of an advantage to risk getting a more dangerous dragon to fight than to not have any clue what he's getting into in the first place, leaving him unable to prepare.''

''Ron, wow, that...'' Hermione spoke, sounding almost shocked. ''That's really well-thought through!''

''Just because I can't recite facts from books doesn't mean I don't have a brain, 'Mione,'' the boy answered. ''I'm only hesitant because it's essentially blackmail and that sounds a bit... bad.''

''Striking up a bargain that can lead to an advantage for both sides sounds more like what Fred and George would do than someone from Slytherin, don't you think?'' Harry shrugged. ''Honestly, I think it's brilliant. My only issue is that I'd have no way to hold Diggory to his word of picking the dragon I want least of whatever's left. What if he just ignores it and exactly picks the other one? Then I would have less chance than if I hadn't told him anything.''

''I think you should have a bit of trust in Diggory,'' Hermione spoke up thoughtfully. ''Do you recall that match where you fell off your broom?''

''The one that Hufflepuff then won? Ron told me that Diggory's dad kept bragging about it.''

''He did, the prick.'' Ron grumbled.

''Exactly, his** dad** did. Diggory tried to get him to stop, looking highly embarrassed. I've heard that he actually vouched back then for that match to not count at all because it would have been unfair. It was the referee who wanted to hear none of it since Diggory had caught the snitch fairly before he knew anything had happened to you. Even Wood had to agree to that then. Also, he's the only person in Hufflepuff who's actively tried to convince other students to** not** vilify you, claiming you are both fighting for the same school and deserve the same support. I don't think you could have had a better person as your co-Champion for Hogwarts honestly. He's the epitome of Hufflepuff loyalty and kindness.''

''So in other words, no problem?'' Harry grinned.

He was met with an eye-roll from Hermione and a careful shrug of Ron. It looked like he was the only one that the Sorting hat had ever considered putting in Slytherin then. Though to be fair, it had been Ron's idea. An idea that Harry executed as fast as he could, aided by his trusty map and cloak.

* * *

Having practised his chosen spells until the very last minute, Harry felt dizzy in the morning of the First Task. Various feelings constricted his stomach and battled with each other. In the end, his nerves won by an overwhelming amount and he couldn't eat a bite despite his friends' urging. All he could think of was the task. Would his methods work? What was Diggory going to do? How would the reaction of the judges be? And those of his friends at that? He'd practised with them, of course. Together with Dixie and Hermione, he learnt how to enchant his robes to make them fireproof, while Ron made strategies of where to run, what sides to attack from, what to watch out for etcetera. Yet he had not revealed his trump card to any of them, having discussed a particular ritual in secret with Barty.

He** hoped** that it was unknown enough to pass for light magic, and more than that, that he could actually pull it off. The spell was of such a large scale that he wouldn't have been able to practise it fully even **if** he had had the necessary sacrifice at the ready, which he didn't have yet either and would only be able to obtain in the arena. He stared at his toast as the others left early, wanting to get a good spot and all sit together, leaving him to his own thoughts - hardly ever a good thing -. The teacher's table was also half-empty, even Barty wasn't there anymore and the man usually liked to have elaborate meals early in the morning. He felt oddly distanced from everyone else in the hall and kept counting the seconds until he had to get up, when McGonagall disturbed him to bring him outside. It was strange that, while knowing rationally that he couldn't die from this, it still felt as if he were walking to his own funeral. What if everything he did failed and he became the laughing stock of the school? What if the next time he saw Voldemort, the man would turn up his nose and decide that he wasted his time trusting Harry?

McGonagall tried to give him a few encouraging words as they arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a place Harry had not wanted to return to for the rest of the year, at the very least. A large tent had been placed in front, which didn't mean that he would be spared from entering the actual forest... A terrifying, yet amusing thought entered his panicking mind of a gigantic Acromantula hiding in disguise in the stands of the arena, trying to fit in to get revenge for its fallen brethren as soon as Harry entered.

The Champion's tent was entirely silent, both foreign students just sitting there and staring into nothing, Delacour pale and Krum grim. Diggory paced up and down, holding his wand in a painful grip, only looking up briefly to give Harry a tight smile and a nod. He hoped his friends had been right about Diggory's character and that he could trust the older boy. He certainly hoped he could, for during all the time he'd spent researching dragons and methods to beat them, he hadn't found a single way to outrun a Horntail. If Diggory kept his word, Harry would be guaranteed to not fight it. If he didn't and the Horntail wasn't pulled out by the first two Champions, Harry would have reduced his chances from 50 percent to zero by informing Diggory. Now that the Hufflepuff knew what dragons they were fighting, he would easily be able to identify which was which between the last two. Diggory's friendly attitude could still be a trap to get his guard down. The other had only been left with a week of preparation time after all, perhaps he hadn't been able to plan anything good and was desperate.

The only person in the tent who looked joyful was Bagman, who was positively** beaming **at all four Champions, making him look like a character from one of those old comic books that Dudley possessed, especially since the man was wearing his tight, old Quidditch uniform. _Waspman_, Harry's mind giggled, making it hard to keep an entirely straight face. The impending doom that was ahead helped only somewhat.

''Now then! Good that we are all here, it is time to reveal what lies ahead!'' Bagman grinned. ''If all onlookers have found a seat, I will hand each of you this.'' He showed a purple, silk bag and shook it. ''Out of which you will pull a small model of that which you will have to face. There are several different.. erhm, types, you see. Oh, and before I forget, your task is to get the golden egg!''

Golden? That would make it much easier to identify, Harry thought. He hadn't heard that particular information before, and had already spent a few hours studying pictures and sketches of dragon eggs of the four species here. He'd assumed they wouldn't make it that easy to tell which one was fake. He looked at the other Champions again. Diggory nodded at him once more, so that was hopefully a good sign. The others didn't react at all. None of them showed any sign of surprise, which seemed to put Bagman off a bit. He dismissed it quickly, perhaps thinking none of them were saying anything to not spill their stomach contents, which Harry thought would be more than reasonable. Even if they had put their name in themselves, neither of them had known there would be live, adult, **nesting** dragons to fight. It was quite similar to Harry's decision to just ask Voldemort for a way to be useful and not even considering that the way he would have to prove himself would be this... extreme.

The ground shook as hundreds of people were guided to their seats at the other side of the tent. Then, Bagman opened the satchel.

''Ladies first,'' the man smiled, although Harry knew very well that the order had nothing to do with her being a lady since it was decided by age. He held his breath as she put in a trembling hand and he hissed slightly as he noticed that she lingered quite a bit longer than necessary before she finally pulled out a dragon. Not to his surprise, it was the Green Welsh, easily identifiable by its four legs and smooth body. He couldn't blame Delacour for picking the easiest choice, he would have done the same. Hopefully the other dragons would be slightly more difficult to distinguish from each other as all had spikes and the same type of wings. Could Krum perhaps accidentally mistake the Short-snout for the Horntail?

Harry blinked in surprise when it was neither of those two that was pulled out, and instead Krum held a scarlet dragon with the number 3 around its neck. Surely, he must have felt that it was much longer and serpent-like than the others? Had he chosen this one because his practised spells would work well for cutting into those air sacks and eyes? Damn it... Harry nervously glanced over at his 'partner in crime'. If it would have been between the Fireball and the Horntail, that might not even have beenthat much of an advantage to Harry in Diggory's eyes. Now... He wiped the sweaty palms on his robes when it was Diggory's turn. It looked for a moment that the other threw him an apologetic look, but a split second later that had been replaced by concern and even faster by determination. Harry didn't know what to make of **that** rollercoaster and wondered if he was seeing things or if Diggory had five emotions within two seconds more often. As a tiny black ball of angry spikes was revealed, Harry breathed out a relieved sigh that he tried to cover up with a cough when Bagman gave him a suspicious look.

Feeling far better about this entire task now, he reached into the bag himself and almost happily regarded the brilliant blue and silver dragon miniature that greeted him with non-burning, blue fire. The number 1 hung around its neck, indicating that Harry didn't have to waitlong at all. Good, better to get it over with than having to sit around here. He turned to Diggory, not knowing if he should say anything, just giving a nod in appreciation that could have been interpreted by others as encouragement. He received a hint of a smile in return, although the rest of Diggory's face, from his paled skin to his worried eyes, looked like the boy was cursing his own good nature. Harry was for once in his lifetime incredibly glad for having a darker complexion than was common, since it wouldn't allow him to show such obvious signs of fear. _Thanks dad_, he thought.

''Very well, now that you all have your dragons, it's time for me to leave!'' Bagman spoke cheerfully. ''Harry, you should go in when you hear a whistle.. I actually had wanted to shortly speak with you still, but-

Harry didn't know what confused him more: that Bagman called him by his first name or that he had something to talk about right before such a difficult task, after never even speaking personally. In either case, he was spared an answer as a shrill whistle already announced that it was time. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped out of the tent as Bagman hurried out of the other end. He blinked against the sudden sunlight, not having expected it as they were already at the forests' edge. He walked down the narrow path alongside a makeshift wooden fence until he came to the entrance to the arena, masses of people being seated in a half-arch around it.

_The sun_, he thought. Ron had told him that the position of the sun was going to be important to trick the dragon further with visibility. The dragon was clearly noticeable, perched at the other end of the arena, hovering over her eggs, the silver scales gleaming as if he was fighting a metal beast. It would be difficult to get her to move to a location that was more advantageous to him. She was even larger than it had looked in the forest, if that were possible.

''Here goes nothing,'' he muttered, encouraged by the fact that there was still so much distance between him and the dragon. It made it far easier to cast all necessary spells he wanted to in advance.

After fireproofing his clothes, he carefully circled around the clearing, taking in the terrain. It featured several larger boulders, and was all in all flat and grassy. As he was the first, the earth had only been scorched where the dragon was currently sitting. _**''Point me,'**_**'** he spoke to figure out where north was, using a spell that Hermione had taught him, the wand spinning atop his hand. It wouldn't have to be a perfect circle, Barty had told him. It only had to be large enough and he had to get his directions correct. ''_**Flagrate**__''_. He hoped that it wasn't a mistake to start already, he hadn't even cast a shield to conceal or protect himself yet... but with how much effort it took to maintain the haze shield, and how quickly he'd run out of offerings to feed it, it would be better to use it as little as possible while the dragon was still far away... something that wouldn't last forever since he'd have to encase it inside his circle. As he drew closer, he put several runes in the air, hoping that they were drawn sufficiently. He hadn't studied the theory behind them, only copied what he knew should be there. Crossing the arena, he created lines of fiery light to a scale he hadn't thought possible. The dragon roared, looking like it became nervous, but it remained with its eggs. Good, that gave him more time still-

He ducked barely in time as the scaled beast launched itself forwards, mouth wide open and blue fire barring the earth in an instant. Harry staggered a few steps back, shocked by how quick such a massive creature could be. It spread its wings and took to the sky, circling over him like a hawk. Not good... he cancelled the Flagrate, glad that the spell was conceived so that the lines remained and he could cast other magic in between. Quickly, he ripped out a couple of hairs and erected his protective barrier, hoping it would make him invisible enough to not be hit directly. Indeed, the dragon landed again, sniffing the air, its eyesight not good enough to detect him anymore. It shot a few aimless streams of fire towards the ground, which Harry narrowly avoided, although it would have made his robes catch fire if not for the protective enchantments. He hurried up now that it had moved from its original spot, and Harry continuing to draw up his circle of red light. One moment, as he passed the nest, he thought that he could just spare himself this and grab the golden egg. Voldemort wouldn't be happy, but...

That thought was halted as the dragon figured out that he was after the eggs and it sped back, landing heavy on the rock, eyes narrowing and tiny blue flames licking the corners of its snout. Harry broke into a sprint into the opposite direction, hoping his lines wouldn't become too shaky, only now and then stopping to draw symbols and to look at the ground in search of anything gleaming. No such luck. Finally, he arrived at the other end of the clearing again and connected his first piece of line to his last. Then now for the big show...

It was good that he was so used to Quidditch, for all the running around would have tired him out much faster otherwise. He heard murmurs of discontent rising from the stands, was he taking too long_? Never mind that_, he told himself. _I'm trying to get through this, not to give them a good time._ His haze shield flickered and died as he forgot to give another sacrifice for too long, and the dragon was on him near instantly already. Harry dove towards a rock, his left arm hitting it with a nasty crack and a sharp sting of pain. He shot stunners at the beast in an attempt to do at least** something** to keep it at bay, trying to ignore the pain in his arm. He panicked completely when he saw a massive flank rise up from behind the stone, the gleaming black spines on its back not foretelling any good. It was only because he knew of this tactic, that he was able to avoid the beast when it rolled over on its side, trying to turn him into a barbeque snack on a skewer. Without a moment of hesitation, Harry ran up to the dragon, grabbed hold of one of the razor-sharp scales and screamed '_**'Diffindo''**_, running away without looking back as soon as he yanked an azure scale loose.

This was it, he realised. Now or never... the dragon was trying to get on its feet again, much less agile on the ground than in either sky or water, having difficulty with the large rocks on either side of it now. She was lying perfectly in the middle... He shot a quick glance at the eggs again, calculating if he could risk running instead. No, he realised. He was too far away. If the dragon wouldn't reach him, its fire certainly would, and while his clothes may be fireproof, a direct hit would result in unpleasant surprises for either him or the dragon. Taking a deep breath and sending a short prayer and an apology to Magic, he cast a _**Sonorus **_to amplify his voice. It wasn't strictly necessary, Barty had said, but the man was also of the opinion that if Harry was going to publically use heavy magic, he might as well make it properly public. He jumped on top of the rock he had been hiding behind with some difficulty as his left arm hung limp at his side. The dragon had done a full roll now and was back on its feet, opening its maw again as he started his chant. It did not come close to the melodious song of Voldemort, nor did it sound as impressive as Barty's recital. However, Harry poured everything in it that he had, holding the dragon scale high.

_''Calm now, oh mighty beast of fire._   
_ Calm now. I admire,_   
_ your fiery call of ire._   
_ Rest your head, I require,_   
_ nought but a ceasefire_   
_ Whichever may transpire,_   
_ of this fight you will tire!''_

The murmurs of the public came to a halt as the last words, laced with magic, rolled into the air. In fact, any sound stopped as if he stood in a vacuum, the scale in his hand soundlessly bursting into a thousand glittering pieces that sped across the arena and sank into the flaming pentagram that hovered over the clearing. The Short-snout released a pained cry, the sound piercing Harry's ears and all other noise came flooding back with it. He doubled over as a heavy force washed over him, making both him and the dragon kneel in front of each other. He looked the beast straight in the eyes, its head mere yards away. Hesitantly, he crept closer, fighting against the force that whirled around in his circle, and he put a hand on the creature's snout.

''It's okay,'' he whispered. ''I won't harm your real eggs.''

With great difficulty, he crossed the arena once more, climbed on top of the perching rock and lifted the golden egg, hardly caring about anything else than this first task being over.

Mr Bagman's enthusiastic voice reached him, yet he was so tired that he could barely make out any words, a side effect of the spell he had used. The dragon tamers passed him, rushing to their dragon and he joined up with professor McGonagall, who was white as a sheet, a grinning Barty and an even happier Hagrid. He'd made it... he'd faced an actual** dragon** and made it... the egg felt heavy in his arms. ''Come, you need to go to the medical tent first Potter,'' McGonagall started, before being waved away by Moody.

''I'll bring him Minerva. Have to make sure they look after him properly, dragons can have all nasty side effects, it's my responsibility as his Defence teacher.'' She nodded in agreement and Harry was being dragged off by Barty. ''Brilliant Evan. You absolutely nailed it. I was afraid that this would have been a bit over your level... you messed up at the start for certain. Then again, a **spectacular** ending, our Lord will be most pleased.'' Harry grinned at that too, until he came face to face with someone who was most definitely** not** happy. In front of the medical tent stood the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore, who had never in Harry's life looked less grandfatherly than now.

''I'd like to have a word with Harry alone. Alastor...''

''I promised Minerva that I'd help stitching him up again, not even your words can keep me from that,'' Barty grumpily said. ''Besides, shouldn't you be in the judge's seat right now?''

''I wish to talk about that. Surely you must have noticed too Alastor... Harry, where on** earth** did you come across magic like that? Have you been taught? Were you in the restricted section?''

''I...'' Harry spoke, his mind drawing a blank. ''I read it in a book. Not from Hogwarts. Why, is there something wrong?'' playing an innocent child might perhaps get Dumbledore to back off slightly with his interrogation. And in that moment, something so wonderful happened that Harry didn't have words for it. A shadow loosened itself from the trees and stormed towards Harry, a bear-sized, furry black dog nearly suffocating him as it ran into Harry's arms. In the split of a second, Harry connected a few dots in his head and turned to Dumbledore. ''**He** gave me one from his family,'' he said, tightly fisting the fur on Sirius' back, hoping the man would play along. It helped that even Dumbledore would find it hard to read any comprehensible expression from Snuffles' rugged furry face. It wouldn't be completely odd for the Blacks to have all kinds of obscure books and Sirius was the last remaining member as far as Harry knew. Surely Sirius would have been able to gift one to him, either per post or even through the fireplace in the same manner that Arthur Weasley had given his colleague's head a piece of toast. Dumbledore cast a quick glance at Barty, who looked just as confused as the real Moody should have been as to whom Harry was referring to.

''I... see,'' Dumbledore spoke on a low tone, eyeing Sirius over his half-moon spectacles. ''I shall have a word with him about that. Go ahead and leave your... dog here. I will leave it to Alastor to explain to you why the type of magic you used is not taught at Hogwarts. I shall... reconsider my initial thought as to your marks.'' With that, he marched off, leaving Harry to wonder if Dumbledore would have failed him only for using dark magic knowingly. That hardly sounded fair.

''I'm sure you already know why it's 'bad''' Barty grinned, making air quotations that had Harry cringing slightly as Sirius was still present.

''Just come in the tent. Snuffles, no really, you should wait here like Dumbledore said. Madame Pomfrey would have a fit.''

As it turned out, she already had, ranting on about dragons and dangers. Harry did not interrupt her, instead thinking of a way to tell Barty about Sirius with the nurse being here. ''Professor,'' he said. ''The one you met outside... that's my godfather.''

Barty looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. ''The headmaster?' he hissed when Pomfrey turned away for a second to get a potion from the other side of the tent.

''**No!** I mean the... the hairy... black... person.** Black**,'' he pressed. ''**Seriously**.'' Understanding dawned on Barty's face, who was thankfully a bit brighter in the uptake than Harry himself was.

''Understood. He won't make problems will he?''

''I hope not.''

''Don't chatter so much,'' the nurse said. ''And keep still. Why do I always have to heal your bones, Mr. Potter, tell me that hm? **Finally,** I thought, finally a year without Quidditch, one **blissful** year without you turning up at the hospital wing every other week. But **no**, you **had** to become involved into some horrible murder feast.''

Ron and Hermione, who dove into the tent right then, spared him an answer. It looked like he was being saved from quite a few awkward conversations today by other people. ''Harry, you were great! That was amazing! Why didn't you tell us that you had prepared something like** that**? Runes, circles! That's highly advanced magic, where did you** learn** that?''

''If I hadn't realised I was an idiot before, I would have now,' Ron said breathlessly. ''That dragon. Just** wow**. But didn't I say to use the sun to your advantage? You completely ignored that!''

''I thought of it at the start... then in the middle of it all I forgot again. You're missing the rest of the Tournament,'' Harry protested. ''There's still three champions to go.''

''Not yet, there's a break until the scores are announced and you'll have to be present for that. Come** on** Harry, I need to know what you got!'' Harry grinned and nodded, swinging his arm around a bit, upsetting a metallic green beetle that had sat on the canvas of the medical tent. Barty growled and shot it out of the air before crushing it with his heavy walking stick.

''Hate insects,'' he explained at Hermione's shocked look. ''Well Potter, I'm not needed here anymore I see. I'll be joining up with Dumbledore then.'' He clapped Harry on his back and slunk away. As soon as Madam Pomfrey declared Harry fit enough, both of his friends nearly dragged him out. Flanked by Sirius, whom the two had obviously noticed before already, Harry was led back to the arena, to a more pleasant spot this time around. Ron pointed at a golden stand that Harry had completely overlooked before, where the judges were sitting. ''Each can only give ten points,'' Ron explained. The first to stand was Madam Maxime, who raised her wand, a smoky silver eight drifting from her wand. ''Not bad, you must've lost some points because of your arm.'' Percy was next, after a moment of hesitation only giving a six to Ron's enormous dismay. ''That pompous** git**. I have** no** idea what has gotten into him Harry, I swear.''

Harry did know. Having completed Hogwarts already, Percy was sure to know that this kind of magic wasn't taught here. Percy was also someone who completely stuck to the rules and the Ministry. While what Harry had used was not an obviously dark spell in the well-known sense, he was absolutely certain that similar spells had been banned by the Ministry before. That Harry had used a long-forgotten, obscure version used by bards to calm down dragons in the Dark Ages didn't change that fact. Dumbledore was next, also hesitating for a moment before giving a seven, certainly higher than Harry had expected. Ludo Bagman gave a solid ten, for reasons Harry didn't know. Ron had been right in that he shouldn't have gotten full marks since he'd gotten hurt.. He saw how Ron crossed his fingers as the last judge, Karkaroff, rose. Even from here Harry could imagine seeing the yellowed teeth blinking in the sunlight. Was someone who was buddies with Snape going to fail him for the same reasons as the potion professor always did?

A nine was shot in the air, to Harry's complete and utter surprise. From the three headmasters, he'd expected Karkaroff to want him to win least of all... Then again, he mused. Durmstrang was known for teaching dark magic more freely than anywhere else, perhaps the former Death Eater had recognised the type of spell and shown his appreciation for Harry using that kind of magic? Oh, how much would that piss Snape off?

He was ushered into a seat, able to enjoy the rest of the show from a safe perspective. Fleur was next, trying her sleeping charm that Harry had seen her practice before. Surprisingly, it worked and the dragon fell fast asleep. If it wouldn't have been for the flame that shot out of the dragon's snout, she might have even escaped unharmed. As it was, the girl panicked, only managing to douse her burning robe after a while, showing a lack of preparation, severely diminishing her score, 37 as opposed to Harry's 40. Krum came next, and it became obvious why he'd chosen the Fireball, his strategy of transforming the rocks in the arena into shields and shooting sharp spells through them working well to do damage to the dragon. Krum advanced like a soldier on a battlefield, going from stone to stone until he reached the eggs. The boy had only forgotten to account for the real eggs, which all lay pitifully trampled at their mothers feet, losing Krum so many points in sympathy and for breaking a rule, that he gained the same score as Harry despite not being wounded at all and finishing in the shortest time until now.

Then, it was Diggory's turn, and Harry sat at the edge of his seat, hoping that the other Hogwarts Champion wouldn't be hurt due to Harry's selfishness. The Horntail was larger than any of the other dragons. More aggressive too, yanking at its chain constantly, which was shorter compared to the other dragons to still ensure the public's safety. At least Diggory had that going for him. The boy tried to distract the dragon by transfiguring a rock into a dog, which didn't work at all, the Horntail snapping the dog in half at the same time as scratching Diggory, blood welling up on the Hufflepuff's chest. At that, the boy raised his wand and ran away, making Harry wonder what was going on. For a solid minute, Diggory ran from rock to rock, trying to avoid the jets of fire being hurled at him. Then, something came soaring into the field. ''It's a broom!'' Hermione shouted. ''Oh, he must have used the summoning charm! To call his broom from all the way over to the castle!''

''Does that even count?'' Ron yelled back, trying to make himself understandable over the roars of support as Diggory got onto the broom and did a looping around the dragon's head. ''He's only supposed to have his wand right?''

''Only when entering the arena! Man, I should've thought of that!'' Harry grinned. Surely, that would have been easier. ''Great thinking of him, that's the only way to be faster than that dragon I think.'' it made him wonder if Diggory had prepared for the Horntail already from the start, right after making their deal. This was definitely a solid alliance, he should treat Diggory to something. After a spectacular dive during which the other scooped up the egg, showing off his Seeker capabilities, dragon tamers appeared and tried to calm the Horntail down. ''That was something,'' Harry whistled.

''I had thought that out of all of you, Krum would be the one to use flying!'' Ron commented. They debated a bit about the techniques and styles used until Diggory finally returned for the scoring. ''Damn, that's heavy,'' his best friend whistled as the total came only to 36. ''Last place, even after that stunt!''

''Well, his first attempt didn't work out **and** he got severely injured twice,'' Hermione mused. ''First that slash and he also caught fire while flying. Furthermore, he was mediocre time-wise. Only Harry was slower, using that time well for a highly-complex spell that worked wonders. Diggory wasted the first half with that distraction attempt. Surely, that was taken into account.'' Harry certainly hoped that Diggory wouldn't blame him too heavily for coming last place... that first tactic might even have worked on the Short-Snout, or at least enough to grab the egg and run.

Harry could finally relax a bit now. Together with his friends he walked down to the medical tent again after one of the second-year girls informed him that Bagman was searching for all of the Champions. Sirius stayed close to Harry at all times, rubbing his heavy side against his godson to show he was still there, as if anyone could have missed the gigantic dog. ''You've all done very well!'' Bagman spoke when they were finally all there, surrounded by a few friends and a couple of teachers. Cedric had an orange-y paste on his face and looked tired. In spite of that, he still gave Harry a wide grin.

''Well done Harry. Hadn't thought a fourth year could pull off something like that against a dragon. It's a shame I couldn't see it for myself.''

''Well done to you too, summoning a broom was an amazing idea. Here I was, running around like a chicken,'' Harry laughed. ''I admire your thought, if I would have gotten the Horntail, I would've been squashed,'' he honestly admitted. ''You should have gotten more points, if only for the fact that you had the most dangerous dragon.''

''It's not so much about the points for me,'' Cedric shrugged. ''If I read the information about previous tournaments correctly, the points of the first two rounds only decide who gets a head start in the final round, nothing more. I want to see what I can do, not necessarily be the flashiest.''

''You're right about that, my boy,'' Bagman spoke on a good-natured tone. ''Still, that is no reason to not give it your all and give the people a nice show, is it? As a Quidditch player, you should know the value of a good game for the onlookers.''

''If you do not win, zat is pointless,'' Delacour spoke. It was the first time since Harry had heard her speak since the evening of her arrival. ''As a Seeker, I know eet is much better to wait and see, and to not 'urry too much. Zat might not be fun to watch, yet eet wins the leagues.''

''You're a seeker too?'' Harry spoke in surprise. ''Doesn't that mean that we all are then?'' Interested, he looked around.

''I 'ave played for some local teams during my 'olidays,'' Delacour nodded. ''We do not 'ave it at Beauxbatons, unfortunately. Zey prefer uzzer sports, ze most popular being Pétanvolant. Similar to Quidditch, but we 'ave eight metal balls and need to zrow them on 'overing platforms, which all 'ave different magical properties... I much prefer Quidditch to be 'onest.''

''Now isn't that fun?'' Bagman enthusiastically said, clapping his hands together. ''It would be amazing if we would organise a four-team Quidditch match with each Champion as a Seeker! Now that would make the press!''

''I already know I'll definitely lose to Potter,'' Diggory spoke, chuckling and rubbing his neck. ''Lost every single fair match to him during my time on the field. He was the youngest Quidditch player Hogwarts had in a century, did you know?'' Krum and Delacour both looked at Harry with far more interest now than they had before, making Harry flush red.

''I only got that position after breaking the rules of not flying without supervision,'' he protested.

''Yeah, to get an item back for a friend that had been stolen from him by a bully, I heard.'' Diggory threw in. ''Potter here is always far too modest.'' The boy clapped Harry on the shoulder and the teen gave the Hufflepuff an odd look. Had Diggory decided that they were buddies all of a sudden? Not that that was an unpleasant thought, Harry did like finding new people he got along with.

''Just Harry,'' he replied. ''You don't need to keep calling me Potter, Diggory.''

''Cedric for you then.''

''I 'ave nothing against all of us being on first-name base,'' Delacour shrugged, cocking her head at Krum. ''Do you?''

''No, I do not.'' he spoke in a scruff voice, sounding mostly bored. It would definitely take a bit longer for the Bulgarian to warm up to the rest of them.

''Great that we're all getting along!'' Bagman spoke as if he was a Champion too. Harry honestly didn't know what to think of the man, he exuded an odd vibe. ''So, only a few more words until you can return to the castle. Those eggs you are holding all contain a clue for the next Task that you will have to solve. It will tell you what the second task is and how to get through it. No hurry, the next task will only be on the twenty-fourth of February. Everything clear? No questions? Great, then be on your way!''

On the way back to school, he, Ron and Hermione said their goodbyes to Snuffles, who could not just unsuspiciously enter Hogwarts. It was a shame, Harry had much to talk about with his godfather, but it was better if Sirius didn't reveal himself here, where anyone could be watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- yes that was not just any beetle that Barty crushed oops :P Not sorry. -


	22. Malfoy Troubles

The evening after the Task was filled with another party organised by Fred and George with illegally smuggled Butterbeer and a few stronger things for the higher years. Even the revelation that the egg was empty apart from a load of screeching sounds couldn't dim the mood, especially not when the Twins revealed one of their newly tested products that turned people into canaries. Harry put the miniature dragon on his nightstand, where it gleamed in the moonlight that shone through the narrow windows in the boy's dorms. Dragons were rather beautiful when they didn't try to kill you, Harry found.

It was almost as if the task had been a dream and only the fact that Harry had the egg and the dragon as a reminder made him realise how real the danger had been. He didn't dream of Voldemort that night like he had secretly hoped and classes continued like they always did, like any regular Wednesday would have been. Flitwick continued his revision of the flocking charm, which made several birds appear, Hagrid kept them busy with his Blast-ended Skrewts, which had dwindled in number due to their violent and cannibalistic nature, and during Transfiguration, over half of the class, was still stumped on the new topic of interspecies Transfiguration, trying to turn a tadpole into a stickleback. Harry was no exception.

The only novel thing that happened was right before dinner, as the trio made their way down to the Great Hall. They'd just been talking about the egg, which Harry had put in his schoolbag in case he needed it spontaneously, when they were interrupted by Malfoy, who was alone for once.

''Potter,'' the blond said. Harry would usually have ignored him, but there was something about the way that Malfoy approached them that made him lower his guard. He still hadn't forgotten their last longer conversation either. Or last conversation period, Malfoy had mysteriously disappeared wherever Harry had shown up since then, even ignoring him in class.

''Piss off,'' Ron growled. ''Not in the mood for you.''

''I wasn't talking to** you** Weasel,'' the Slytherin sneered. ''Potter, a word.''

''Don't go!'' Hermione hissed when Harry nodded.

''You guys go ahead, not like he can do anything without Crabbe and Goyle being around.'' His friends threw him a disbelieving look and stayed put.

''Try not to cry again when you talk to Harry, Malfoy,'' Ron taunted. ''That was **embarrassing**.''

It spoke for Malfoy's self control that he merely got an ugly red flush on his cheeks and balled his fists.

''**Ron**,'' Harry warned. ''I won't be long.'' Still looking doubtful, his friends left, leaving him alone with Malfoy. ''Sorry for that. What do you want?'' he asked, not bothering to use the friendliest tone he could probably have mustered with a little bit more effort. He was still cranky about Malfoy not even trying to talk before.

''Let's go somewhere more comfortable,'' the Slytherin spoke, his eyes flicking over the portraits that lined the large stone walls. ''That was quite the display you pulled off yesterday. A chant-infused pentacle, really?'' Steel bored into green. Other than a twitch in the corner of his eye, Harry tried not to react. He should have consulted with Barty or even Voldemort himself before giving Draco any clues about what side he was on, he'd been stupidly desperate to share his secret with someone who could understand and chosen the worst person for that. Without exchanging a further word, they went to the dungeons, Malfoy only being rather surprised when Harry went in front at one point. ''You seem to know your way here a bit too well.''

''I figured out where your common room was two years ago Malfoy, it's not very well guarded. The interior is a bit tacky with all the black leather and skulls, but at least you have a nice view. Do you ever see the Giant Squid?''

''It doesn't come this close to the castle,'' the other said, an air of surprise in his tone. ''You haven't only been sneaking off to Hogsmeade then, have you?''

''Thought the fact that I went into the Chamber of Secrets was enough of a giveaway that I like haunting forbidden places,'' Harry smirked.

''Where else have you been?'' The question made Harry pause, debating whether or not he should give Malfoy information of all the secret spots he knew in Hogwarts... and consequently, perhaps which ones he** didn't** know of that Malfoy had found. The Marauder's map was thorough, yet it also didn't show the Chamber, so who knew what else his dad had overlooked.

''Perhaps I'll tell you when you give me something useful in return, Malfoy,'' he thus answered. ''I see no reason to make you any wiser.''

''Fair enough. Rattlechain.'' The wall to the Slytherin common room opened and Malfoy walked in as if he owned the place. Hesitantly, Harry stepped in, causing a few students to jump up and draw their wands.

''Malfoy!'' one of the older students said, a Prefect, judging by his badge. ''What in Merlin's name are you doing? No student other than a Slytherin has entered this common room for seven centuries! Are you serious? **Potter**?''

''Actually, I've already snuck in here with my best friend two years ago under guise of a Polyjuice potion,'' Harry cheerfully said. ''So much for seven centuries. Your security is horrid, can't imagine I was the only one.'' Under many disbelieving eyes, he walked over to one of the sofas and sat down next to two younger girls, who left at a dark glower of Malfoy. ''I agree wholeheartedly with your Prefect though Malfoy.** Seriously**? You want to talk here? You're not getting a word out of me.''

Draco ignored him and loudly clapped his hands. ''Time for dinner people! Move it!'' It said quite a lot that even with the blow that Draco's reputation had gotten earlier that year, the room still cleared within minutes, leaving them utterly alone.

''Nice trick, how much did you have to pay to get your respect back?'' he bluntly stated. A grin that Harry didn't know at all from Malfoy settled onto the boy's lips, making him look far more like his father than ever.

''Come now Potter, I don't need money to pay my way in.''

''Ah, so you got on the Quidditch team on pure talent then? How unfortunate the skills must be divided among the houses if the best Seeker they can get acts like a blind cripple on the field. I truly feel for your sacrifice.'' A far more Draco-ish expression showed itself in the form of a sneer.

''Look Potter,'' the boy spat. ''I'm trying here.''

''Great, where were you trying last month? And the month before that? We had a deal Malfoy, and you bailed.''

''I'm not a reckless Gryffindor who takes any word at face value and runs with it,'' the boy hissed. ''You really think that I would believe your vague claims and instantly jump at your command? That I would be that easy to play? I've been waiting for any kind of solid proof and I only just got it today.** Excuse** me if I don't want to flush the rest of my currently feeble status down the drain by turning into your little lapdog without solid arguments.''

''Touching. Does that mean you'll be my lap-dog now?''

''What? No! Don't be stupid!'' This conversation was clearly not going the way Malfoy wanted it to and Harry was loving it. The boy took in a long breath to calm himself down and glared daggers at Harry. ''You really met the Dark Lord,'' he suddenly stated. Harry tensed up, eyes shifting to the walls, but not a single portrait hung here, only tapestries depicting Medieval witches and wizards. While they moved too, Harry had heard that those acted far more alike pictures than portraits.

''I did.''

''And you never told Dumbledore.''

''No. Get to the point Malfoy, I'm famished and dinner is not going to last forever.''

''I cannot wrap my head around why **you** of all people would aid the Dark Lord. Even with the word of several other people confirming that you did, even with you saying it right to my face I **cannot** understand why, and I **want** to. This changes everything, from the way this war is going to go to how much of a threat Dumbledore is going to be to... oh, I don't know. Everything!'' It was amusing how frustrated the blond was. Rather a novel feeling to have Malfoy nearly rip out his hair instead of throwing around insults and curses. Clearly, Draco hadn't gotten the memo about the fact that Voldemort wasn't pursuing war anymore. Interesting. It was obvious that one of Draco's contact must have been his father, who had gotten in touch with Voldemort by now. How much of his plans had the Dark Lord entrusted his followers with? ''You're not a Death Eater, are you?'' Malfoy asked, eyes staring a hole into Harry's sleeve.

''Don't be idiotic, he doesn't mark those under sixteen, and even under seventeen only in rare cases. No, I'm not a Death Eater and I have no clue what exactly my role will be yet.''

''At the start I thought that he put you in this Tournament to get rid of you. That you completely bluffed when talking about knowing of his resurrection.''

''Oh, he did put me in, you don't really think that I would sign up for this myself?'' Harry clarified. ''It wasn't to kill me though. He has this insane idea about me making it through all of this for some reason.'' Draco hissed. ''What?''

''Did you really call him insane? Do you have a death wish?''

''Malfoy,'' Harry sighed. ''You've never even met him, have you? Don't go telling me how to talk about him, if he has a problem with it I'm sure he'll let me know. So was that everything? You could have told me that you believed me without dragging me down to the dungeons.'' That somehow came out wrong. ''I'll be going now.''

''Wait!'' Draco said, jumping up as Harry took his bag and left the couch. ''Now I know that we are somehow... on the same side, I wanted to give you a peace offering, of sorts. Do you have parchment and quill in there?'' Slightly annoyed at the hold up, Harry nodded, opening his bag, first removing the golden egg that was on top of his books to rummage around better until he found what he sought.

''Well?'' he impatiently spoke as Draco only looked at the egg with curiosity.

''Does that do anything or are you just carrying it around as a trophy? Not that I would blame you if that is its only purpose.''

''It supposedly holds a clue for the next task, which is in February. Upon opening, it only screeches though, Jordan suggested that perhaps I have to fight a banshee. Hey, hands off!'' Reluctantly, Malfoy withdrew from the egg.

''Right, so. I have some contact data for you, from several Death Eaters that have been gathered by the Dark Lord right now. I thought you might be interested in being able to write them if you need any favours, or books.'' Harry blinked and tried hard not to laugh.** That** was Malfoy's peace offering? Names and addresses that he could probably directly ask Voldemort about? Then again, it might be the most that Malfoy could give, and it wasn't the Slytherin's fault that he did not know anything about Harry's connection to the Dark Lord. Without further comment, he scratched down five addresses. Malfoy's own, and some from people called Yaxley, Proudfoot, Selwyn and Nott.

''Both Yaxley and Proudfoot work in the Ministry,'' Malfoy clarified. ''And my father has a lot of influence there of course too. I don't know what the latter two are doing exactly. Nott fought in the previous war and is marked, so is Yaxley. The others are from the second circle, from what I gathered.''

''And you are telling me all of this only because I want the Dark Lord to succeed?'' Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. ''What if he would disapprove? Would he not have given me this information himself if I was supposed to know it?''

Draco scowled. ''If you really met him, you should know that the Dark Lord does not act as if his followers are five-year-olds who can only act on specific instructions. That he doesn't hold you by your hand doesn't mean that you can't try to find out as much useful intelligence as you can.'' Harry had to give it to Malfoy that that made sense. This entire Tournament was constructed around Harry trying to figure out clues himself and only being aided in the sense of that Barty taught him whatever he chose to use. ''And since you're not a Slytherin, I shall spell it out for you this once: I'm not doing any of this out of charity, Potter. I help you, you help me, that's how it works. You're closer to Him than I am, so it's useful to me to come to your aid even when that doesn't give me direct results. What I'm curious about is... how much do your **friends** know? Must be difficult to accept for a Blood-traitor and a Mudblood that you ran over to the side that wants to see them gone.'' Harry narrowed his eyes and threateningly drew his wand.

''If you really think of** that** being the Dark Lord's priorities, you should really get some up to date insight. What my friends think is none of your business and I will protect them whichever way I can. You really buy into the whole spiel of the Dark being about blood purity?'' he laughed into Draco's confused face. ''You** do**. Here I thought that at least such a** prestigious** familylike the Malfoys would have been informed of what is going on behind the scenes. Imagine that.''

''What the fuck are you on about, Potter?'' Malfoy growled, his cheeks flushing again.

''Did your daddy prance around about being one of the Dark Lord's most** trusted** servants?'' Harry mocked. He couldn't help it, the urge to see Malfoy's face twisting in fury was too satisfying. Years of his friends being bothered and ridiculed by the Slytherin were bubbling to the surface.

''Shut up!'' Malfoy drew his wand and, before Harry had time to react, shot a spell at him. Harry couldn't even warn the other boy. As if in slow-motion, he watched as the spell sped towards him, a beam of bright yellow light that hit the air in front of him, a thundering wave backlashing as Voldemort's protective shields activated. Malfoy was flung back and hit a wall, cuts appearing all over his body, blood pouring out. Anything that had lain around was scattered as well and the room was filled with screeching noises as the golden egg fell to the floor and opened. Holding his hands to his ears, Harry rushed to Malfoy's crumpled form.

''Shit, shit!'' he muttered, instantly feeling Malfoy's pulse. Thankfully he knew how to deal with treating wounds well due to always having to patch himself up after Dudley's and Vernon's beatings. He quickly identified the most serious injury, blood seeping from the back of Malfoy's head. Harry rushed around to find some water and cloth, using a robe that had been left behind by one of the students, pressing it tightly to the boy's head. He was still breathing, thankfully. While sitting there, Harry thought about the shields and the incantation that had been used to create them. Hadn't Voldemort said something about his enemies receiving pain a thousandfold of what had been inflicted? Was that why the results differed so each time the shields had activated? From what he'd seen now, it made sense, the more deadly attacks had caused far more damage in his attackers when returned than others. After getting the blood to stop flowing, Harry froze the cloth and iced the wound. He wished that the egg would stop shrieking but he couldn't leave Malfoy's side right now. He released a relieved sigh when the boy's eyes finally fluttered open again and Malfoy groaned, trying to push Harry away.

''Hold still,'' he growled. ''I'm trying to fix you up here.''

''Go away,'' the boy slurred, grabbing the half-frozen robe and pressing it against his head himself. ''Dinner should be almost over by now, I can't have you treating me like a little child when everyone returns.'' Malfoy then fell silent and got a thoughtful expression, hushing Harry when he tried to speak. ''That's the clue you were talking about?''

''What? Oh, yeah. As I said, a load of noise.''

Malfoy guffawed. ''A load of... Merlin, Potter. For how much you like hanging around with Giants and Werewolves, you sure know little.''

''You know what that is?'' With great difficulty, Malfoy nodded. ''Well, tell me!''

The other eyed him for a moment and grinned. ''No... no I don't think so. You insulted me and then did** this** to me. You should be happy that I'm not calling for Professor Snape right now, he'd skin you alive for even being here.''

''You little...!''

''Nothing for nothing Potter. I already gave you those names. For any further help, you'll really have to make me like you a bit more. You could always try grovelling.'' Harry gnashed his teeth together and got up, leaving Malfoy to his own misery in favour of snatching up the egg and closing it with a snap. ''Go to hell, I'll find out myself.''

''Good luck, you'll need it!'' Malfoy laughed as Harry stormed out of the Slytherin dungeons, leaving the other to clean up the mess.

His mood did not improve much when finding out that he had indeed missed dinner. He stormed back to Gryffindor tower, only answering his friend's concerned questions with a string of wholeheartedly meant insults about Malfoy. It could well have been that the boy had only pretended to understand the clue, he had accused Harry of perhaps doing the same before, so it was possible. And even if not, Harry had three solid months now, surely he wouldn't need** Malfoy's** help in solving it. He also didn't really know what to do with the addresses he'd been given. Why would he write some random Death Eaters? Any question he had, he could directly ask Voldemort, or Barty if he didn't have any dreams of the Dark Lord. Also, he had other things to concentrate on, such as his homework, classes, and spending time with his friends.

The weeks passed in a blur and the egg became dusty on his nightstand next to the dragon miniature. He ignored Hermione's nagging and Dixie's inquiries about the next task. The French girl had profoundly apologised for not congratulating him right after the task, although it wasn't really her fault that she was not allowed to leave the stands reserved for the Beauxbatons students. One surprise that awaited him was when Hermione dragged him and Ron down to the kitchens one day, where they met Dobby, who had recently been employed. It was good to see the elf again, who was absolutely ecstatic about meeting his hero once more. One damper that was put on that reunion was the other elf, who had belonged to Mr Crouch Sr. and wouldn't keep crying since she had gotten fired. When he told Barty about Winky being there, the man merely gave him a dark look.

''She** adored** my father,'' he'd spat. ''To the point where she had no problem in carrying out his orders of chaining me to the floor to ensure I didn't get out. I know it's not the elf's fault that she was bound to her master, but I have no sympathy for her. She'd have killed me without a second thought if he'd said the word.''

As such, Harry avoided the topic further, barely interacting with Barty outside of class these days as he had not gotten any further with the clue and refused to admit that that was a problem. Instead, he retreated to his dorm again most evenings to read his books, only three being left by now. He tried to not react too grumpily whenever he was disturbed in his quest to make up for his lack of attention the three previous years, and made time for Ron to go flying as promised, cherishing the fact that he had his friend back after those horrible first weeks of October. It was nearing the end of December now, the Christmas holidays speeding closer. And yet, there was one unexpected announcement that drew even his attention away from his studies -albeit reluctantly, especially after hearing what it was about- when McGonagall informed her students of an upcoming Yule Ball that was part of the international cooperation program of the Triwizard Tournament. He became even more reluctant when McGonagall held him back from class to tell him that he and his date -Date! As if he could get a date!- would have to open the Ball. First of all, he couldn't dance, and secondly, he wasn't the least bit interested in trying to snag a dance partner for the sole purpose of entertaining the teachers. He'd rather fight another dragon.

It also robbed him of his silent Christmas holidays, as nearly every students who was allowed to attend signed up to stay over during the holidays now. Hogwarts changed into groups of people who were falling over themselves to ask other people out, not even because they liked anyone in particular, but for the sole purpose of showing off that they could 'get' someone. It was absolutely ridiculous, and that his friends were entirely into it made it so much worse. Ron looked so desperate whenever he passed a group of girls that it wasn't even funny anymore, especially when it always resulted in him lingering around for far too long and then in the end** still** not opening his mouth. Hermione disappeared completely, for once spending more time with other girls than with them. it wasn't that Harry wasn't happy for her that she could finally loosen up a bit and talk about dresses and makeup and whatever else he imagined she might share when whispering to Lavender and Parvati. The main problem he had was that it looked like he was the only person in this entire castle who wasn't absolutely crazy. One of the downsides of people trying to get** anyone** instead of someone they actually liked was that, as a Champion who'd battled a dragon, Harry himself turned out to be a preferred target of girls he'd never spoken to in his life. Younger students especially seemed desperate, since it would be their only chance to attend the ball at all if they got a date who was in fourth year or up.

Amidst it all, he briefly spoke to Hagrid too. Unfortunately, even here the conversation inevitably turned to the Yule Ball as Hagrid asked him about his date.

''I don't have one,'' Harry said through clenched teeth, chopping his bits of dragon liver a bit more roughly. ''I don't even like anyone!''

''It's tredition!'' Hagrid cheerfully said. ''Yer don' really need to like,** like** anyone. Jus' take a handsome gal and have a nice evening! Yer takin' this far too seriously.'' Harry debated about that. Was he really blowing up the thoughts behind this Ball? Was it really just that simple as choosing someone to spend a nice evening with? Then why did they have boys and girls pair up? He'd have a much better time with Ron and Hermione, and he didn't like either of them romantically.

The only good part about this whole Ball was, that even most of the teachers were excited, giving Harry time to get in some extracurricular reading instead of practising the summoning charm, which they'd finally started in Charms class until Flitwick gave up on teaching a bunch of teenagers with their heads in the clouds. Ron spent that evening trying to get hints from Fred and George of how to get a girl and revealed his grand plan of just asking anyone who looked pretty, much to Hermione's dismay. Instead of bothering with those things, Harry tried his best to learn for his antidote test from Snape that took place a few days later and went surprisingly well. Even Snape couldn't find many faults in it and had to reluctantly give Harry an E, perhaps the best mark he'd ever gotten in Potions. He might be horrendous at brewing, perhaps he could still save his mark if he did well at theoretical tests like these.

''Harry!'' Ron said during the following day. ''You should really ask someone!''

''What are they going to do if I don't?'' he replied, honestly wondering if McGonagall would force him to pair up with someone for the dance.

''No idea, I cannot imagine it's anything good.''

Ron apparently took his own words to heart and tried, against everyone's advice, to ask out Fleur Delacour, with the expected result. ''I didn't even think of asking anyone who wasn't from Hogwarts,'' Harry mused. ''You think that perhaps Dixie would...?''

''Already has someone else,'' Ginny answered, sitting down next to them. ''You should have been faster with that, although I don't think anyone from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang would risk the wrath of their classmates by going with a Champion who isn't from their school. Other students are fine but Champions? Definitely not.'' Harry grunted. He thought briefly of asking Ginny, then recalled her heavy crush on him. Not the best idea to give her false hopes. Honestly, the only person he could think of who might be an entertaining dance partner was Barty, and** that** was definitely an impossibility even if Harry would see something more in the man than a friend and teacher. ''Say, is it actually allowed to go with another guy?'' he mused out loud, instantly flushing when Ginny raised her eyebrows to her hairline and Ron looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

''Not that I... I didn't mean that I'd want to! But I know some people who aren't straight and I cannot imagine how terrible a Ball must be for them that they wouldn't be allowed to attend with their partners.'' He very much tried to forget Voldemort's longing sigh of _Regulus_, yet didn't get it out of his head. Nor could he get his mind off the man's skin, which had gleamed in the moonlight, and felt impossibly smooth and soft as Harry had- ''**Anyhow**,'' he said, speaking up to drown out his mental voice. ''Is it allowed?''

''No idea,'' the both of them said, looking at each other in confusion. ''Never thought of it,'' Ginny continued. ''I don't really know anyone who likes the same gender. It's not very common, is it? I cannot imagine that it would be allowed either since these kind of balls were originally thought up to match people for the future and continue the lines and all that kind of stuff.''

''Maybe I'll do it just to screw the system then,'' Harry spoke, smiling. ''Imagine McGonagall's face.''

''And imagine the press,'' Ginny warned. ''I know you like rebelling Harry, but be careful.''

''Why?'' he scoffed. ''Skeeter is out to get me with whatever possible. Much better that she writes a juicy article speculating about my love life than that she paints me insane.''

''She could do both, in correlation,'' Hermione spoke, appearing behind them. ''I don't think it's a good idea Harry, especially not since it would be rather disrespectful to anyone who actually feels that way. Pretending to be into guys just for laughs and to annoy the teachers could hurt any of our peers who might be gay, but are afraid to show it openly for fear of the reactions of their friends and families.'' Her condescending tone was for once justified, yet it still bothered Harry.

''Well, I've never felt anything for either girls or guys, would that also not mean that I would be pretending to be straight if I took any random girl?''

''Maybe, but no-one would make a fuss about it,'' Hermione replied, pursing her lips. ''Nor would it hurt any straight people since we're not oppressed.''

''Gay people are also not** oppressed**,'' Ron scoffed.

''Oh, just like house-elves aren't slaves you mean?'' Hermione bit back. ''Pardon me for not taking your word on how important the rights of minorities are. Are there equal marriage rights in Britain, in either Muggle or Wizarding law? Would you honestly swear that someone who came out would not be bullied here at Hogwarts? Because if not, Ronald Weasley, that is oppression of the basic human right to be oneself, and I shall fight against any and all forms of that. Harry, if you don't know yet who or what you like, go with the safe option.''

''Hey, I didn't say that. Just because I haven't actually fallen in love with a girl yet doesn't mean that I'm not straight,'' Harry protested. Hermione raised her eyebrow in a disbelieving look that very much reminded him of Voldemort -again-.

''Well. **Should** you find out in the end that you're more interested in men after all, at least your first experience dancing with one wasn't only to rub the rules in McGonagall's face. Goodnight.''

Ron whistled to fill the awkward silence that had descended over the entire common room after Hermione's rant, everyone's eyes on Harry now. ''Fun times. Hey, you figure that cute Seeker from Ravenclaw already has a date?'' his best friend spoke.

''Is going with Diggory,'' Ginny sighed. Harry groaned and put his face on the table. ''You could go with me,'' she smiled. Harry raised his head and gave her a hard look. He wanted to outright deny her until he saw a slightly sad smile play around her lips. Oh. He'd just said in front of the girl who crushed on him that he'd never had feelings for anyone. Way to go. Ron threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. ''That would mean that apart from Neville I'd be the only one left without a date! Hey, guess who** he** asked, Hermione! She said no, of course, I mean, who'd want to go with Neville. Said something about going with someone else, as if!''

''She's not lying,'' Ginny said.

''What?'' Ron sharply asked.

''She is going with someone else, and I'm not going to tell you who because that's her business.'' Ginny bit.

''Well **fine**!'' Ron snarled in a way that didn't sound fine at all. ''Then I'm the only idiot without a date. Or no wait, I'm not, because I forbid my little sister from going with my best friend!''

''You can't forbid me from doing anything, dear brother,'' Ginny sneered. ''Harry?''

Harry helplessly shrugged, throwing Ron an apologetic look. ''Ginny's the only one whom I even halfway know that wouldn't think more behind it.'' -Hopefully- Huffing angrily, Ron got up and stormed away without another word.

''He can be so hopeless,'' Ginny spoke, rolling her eyes. ''He'll come around. Thanks for accepting Harry. It would really be a shame to not show off that dress robe you bought me. And I promise, I won't make it awkward,'' she winked, before heading upstairs herself, leaving Harry all alone. Girls could be so strange sometimes.


	23. Fickle Frienships

Harry breathed in the chilly morning air and looked up to the brilliant sky. After waking up to Dobby staring at him he needed a good walk. It had been nice to see the hyper elf, who had burst into tears at receiving another sock. Nonetheless, the image of the watery nose and tennis-ball like eyes right up in his face wasn't exactly pleasant. Even all the presents he'd gotten, from Mrs Weasley's green dragon pullover to Sirius' useful magical knife -which had come with an ominous note that only said 'We'll talk soon'-, couldn't remove Dobby's stare. It was slightly odd to him that Christmas literally came early this year: to abide to the other schools, they celebrated Yule instead so the Yule Ball would be appropriately placed. As the feast fell on the 22nd of December this year, everyone had received their gifts sooner than expected, although Harry could imagine that any Muggles who were uninformed would still send some gifts in the coming days to their children. He hadn't received anything yet from the Dursleys either, not that that was such a loss.

The teachers had really gone all-out this year, Harry found, most likely to show off to their guests. The grounds were frozen like always, and this year Professor Sprout had planted magical winter flowers everywhere to go the extra mile, roses curling around benches and arches, giving the castle a fairy-tale like atmosphere. Large icicles hung from every ledge too and a layer of glittery powdered snow completed the effect. Harry thought that the students of the other schools could be glad that they were at Hogwarts, both the Durmstrang ship and the Beauxbatons carriage were frozen over. He couldn't imagine what they would have done if McGonagall and Flitwick hadn't created extra dorms for their guests.

A snowball hit his head and Harry swivelled around, surprised to find Barty standing a few yards behind him, grabbing another handful of snow while grinning. ''You know that that looks incredibly strange on Moody's face, don't you?'' Harry commented, ducking to avoid the next throw. ''And I doubt he's the type to play in the snow with teenagers.''

''As if I care,'' Barty grinned, several new snowballs magically forming and pelting Harry from all sides.

''Hey!'' he laughed. ''I can't even do that yet!''

''Gotta get better then kid. I'm planning on organising a battle between the schools. Think that would be fun?''

''What, a snowball battle?''

''Exactly. I'm entirely bored. Not sure if I would have organised something on my own but if you'd be willing to help me and get a few others involved... Oh, thanks for the present by the way. And don't think I didn't get you anything, I thought it would be suspicious for a teacher to send students Yule gifts.''

''Didn't stop Dumbledore in his first year, nor Hagrid in any other,'' Harry commented. ''Still, you're probably right, my friends would have been rather surprised. I hope you didn't get me anything dangerous.''

''Define 'dangerous','' Barty said, waggling Moody's bushy brows.

''Could've known,'' Harry grumbled, packing a few other snowballs, trying to throw them as far out over the lake as possible. ''Did you hear anything from Him?''

''Hmm? Oh, I don't think He'd send us presents. He rather despises this time of the year, although He does still celebrate Yule for purely religious reasons.''

''I'm not talking about presents... I mean, you know I had dreams before... there's been nothing since before the first Task, it's been bothering me a bit. There was no indication that he'd stop visiting.'' Barty didn't reply to that, only shaking his head. ''What?''

''Get your head out of the clouds kid,'' Barty grumbled. ''I'm sure He has important matters at hand to attend to. Concentrate rather on the next task. What have you got until now?''

''Errhm...'' Harry spoke awkwardly. ''It's another creature?'' he hesitantly asked. ''That shrieks when it talks?''

''Really?'' the other replied, sounding rather annoyed. ''I know that this ball has been getting to everyone's heads but I had hoped that you would still be able to concentrate.'' Harry debated on whether or not he should tell Barty about the whole incident with Malfoy, then decided against it. Either Barty would disapprove of him giving the other teen precious information or force Harry to accept Malfoy's offer of grovelling for a chance to solve the egg. He could always use that as a last resort... ''Well, you still have two months now, try not to waste them. That you have more time does not mean that you should postpone your efforts until a few weeks beforehand, trust me. Perhaps I shouldn't distract you with a snow battle-''

''No no, it sounds amazing!'' Harry protested. ''I bet your heroism will reach new levels in the minds of Fred and George if you pull this through. In fact, they might be damn good organisers, if you don't mind that everyone is going to get pranked.''

''Hmm, those two eh? Interesting choice. Fine, I'll trust your judgement and approach them about it. We might be able to get everything rolling in a couple of days. For now, I have to give the other teachers a helping hand in decorating and security. Dances are not really my thing, certainly not with this leg, hope the food will at least be good. It was great to talk to you kid. Come around my office anytime to pick up your present. And don't stay out too long, it won't do if one of the Champions falls ill.'' Harry waved as Barty trudged through the snow back to the castle, touched by the man's concern, especially considering the fact that both of them well knew that mages couldn't catch common colds. After admiring the surroundings for a bit longer, he too decided to return.

He spent the rest of the day with his friends in the Gryffindor dorm, reading the book 'Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland' that Hermione had gifted him and eating nearly half of the sweet box he'd gotten from Hagrid. Ron was not as angry at Harry anymore as the evening before, as he'd suddenly recalled just who had bought him a not-so-ridiculous set of dress robes**, and** because that day, he'd finally managed to score a date. After asking around, Parvati had said that her sister didn't have a date yet since she'd rejected most of the guys' offerings she'd received, hoping each time to get someone better, and by now was desperate as none dared to ask her anymore. Parvati herself was going with one of the boys from Beauxbatons. Apparently she'd been waiting to see if Harry wanted to ask her so she could go with a Champion, and had actively tried to find someone herself the moment Harry had agreed to go with Ginny.

Hermione left him and Ron alone a full three hours before the Ball would start, to the surprise of them both. Harry had no idea why it could take so long to prepare for a party. He himself had allocated roughly fifteen minutes for a quick shower and putting on his robes. His hair couldn't be tamed anyways and there really wasn't more to it. Ginny seemed to be of a similar opinion, joining them instead of Hermione and talking the afternoon away, although she definitely looked nervous. Harry wondered for the hundredth time if it had been a good idea to accept her proposition. Then again, who else could he have asked? As most of the other girls were already coming down, the three of them fled upstairs to quickly get ready, after a fun round of exploding snap that had left a few dark stains on Ron and Ginny's faces. Harry just rubbed it out, hoping it would blend in enough to not be so noticeable, especially not after he showered.

Becoming a little bit excited after all -not so much about the attention and dancing as for the food and decorations-, Harry went back to the Common room to meet up with Ginny, who was positively beaming. Most others had already left, Neville actually rather early to everyone's surprise. Harry hadn't thought that the shy boy would have had the guts to ask anyone. When commenting on it, Ginny gave him a sly smile and said: ''I might have had a hand in that. He actually asked me last-minute, he hadn't heard yet that you'd accepted already. Since I found it rather brave of him, I introduced him to a friend of mine. Shall we go? We need to open the ball, right?'' Harry groaned at the reminder and nodded. That was one thing he'd pushed to the back of his mind. To calm down his nerves, he briefly touched the leather cord around his neck from which the engraved fang dangled, hidden safely beneath his robes. ''Still think green would have suited you better,'' Ginny commented, looking at his dark blue robes, then shrugged. ''Well, your choice.''

''You certainly made the right decision on your robes,'' Harry complimented her. ''I don't know how to describe it but it is as if this dress makes you even more witchy than a regular robe, you know?'' Ginny threw her head back and laughed, holding the hood in place with her hands.

''Perfect! Exactly the effect I was going for.'' Still grinning, they joined up with professor McGonagall, who was calling for the Champions. Before Harry could say another word, Ginny exclaimed: ''Hermione! Oh my, you look gorgeous!'' Whirling around, Harry came face to face with his blushing friend, whose bushy hair was tied in a knot for once -whether an improvement or not, Harry couldn't really judge, it was certainly... different- and who was wearing a long, flowing blue robe with subtle, magically twinkling little stars on the hem. The most surprising thing however, was her partner.

''Harry,'' Krum said with a rare, soft smile. ''I hope you do not mind that I am going to the Ball vith your friend?''

Before he could answer, Cedric joined them, absolutely beaming with a pretty girl at his side whom Harry knew from the Quidditch field as the Seeker from Ravenclaw. More Seekers in their little group then, it seemed. He knew that Ginny was also damned good at it from their summer tournaments where she'd always played Seeker for the other teams. ''Looks like you are outnumbered by Quidditch fans, 'Mione,'' he joked. That only became truer when they were joined by the last pair, Fleur and Rogier Davis, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, who curtly nodded to his teammate. Harry wondered why both other Champions had selected partners from Hogwarts when Ginny had reasoned that asking someone from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons would cause unnecessary trouble as he was a Champion from another school. Perhaps for Hogwarts students it did not weight so heavy since firstly, there were far more of them and secondly, Hogwarts had two Champions anyways.

There was little time for more talking. Cedric quickly stuck his thumb up to Harry and then the doors opened, leaving Harry speechless as he walked down the hallway, able to forget all the stares of the people surrounding them to concentrate rather on the sight. For once, the ceiling didn't quite reflect the outdoors. millions of warm snowflakes raining down on the crowd, although Harry knew that it wasn't snowing at the moment. The large tables had been pushed to the side, displaying all sorts of fantastic food, and the walls were frozen solid, reliefs carved into it in a unique form of ice sculpture. More ice was displayed in the form of crystals that lit up in warm yellow, its light shining on the garlands of mistletoe and ivy that were draped around the stone pillars on either side of the hall. In between them stood dozens of small, round tables, although they did leave a significant part of the floor in the middle free, presumably for dancing.

He quickly looked over his shoulder to Hermione, who walked behind Ginny. He had to smile when seeing how she was glowing, her walk for once elegant now that she wasn't dragging around her school bag. Ginny on the other hand, had a rather pleased look and strode confidently next to Harry in a way that she usually only showed at home when she thought she was alone with Fred and George. He noticed the jealous stares thrown at both of his friends and grinned at Pansy Parkinson, who was too stunned to make any nasty comments for a change. Draco was by her side, his face drawn into a frown, as if he didn't approve of Harry's choice of date. Had the blond perhaps expected that, now Harry was aiding Voldemort, he'd stop interacting with the people he enjoyed being around?

Throwing a look at the only large table that wasn't laden with food - the one of the teachers-, Harry decided it wasn't really worth looking at. He didn't really care about Dumbledore's extravagant robes nor did Percy's continuous presence improve the situation. Ludo Bagman's eyes lit up as he caught sight of Harry, who quickly turned to face Ginny instead. What did that man want from him? It would really be good to figure that out soon... They searched a table and followed Dumbledore's example of loudly speaking whichever food they wanted from the menu. All Champions stuck together for now, only a few tables apart from each other, since they'd received no information on when they were supposed to dance.

''Hey Harry,'' he heard, a finger tapping on his shoulder. Cedric again. ''I wanted to introduce you to Cho. My... girlfriend.'' From the way he said it, Harry could guess that this was a new development, perhaps even having happened this very day.

''Pleased to meet you,'' he answered, grasping her hand. Ginny kicked him in the shin when Cho giggled and whispered. ''Short bow, no hand-shake,'' in his ear. Getting red, he corrected his behaviour. How should he have known?

''Err, sorry,'' he muttered. ''Those Muggles never were big on manners,''

''Oh yes, I've read that!'' Cho gasped. ''You have such a tragic story Harry. I never knew!''

''Don't believe much of what that reporter said darling,'' Cedric spoke hastily. ''She was twisting everyone's words, isn't that right Harry?''

''Exactly,'' he nodded. ''She just kept asking questions and even managed to write paragraphs over a short 'yes' or 'no' answer.''

''Oh, so you** didn't** get tears in your eyes from recalling the ghosts of your past?'' Ginny said with mock-surprise. ''Harry! And here I was under the impression that my mother's coddling was entirely justified.''

He chuckled and shoved her with his shoulder. ''Shut it you. I didn't bring you here to hear an echo of the Twins.'' Cho raised her thin eyebrows at the way they acted, then relaxed when Ginny only laughed and stomped Harry in the side.

''Anyways, enjoy the ball. I've arranged for a little after-party by the way,'' Cedric winked. ''Just us Champions and our dates, you know?'' Harry shook his head in amazement.

''How **do** you do this?''

''Do what?'' the boy asked in honest surprise.

''We're supposed to be... enemies or something. Rivals at least! Yet somehow you managed to get us all talking about Quidditch and being on first-name basis within a couple of minutes after the first Task. I don't know, you somehow bring people closer. It wouldn't surprise me if we all end up as good friends after this year due to you.''

''I know this is a competition, but so is a Quidditch match. Why would you be enemies with people you share such thrilling experiences with? And whom else could we talk to who could really** understand,** you know? It would make less sense to me to **not** try to befriend each other. Each one of us tries to get through this Tournament, why not be on a friendly basis? We're stronger together. It are other people who try to pit us against each other. Even if it comes to us having to duel or so, there's no reason to be cold and uncivilised.''

''A true Hufflepuff indeed,'' Cho laughed, her voice sounding warm as she looked at her boyfriend. They talked for a bit longer, exchanging their experiences with the different dragons, as Cedric had not seen Harry's performance. They also briefly touched the topic of the next task, but as soon as both admitted to not having a clue yet, they shrugged it off. Ginny and Cho chatted amicably as well, mostly about Quidditch, an obsession for the both of them. They soon drifted over to the table where Krum and Hermione were enjoying their dinner. The topics there were not so one-sided, touching on a great many deal of books that Harry had never heard about, and eventually changing to a comparison between Hogwarts and Durmstrang.

''Mr Potter,'' Harry suddenly heard, turning to face an unexpected person.

''Headmaster Karkaroff,'' he warily replied. ''How do you do?''

''Fine. Viktor, try not to reveal too many of our secrets to your lovely lady. Mr. Potter, come, I'd like to have a word with you. Alone.'' With an uneasy feeling, Harry put down his cutlery, the taste of French crepes suddenly turning bad in his mouth. Karkaroff reminded him far too much of Snape, who could also turn milk sour with a single cold look. It was no wonder that the both of them were supposedly buddies. As he took a hesitant step, he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder form behind.

''Headmaster, I vould like you to know that Harry is a friend.'' Viktor released him again a second later and turned around again as if he'd never said it. Harry turned to look at the stoic boy with amazement. A friend? When did that happen? Was it because of Cedric? Or Hermione?

He followed Karkaroff to an edge of the Great Hall, half-concealed behind a pillar. Barty's words of the man being a wild card shot through his head. Karkaroff wasn't necessarily an enemy. A quick look around did reveal to him that Dumbledore had noticed their retreat and was watching the both of them with hawk-like eyes that made Harry very glad to have Voldemort's necklace against mental intrusion. Hopefully Karkaroff was as good an Occlumens as Snape was. ''Now ve can finally talk alone for once, Potter,'' the man started, his eyes glinting and a sly smile on his lips. ''Impressive display of magic vith that dragon. Magic not taught at Durmstrang until sixth year... and not at all at Hogvarts.'' Harry shuffled his feet, then berated himself for acting like an idiot. Surely he could deal with Voldemort's followers if he could be at ease near the Dark Lord himself. Squaring his shoulders, he looked Karkaroff in the eye.

''I find that all magic is worth learning. No matter whether it is light or... heavy.''

Karkaroff's eyes narrowed. ''That is a rare term these days in England, I've heard. You do not shun the darkness, do you, Potter?''

''This is neither the time nor place to discuss things like that,'' Harry whispered, well-aware of Dumbledore's presence. Was there a spell to overhear other people's conversations?

''A simple silencing barrier. I am not Headmaster of Europe's most prestigious magical school because I had nothing better to do,'' Karkaroff spoke, his honey-dripping tone turning frosty.

''Of course, forgive me,'' Harry spoke quickly, at the very last moment able to bite his tongue to not criticise Karkaroff's bold statement about Durmstrang being the best. ''In that case, darkness is only a term made up by fearful people, in my opinion.''

''Not only in yours,'' the man softly spoke. ''I have heard many stories about you over the years, Potter. From talk of you becoming the next Dark Lord to being the light's hero. I vas leaning tovards the latter until I saw and heard a perfect performance of the Verse of Harmony come from your lips. Now, I vonder if there is any truth to your speculated goals. I vould not vont to miss your rise.'' Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline at Karkaroff's bold suggestion. The man thought that** he**, **Harry**, was trying to get on top himself? Then again, it perhaps wasn't too odd of a thought. Ron had told him once before that people had been both happy for Voldemort's fall and at the same time fearful of what Harry's powers as a baby might mean. He'd first-hand experienced the result of that fear in his second year when he'd revealed his ability to speak Parseltongue. In addition, Karkaroff had betrayed many Death Eater names and would not feel comfortable about returning to his old Master. It was much easier for the man to try and cling to the belief that Voldemort was still dead despite the man's Mark returning. A new Dark Lord who was gathering power, one that he could start with with a clean slate, must sound much more appealing. Then again...

''You are mistaken,'' Harry calmly answered. ''As Headmaster of Durmstrang, a school that focuses on Dark magic, I am sure that you should know how Dark Lords function. There cannot **be** a new one until the old one has fulfilled his duty.'' Harry nodded to Karkaroff's arm. ''And the old one isn't through yet. I bid you a good evening.'' He gave what he hoped could pass for a polite nod and walked out of the pillar's shadow - only to bump into Barty not three steps after. The man's magical eye was spinning wildly and he looked almost as furious as the time he'd held Harry up in the air after the teen had insulted Voldemort. The headmaster from Durmstrang, who had stepped out seconds after Harry, halted as well, the blue eye focusing on Karkaroff as the black one pinned Harry down.

''Having one-on-one conversations with one of Hogwarts' Champions is not a very sportsmanlike way to go at winning this Tournament, Igor. I'll have to check on my student now to make sure you didn't do anything funny. Not a great moment, the band just came in and they're all expecting the Champions to start the dance. You'd better bugger off and explain why this hold-up is happening to the other judges.'' The other man gave Barty a dirty look and swept away without a word, his fur cloak swinging dramatically behind him. With no other choice, Harry let himself be dragged behind the pillar again, which was now noticed by quite a few more people than his first talk here. ''What was that about?'' Barty spoke, a hint of protectiveness audible. ''Did he want anything from you?''

''Do you have a barrier up?'' Harry whispered, not seeing Barty cast anything before.

''Of course, had one before even approaching you here.''

''He wanted to inform me that, should I rise to become the next Dark Lord, he's on board, basically,'' the teen summarised.

The words took a moment to sink in, and Barty let out a disbelieving laugh. ''That weasel! Knows he hasn't got a chance anymore here, so he's changing teams? Dear Merlin, I didn't think he believed all those rumours about you. What did you answer him? Please tell me that you went along with it.''

Confused, Harry shook his head. ''What are you talking about? I cannot possibly pretend I'm taking our Lord's position! Karkaroff** knows** that He should be back, through the Mark, right?''

Barty's grin slipped right off of Moody's face. ''You **didn't**. You didn't tell him that you follow the Dark Lord, right? Please tell me that you weren't that careless.'' At Harry silence, he grew furious and slammed his fist against one of the pillars. ''We're trying to stay** hidden**!'' Barty hissed. ''Covert operations, as few connections as possible for now, slow progress. You cannot blab about the Dark Lord's return to anyone, no matter from which side! I thought that was** clear**. Who else did you tell?''

Faced with the Death Eater's wrath, Harry felt much for lying, yet knew that he wouldn't get away with it. ''I didn't think that telling anyone who would have noticed anyways would be a bad thing... I also let Draco Malfoy know since his dad is a Death Eater too and tells his son everything.''

Barty took a deep breath and cursed a few times. ''You messed up Evan,'' he coldly spoke. ''I cannot promise that there won't be consequences for that. What part did you not understand about the Dark Lord trying to stay out of his enemies' way? And you are telling both a traitor and the son of a coward of his return? You can be lucky that our Lord indeed did contact Lucius again, though that does not give** you** the right to inform a 14-year-old Slytherin with arrogance issues of that.''

The music started and Harry looked back. It looked like Karkaroff didn't do anything to keep the proceedings from... well, proceeding. ''So tell me one thing,'' Harry spoke, a hint of panic in his voice. ''Why are you so sure that he didn't know? The mark flared up when He returned, right?''

''Briefly, just like it has done briefly over the years whenever He newly possessed an especially strong animal, or when he got a hold of Quirrel. It was stronger, yes, though that is not necessarily a sign of His permanent return. With Snape at Dumbledore's side, it would be useless to even try and keep low otherwise. Now go, **I** will need to **fix **this, perhaps with memory charms. About Malfoy, are you certain that his father told him as well?''

Harry nodded. ''He didn't believe me until his dad confirmed it.''

''Fucking great,'' Barty muttered. ''I'll leave him to you then. And Evan, don't bother with that snowball fight, I'm not up for anything like that anymore. In fact, I'll tell you when you're welcome in my office again.'' Harry's heart sank, and he wished to scream a thousand words at the other, of how they couldn't expect him to know this information, or expect him to automatically do everything according to their unspoken wishes, of how he was already dealing with enough with this damned Tournament... They were all left unsaid as Barty stomped away and Harry had to swallow the lump in his throat and plaster a smile on his face as he rejoined Ginny and the other Champions. Hermione threw him a concerned look, which he waved away. He'd get through this, with or without Barty. He had enough friends whom he could talk to and who were willing to help him train. It wasn't as if he needed the man.

Those thoughts did nothing to really improve his mood. The dance passed in a blur, perhaps the only good thing about that, and he lost himself in the wild music of the Weird Sisters after and wished he had the stomach of a House-elf so he could have gotten as drunk on the mugs of Butterbeer as Barty's old elf. The dance floor became a wild mess of people and he lost track of Ginny several times before finding her again. She briefly talked to the friend she'd stuck with Neville. After meeting the girl, whom Ginny introduced as Luna Lovegood, Harry felt less sorry for her, as she looked crazy enough to not mind dancing with the most boring person in the whole of Hogwarts. In fact, at times she seemed entirely happy to dance alone, making some odd waving motions that didn't fit the harsh beats at all.

The evening did not become better when it turned out that not only the Death Eater had forgotten about friendship, Ron quickly followed in his footsteps, seeking an argument with Hermione about Viktor within a couple of minutes after getting a chance to talk. She ran off seething, which Harry found rather understandable, since Ron had tried to make it look like Viktor was only interested in her to get information about Harry. Both of them had entirely ignored his opinion on Krum during the fight, so he turned to Ginny with a helpless look.

''Should I go after her?'' he asked Ginny with concern when Ron was gone as well, pissed that Harry was not instantly taking his side.

She shook her head instantly. ''The best thing you can do is to inform Krum, it looks like he didn't notice the argument at all.'' It was true, the boy was standing in the middle of the dance floor with two drinks in his hands, looking left and right with a desperate face. ''While I'm sure Hermione would appreciate your concern, you're too close to Ron to give her the support she needs when it comes to these kind of things.'' Harry was clueless about what Ginny meant with that, yet followed her advice nonetheless, pushing through the crowd to Viktor to bring him up to speed. The Bulgarian cursed a few times and asked about places Hermione could be. What Ginny had obviously forgotten was that Hogwarts was gigantic and their guests had only been here for a couple of months. Harry himself had needed over a year to get comfortable with the maze of stairs and corridors.

''We'd best go together,'' Viktor spoke. ''I shall tell Diggory - sorry, Cedric- that the after-party is off? I do not vant to go vithout Herm-own-ninny.''

Harry nodded, honestly glad for that development, not feeling up for festivities after two of his friends were being unreasonable and another one was upset. He certainly hoped Ron would come around quickly, it was always horrible when there was a conflict between the three of them and once a year was really enough. ''It would also be difficult for me to find Ginny again. Perhaps we can move it. How about we check outside first? I know a couple of places where Hermione likes to hide, she might just have wanted a breath of fresh air.'' Viktor nodded, not having any better ideas. They exited the entrance hall and found themselves in a maze of rosebushes hat Sprout had grown overnight. Harry sighed. This could be more difficult than expected. He and Viktor split ways to search more effectively, planning to meet up again in fifteen minutes if Hermione wasn't to be found here. It was a good thing too, for when he turned one of the corners, he quickly shot back, spotting Karkaroff and Snape.

''You know vat it means! And I now know for certain!'' Karakaroff hissed.

''I do not understand why we have to talk about this, Igor,'' Snape replied calmly. ''Certainly not here and now.'' Harry froze, his hands getting clammy despite the cold. Barty's words echoed in his mind. Was Karkaroff really already going to spread word of Voldemort's return? And to Snape of all people?

''Severus, you cannot pretend that this isn't happening. And I'm in a vorse position than ever. Potter-

''Don't speak to me of that little runt, don't tell me that even you buy into him being special.''

''He used Dark magic, vere do you think he could have gotten that idea?''

''From my very reliable sources, I know that he had no idea what he was doing when he used that spell,'' Snape said, huffing in disdain. ''Potter couldn't tell an unforgivable curse from a levitation charm. He received a book with the spell a d decided to try it, that is all.'' Harry peeked around the corner, trying to glimpse Karkaroff's reaction. The man did not look convinced. No shit, Harry had all but told him where he stood. ''If that was all...'' the potion master drawled on.

''Severus! Vat do I do?''

''Flee, if you can't come up with anything useful. I'll cover for you, but I will stay at Hogwarts. I have more important things to do than worrying about a bit of ink.''

''A bit of...'' Karkaroff repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. ''You'll be killed.''

''He can try.'' With that, Snape drew his wand and shredded a rosebush apart, revealing a kissing couple, whom he started a tirade against. Harry quickly ran the other way, groaning when he yet again came across people that he knew. What was this, the magical awkward-conversation rose maze? He tried to find a way to get past Hagrid and Madame Maxime without being noticed by either. He couldn't go back either, Snape was there... As such, he could do nothing but wait and had to listen to the entire painful conversation between the two. He had to admit that he was curious as to Madame Maxime's heritage. Could she really be a half-Giant after all? Was Voldemort perhaps wrong about the magical abilities of Giants and their offspring? He quickly snuck further when the Headmistress of Beauxbatons had stormed off, screaming about big bones.

''Vere vere you?'' Viktor asked when Harry finally emerged.

''I came across some complications,'' he muttered. ''Hermione doesn't seem to be here, let's search further.

After checking the kitchens, the library and several classrooms Hermione sometimes used to study in peace, they finally found her... or rather, Harry found her, for the Fat Lady didn't allow Viktor entrance to the Gryffindor common room even when Harry vouched for him. He envied the Slytherins now, at least a piece of brick wall didn't argue back. The sight he was met with however, wasn't pretty, Ron and Hermione screaming at each other in the middle of the room.

''Then next time you should get your head our off your ass and ask me before anyone else does, not as a last resort!'' she shrieked.

''I didn't even ask you!'' Ron yelled back. ''Who says I wanted to? It's not even about this stupid ball in the first place!''

''Hermione!'' Harry said, stepping in between them to try and end the argument.

''Oh, are you taking his side now too? Forgotten yet who dropped you like a sack of potatoes the moment your name flew from that cup?''

''Hermione, Viktor is here for you.'' he said, trying not to get defensive. ''He's waiting outside and is worried about you. It looks like our worry was for nothing, you seem to be handling things well here,'' he said with a wry grin.

She composed herself instantly, her mouth open in a surprised 'oh' ''Harry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry at** you**... thank you.'' Without another glance at Ron, she rushed out of the room, through the portrait hole.

''Pff, as if I wanted to go with her, right?'' Ron spoke. ''But did you really have to bring Krum here?'' he gave the exit a foul look. ''Who knows what he gets up to. Hey, could I lend your cloak?''

Harry looked at his friend as if he'd grown two heads. ''No. Look Ron, Hermione's got a life of her own, and Viktor didn't ask her to use her to get to me. I'm close enough to him that he could ask me anything without having to go through Hermione. You really ruined her evening, and for what? She was right about this Tournament being about more than winning. Besides, you can hardly blame her for going to the 'enemy' when you yourself tried to ask Fleur out.'' The look Ron gave him told Harry that he'd gone too far. His heart clenched, he really did not want to lose Ron again, but someone had to tell him how things stood.

''It's not about the Tournament either mate,'' Ron spoke, completely deflating. He looked more tired than ever before. ''I'm going to bed.''

''Ron, wait!''

But his friend didn't listen anymore. Why was everything falling apart again?


	24. Cracking eggs

_~What has upset you?~_

_Harry sighed. Really, months of nothing and_ _ ** now** _ _ Voldemort had to show up in his head? Or was it only his own wishful thinking and was this really merely a dream? He'd never seen the man look so... concerned. ~What hasn't,~ he replied bitterly. ~Dumbledore is suspicious of me for using dark magic; I half-blamed it on my godfather with whom I didn't have a chance to even talk about it until now; my friends are fighting yet again and Barty is furious at me.~ _

_Voldemort was silent for a while, staring into the fire. It was the first time that either of their dreams had brought Harry back to Riddle House, the upstairs room where Voldemort and Barty had always slept to be exact. It felt calming, familiar, despite everything that had happened here, from taking care of Voldemort to trying to kill himself. He cringed as the man got up from where he was seated and approached Harry, a single finger lifting the teen's chin so that dark red eyes were fixed on his. Harry was glad that Voldemort's magic was not palpable in this state, it was horribly hard to think when a single touch from the man would fry his brain._

_~And what upset Barty?~ Harry grit his teeth, having no idea what to say that wouldn't bring forth the same reaction from Voldemort. Or worse. ~I shall find out, you might as well tell me.~_

_~I didn't realise that your marked Death Eaters were not already aware of your return,~ Harry admitted, cringing, making himself smaller. ~I wanted something from Malfoy and thought he was more likely to help me if he knew that I knew of your return. Additionally, Karkaroff suspected I was on the path to become the next Dark Lord or something and I set him straight because I thought pretending that he was correct would be... disrespectful. Barty blew up at me.~_

_Something flickered in Voldemort's eyes. Disappointment? Harry jerked his head away. ~I had thought you to be slightly more intelligent than that. I did explicitly tell you that I tried to stay hidden, even from my own followers, only actively contacting a few. The Mark is an indicator of my health that I can manipulate it at will, I told you as much.~ Yep, disappointment then. ~Nonetheless,~ Voldemort continued, ~I cannot blame your motivations, nor is any permanent damage done, is there?~_

_~Karkaroff instantly ran to Snape,~ Harry whispered, ~Snape didn't believe him though,~ he was quick to add at the Dark Lord's stony expression. ~The instant my name fell, the git broke Karkaroff of, saying that he didn't want to know anything about me. He's so blinded by hatred that the mere thought of me achieving something is ridiculous to him.''_

_~Perhaps ,~ the man thoughtfully said. ~Severus always was rather hard to read. Who knows what he will do with this information... and unfortunately, he would be one of the few people whom I don't think Bartemius could take on. We shall have to see, I will inform Barty to take care of these unfortunate events. Be more careful next time.~ Harry blinked. That was it? 'Be more careful?' No rant, no anger, no pain? Was the Dark Lord going soft?_

_~Are you... alright?~ he carefully asked. Voldemort sighed deeply and sat down again, waving for Harry to join him. Slightly uncomfortably, he did so._

_~Do not blame Barty too much for his anger. You must understand that his level of devotion does not leave much room for the errors of others. He went to Azkaban for me, fully believing that he would die there, for no other reason than that he was not willing to denounce my name nor give up any information that could harm me. It must have upset him greatly to see you handle this so carelessly.~ The tone was neutral, and yet Harry could hear the sharpness that lay beneath the words. Yes, Voldemort may not be as explosive as Barty, he definitely would not forget about this mistake, even if Harry thought it entirely unfair. He'd been told many things during his stay, they couldn't expect him to pick up on every little hint and perform exactly how they wanted. _

_Nonetheless, to not make things worse, Harry only hung his head, glad that Voldemort at least didn't turn away from him. The last thing he needed was another man to push expectations on him and then abandon him as soon as it became apparent that Harry was a disappointment. He therefore relished in the fact that he was still here, sharing this dream, and stared into the fire in silence for a while, in which oddly formed logs lay. Something moved in the pit of his stomach as he looked further into the flames. Were branches supposed to be like that? His breath caught as a flame flickered and revealed a crooked piece that ended in a stump. ''What... _ _ **is** _ _ that?'' he rasped, horrified and frozen on the spot, forgetting to speak Parseltongue._

_''That_ _ ** was** _ _ Frank Bryce. Nosy man, that. He finally decided to come snoop around once more to see the owner of this manor with his own eyes. I suspect that he wanted a good story for Christmas eve the day after tomorrow in the pub. He came at a rather good moment, I still had time to substitute my Yule offering with him.'' Harry felt sick, yet couldn't look away. He recognised more body parts now, a few curled fingers attached to a chopped off arm._

_''_ _ **Why** _ _?''_

_''After reading my books, you should know that some sacrifices are more powerful than others. Different factors are to be taken into account, such as whether the life came from a magical being, was of a rare species or had properties that tie to the specific spell one is trying to use. While Muggles do not possess a lick of magic, don't differ much from other regular animals, and certainly are not_ _ ** rare** _ _ enough make a valuable offering, they do have one thing going for them in a specific branch of magic. Humans, along with only very few species on this world, are aware of the concept of death and, as far as we know, are the only race that tries to make their death meaningful. This gives them exceptional worth in direct offerings to magic and to use in necromancy and other soul magic. Whether they know which meaning their death will give at that moment is irrelevant, only the power of their mind with the will to have their life matter is. Bryce aided me a great deal tonight by showing up here.'' Voldemort looked at Harry, who still hadn't moved, staring into the hearth. ''Why are you so shocked?'' _

_Harry finally dared to turn his head to the right, eyeing the other man, who wore pure curiosity at Harry's reaction. It was like their first conversations all over again, where Voldemort had literally made notes on their talks. The man may have said that he learned human emotions, yet Harry had the idea that Voldemort by far wasn't done with educating himself on the topic. Exhaling to calm down, Harry slipped into Parseltongue again, topics of death somehow feeling safer in it. ~I come here and see you are sitting in front of a dead body. How could I not be shocked? Yes, I read that sacrificing a living being is practised, even necessary for some dark magic... In theory it sounds a lot better than seeing it with my own eyes. To sit here, looking at_ _ ** that** _ _ and having you calmly explain why you killed a human being as an offer is...~ he halted, swallowing, ~not exactly easy. I firmly believe in that every human deserves protection and that killing is... that it goes against my moral standpoints. I follow you now, I know that I won't always agree with what that means... With your talk about not aiming for another bloody war however, I -perhaps naively- thought that also meant less murdering.~_

_~It does. I will not murder if I do not have to.~_

_~And this?~_

_~This is a Muggle,~ Voldemort softly hissed back, raising his eyebrows. ~That they may be able to communicate with us doesn't mean that they are on the same level. Killing a Muggle is not_ _ ** murder** _ _.~_

_Harry stayed silent, mulling over the best way to point out how_ _ ** wrong** _ _ that line of thought was. ~You said that you split off parts of your soul to create these vessels that ensure your immortality, yes? Can you kill just anyone? Would animals work? Do Muggles work?~_

_The man's jaw tightened, telling Harry that he'd hit the jackpot. ~Muggles work,~ the other admitted, not looking happy about it. ~I realise that not everyone agrees to my view on them, and also that we are related to them, in some cases even descend from Muggles. Still, lives without magic hold little meaning in the grand scheme of things, and Muggles especially are a _ _ **danger** _ _. As such, I refuse to see removing one from this earth as murder. You will not change my mind on that, as much as you may try.~_

_~So if you did not bring me here to discuss the value of Muggles, why am I here?~ Harry asked. As always, he was aware of that their dreams did not last forever and there was little time with how fast dreams passed compared to the waking life. He tried his best to ignore the charred hands and feet in the fireplace._

_~Yule is not one of my favourite celebrations,~ the Dark Lord admitted. ~I underwent the necessary rituals out of respect for magic, that is all. I thought this was a good opportunity to show you a bit of it. You have missed the most important festival of the year already, Samhain, since they just had to do the Tournament announcement on that day.~ Even his hissing sounded annoyed. ~Disgraceful if you ask me. Well, I had not expected much else from Dumbledore and the current Ministry, though I admit surprise at the other schools agreeing. Both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are not shy about their roots.~ Intrigued, Harry looked at the other._

_~We can do rituals in dreams? I thought magic was impossible here... which is what I still wanted to ask you about. I cannot feel your magic at all, so how did you achieve sending through that water last time?~_

_~I combined Legilimency, mind-controlling magic and an advanced branch of Transfiguration called the Enforcement of Law. It is difficult to describe in full to someone who does not know the jargon... hmm... crudely spoken, it allows for a spell to weave a new law of nature. It changes the way magic can work and can only be crafted using source magic.~ Harry was silent for a while at that, wondering if he heard that correctly. Voldemort spoke so leisurely of what he had done and explained it in a few simple sentences that entirely blew Harry's mind. _

_~So you like... just_ _ ** invented** _ _ something new on the same level as the law of gravity or light reflection?~_

_~Yes. As a Lord, I have both the power and authority to do so.~_

_It sounded like such an obvious statement, coming from Voldemort. Surely it was anything but. _

_~Can other people reproduce it?~_

_~The correct terminology would be 'use' it, not reproduce. Now that it exists, anyone can use it, yes. How long it will take until this is discovered is an entirely different story. Magicians nowadays are rather lax when it comes to exploring the limits of what magic can do to the point where many would never even try to achieve what was previously deemed impossible. For obvious reasons, I ask you not to speak of this. It could be disadvantageous to have someone like Dumbledore partake in this knowledge. As for your earlier implied question, we cannot perform actual rituals, unfortunately. I would like to show you some texts and explain more about what Yule is all about. Come.~ They rose, Harry glad to leave the room with the dead Muggle behind. _

_~We are still dreaming, right?~ he asked as he peered down the dark stairway when they left the room._

_~Indeed. Creating a law to construct objects from mental images in another's mind is one thing, actually transferring a person mentally would be an entirely different level that perhaps only Magic herself is capable of. Not that it wouldn't be interesting to try...~_

_~Didn't you say that impossibility is merely a challenge?~_

_~When I can already calculate that the energy it would cost me to achieve such a spell would be higher than what I have and thus kill me, I'd rather only research it in theory.~ Voldemort sounded actually sour at that, Harry noted. Must be difficult for someone this powerful to admit that something was beyond his capabilities. _

_The room they entered looked nothing like Riddle house anymore. It was a wide space, tables on all sides, filled with books and scrolls. Harry sat down and listened, wondering why Voldemort was spending so much time on him. Sure, it was interesting to hear of the old stories about the winter solstice celebration, of how in the past, thousands of mages had gathered to light candles, symbolising that even on the longest night of the year, light was present. Still, Harry had the feeling that he wasn't here to learn. Voldemort could have sent him a book on the topic, even a letter if he wanted to give a quick summary. It would be far more effective than anything they shared in dreams since he forgot most of it the instant he awoke again. No, more than anything, it felt as if the man just didn't want to be alone, as unbelievable as that sounded even to Harry's own ears. Thus, he indulged, listening to every word spoken to him, keeping on his toes as he wasn't entirely sure about the Dark Lord's intentions yet. _

_~-you understand?~ the man asked suddenly, raising thin eyebrows at him. Harry nodded mutedly, suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting. Why were Voldemort's dreams always so damned realistic that he could literally feel his own throat drying out? He licked his lips, perhaps not the best gesture to make as ruby eyes followed the motion with unhealthy interest. A cold shiver went down Harry spine and he moved backwards, trying to put a bit more space between them, failing as it only made him bump into Voldemort's right arm, a hand splaying across his back to steady him. -He did not need to be steadied! This was a fucking_ _ ** dream** _ _! He should be able to tumble somersaults in mid-air if he so pleased!- The hand disappeared, which he was glad for, until he noticed that that wasn't the only thing. Voldemort's face grew blurry as well and his voice faded._

Harry opened his eyes slowly, cursing the loud noises that came from around the room. It looked like his dorm mates were already up and about, the noise having woken him. He lay there for a while still, pretending to still be asleep as he pondered on why he had goose bumps all over his arms, only able to recall that he'd shared another dream with the Dark Lord and that the man had thankfully not been angry about his slip-up. There had been something about Yule too... and fire, Harry frowned. Hadn't old Mr. Bryce played a role? No, that was ridiculous, it wasn't as if Voldemort would ever invite a Muggle. Sighing, Harry got up and dressed to get ready for the day, the only concrete sentences that he could clearly recall being an explanation about the Enforcement of Law - a concept that shook his mind- and stories of Yule.

He opened his bed curtains, seeing that he wasn't the first to rise. Ron gave him a blank stare that did not predict much good. Sighing, Harry headed straight to the shower, not able to deal with his friend's foul mood first thing in the morning. As he scrubbed himself clean, the teen raised his right arm, the one he'd drawn blood from for Voldemort. The magical metal that had filled the wound was long gone, only leaving behind skin that shimmered slightly more than the rest, only noticeable in the right light. The thought of metal brought up the thought of the golden egg, which he still hadn't solved. A month had passed now, two remained... he bit his lip as he admitted to himself that it might be time to focus a bit more on it. Had Voldemort said anything about the Tasks? If so, he couldn't recall it.

So, time to think of options. Barty had hinted at that Harry would definitely need more time to prepare for whatever was waiting for him than he'd needed for the dragon, which meant that Harry wanted to plan in at least a month for preparation... leaving him with one month or less to solve the riddle from the egg. That might prove to be complicated when Barty wasn't willing to help him at the moment, and Harry knew that Hermione had already tried to research everything she could about creatures that made shrieking sounds. Unfortunately, there were many, from Banshees to Baykoks, Drekavac and certain Gorgons... and then he wasn't even through a third of the Alphabet. What baffled him even more was that this sound was supposed to be a 'clue' that he could solve, indicating that he should be able to... what, understand it? Decipher it? Perhaps it was a message that could be played backwards such as on some Muggle LP's... he could try that, even if hunting for a spell that reversed sound could turn out to be an incredible waste of time if that theory didn't prove to be correct.

He walked to breakfast alone, not wanting to upset either Ron or Hermione by obviously joining the other, even if in this particular argument he thought the girl's side was more understandable. Once he arrived in the Great Hall however, neither were there. Instead, he sat down next to Ginny. ''Hey, sorry for disappearing on you yesterday, Viktor and I had a rather hard time finding Hermione.'' To be entirely honest, he'd entirely forgotten about his 'date' in the midst of it all.

''That's fine,'' she shrugged. ''I enjoyed myself a lot. I was just talking to Luna about it before, she found it an unforgettable experience too.''

''Erhm, that's great,'' Harry said, glancing over to the Ravenclaw table. Instead of Lovegood however, his eyes found Dixie, who waved at him to come over. A bit reluctant since they hadn't talked in a while again, Harry got up and walked around the Hufflepuff table to reach her.

''Great party, wasn't it?'' she beamed. ''Shame zat you didn't stay till the end, I'd still wanted to have at least one proper dance wiz you.''

''One dance was enough,'' Harry groaned. ''I was glad that most of the music was suitable for just hopping around.

'''Arry, per'aps dance lessons are in order,'' he heard, and looked at a deviously smiling Fleur, who flicked her hair behind her ear. ''You were ab'orrent.''

''Oh thanks a lot, it's not as if I have to be wonderful at everything.''

Fleur and Dixie both giggled. Good. Now he also had gotten closer to the Beauxbatons Champion, it wouldn't be so complicated anymore that he was friends with the other French girl. Or well, friends... it was still based on a lie and a charm. He pondered for a bit on that. Could a friendship that had started as a lie turn true? Perhaps, the very definition of friendship was open for interpretation. He'd considered Ron a friend from the first day they'd met, before they'd gone through any hardships whatsoever, only because he found the boy fun to talk to. Dixie was also a pleasant person to be around, although he couldn't imagine ever trusting her to the extent that he did with Ron and Hermione, whom he'd had almost four years with to grow close to. Then again... He threw a hesitant look at the Gryffindor table, seeing that the both of them had arrived by now and were sitting as far away from each other as possible with the seats that had still been available. It looked like even a friendship like theirs was a fragile thing.

''Zey had a row, didn't zey?'' Dixie asked, following his glance.

''Yeah, nothing new. They have one practically every year.'' Somehow though, he had the feeling that this one was different. More serious. ''Anyway, I've got to head back to eat something. Eating at another House table isn't very polite.''

''I shall see you zen zis evening, 'Arry,'' Fleur smiled politely.

''Evening?'' Harry asked, wondering if he'd missed something.

''Cedric moved ze Champion party to today. He said to meet up on ze first floor. You can bring your date again, or someone else, it doesn't 'ave to be a girl zis time either since zere will be no dancing, only 'anging around and talking. I also will not bring Davies.'' She threw an annoyed look down the table, where Harry could spot Davies jabbing elbows with someone else. ''Unfortunately, 'e was a bore.''

''Got it, thank you. After dinner then?''

''A bit later, 'alf past eight. Viktor still 'as anozer appointment before.'' Harry nodded and returned to the Gryffindor table, tapping Cedric on the shoulder as he walked past the boy on the way back, to let him know that he'd be there. As he sat down and finally started eating again, Harry wondered what he would do about it. The party was maybe a way to exchange information, Cedric** had** said that they should all help each other out... On the other hand, they were also rivals and surely none would want to diminish their chances of winning by outright telling what they found. That Harry and Cedric had a sort of alliance was more understandable as they were both from Hogwarts. Whether Fleur and Viktor would play along was an entirely different story. They might even be offended by the suggestion.

He also had to think about whom to bring. Yesterday he'd have brought Ginny along since she was his date, but now the ball was over it might give the wrong impression to ask her to accompany him again. Ron and Hermione were also out now that he didn't want to pick a side there. Hell, it was likely that Hermione would already be there because of Viktor, and if he'd bring Ron then it might turn into another shouting match. Better to keep that silent. Would Dixie maybe want to go, or would she then feel trapped between Harry and the duty to her school to be on Fleur's side? Very frustrating. He should have asked Fleur if it was also acceptable to come alone. A bit late now, the Hall was already starting to clear out and class started soon.

He remained clueless about whom to ask for the remainder of the day. Even during dinner he was still unsure. It made him realise just how few people he really liked well enough to ask such a thing of. Asking a girl would instantly hint at romantic interest again, which he didn't want, and asking any guy apart from Ron could cause trouble over 'best friend' status. He really couldn't see himself bringing Seamus or Dean either. They were both alright to talk to but that was all. He wasn't so close to them that bringing them to a private party wouldn't look weird.

Then it hit him in an epiphany: he could secure a second person to bring to the party** and** perhaps crack this egg all at once. He shovelled the remainders of food into his mouth and left the Great Hall as one of the first people, disappearing down the dungeons before anyone could notice. There, he hid in an alcove near the Slytherin common room until his target approached. ''Hey Malfoy,'' he called out, trying to look as calm as possible. The boy abruptly stood still and turned to face him, eyes narrowed, dismissing Crabbe and Goyle with a wave.

''Potter. Already giving up your pride?''

''If you're hinting at me begging you on my knees for help, no. I know that even though the Durmstrang students have been staying in the Slytherin quarters, you haven't really succeeded in attracting their attention, being only a fourth-year and the name Malfoy not having as much worth overseas as it has here. How would you like to be introduced to all the other Champions? There's an exclusive party going on and I just so happened to think of you.''

A sly smirk slid over Malfoy's features. ''My my Potter, you're learning. Not so hot-headed now, are you?'' he gave Harry a scrutinising look from top to bottom. ''Doesn't look like much of a party with you dressed like that though.''

''It's only starting at eight thirty.''

''And how exclusive are we talking?''

''Four Champions, four others.''

Malfoy scrunched his nose. ''If that is an attempt to ask me on a date Potter, it's not funny.''

''Me? Asking you to... don't flatter yourself, if I wanted a date I'd have asked Ginny again. Fleur told me that it's merely talking and that it doesn't matter whether I bring a girl or not. I know you're not exactly my best friend either, but Ron is currently not an option and you are the only person who could appreciate such an opportunity.''

''You mean the only one to whom you owe something and still need help from. Fine, I accept. I still expect you to wear dress robes, I'm not sitting next to someone in** that**.'' Harry rolled his eyes.

''Whatever you want. Meet me at the top of the grand Staircase ten minutes before the start, that should be enough time.''

''If this turns out to all be a giant hoax Potter, I do not care whose protection you are under, I'll personally cut your head neatly off and decorate my wall with it.''

''Unlike you, Malfoy, I do not lure people into fake duels and then call Filch on them,'' Harry sweetly replied. ''Tempting though it may be. See you in a bit.'' Pleased with himself, Harry went up to Gryffindor tower. While it may be horrible to hang out with the arrogant prick, it would make Malfoy more willing to help him again, bettering his chances in this Tournament. Additionally, if he had Malfoy's help, he perhaps also would have access to more resources as he came from an old, dark family. Surely Lucius had taught his son a trick or two.

To his great relief, the next few hours brought no complications. Ron wasn't there, and Harry heard that Hermione was up in the girl's dorms. He dug in his trunk for the remaining sweets that he'd gotten yesterday from Hagrid and Mrs Weasley to bring with him. He hoped that they weren't expected to exchange presents or something, he didn't really have any items lying around that would make for good gifts.

''Took you long enough,'' Malfoy scowled when he finally showed up.

''I'm only a minute late Malfoy, don't be dramatic. Come on.'' They walked side-by-side in silence, receiving a few strange looks from several Hufflepuffs wandering the corridors. Harry had to admit that it must be an odd sight to see him and Malfoy not openly fighting or ignoring each other. Cedric had the same reaction when they met him and the older boy hesitantly guided them to a room that was hidden by another fake wall.

''Welcome to Broc Abode.'' Cedric stated proudly, making a wide gesture. Harry walked in and took in the view. Unlike most hidden rooms, this one was warm and cosy, entirely decorated to ooze a homely feel. Thick black rugs covered the ground, honey-coloured glass lamps shone a pleasant light on the wooden accents on the wall and on the plants that stood on every available surface. There were no windows and the ceiling was dome-shaped with more plants hanging from it, giving the place a feeling of being underground. To the left, he saw that another, smaller room was connected to the first, and if he wasn't mistaken, beyond that he could see one more. ''The pride of the Hufflepuffs,'' Cedric grinned. ''Our common room is comfortable, but** this** is our home. Take a seat, I'll go wait outside for the others to arrive.''

Harry settled down on a soft armchair covered in brown suede while Malfoy walked around the room to inspect it. ''Never knew something like this existed,'' the boy muttered. ''Slytherin should step up its game. If the bloody Hufflepuffs can have an extra living space, we certainly deserve one.''

Harry yawned, feeling comfortable. ''Go decorate the Chamber of Secrets then. I recommend removing the corpse first. Or no, wait, you lot have got something with skulls and bones lying around don't you? Maybe tie a fang to your head and pretend to be a unicorn.'' He didn't bother looking up to see Malfoy's face, the spluttering he received in return was satisfying enough. The door opened once more and the rest entered, apparently having already met up before. He realised several things in the moment. One, Hermione had indeed come with Viktor again. Two, the likeliness of that possibility was exactly why he'd decided to not ask Ron. Three, when brewing up his plan to bring Malfoy here instead of Ron, he had entirely forgotten about that again. So now he had Hermione and Malfoy staring at each other in hatred. ''Err, hi 'Mione,'' he said, hoping to light up the mood again.

''You brought** him**?'' Hermione spoke, looking disgusted, so Harry had to be damned quick in thinking up an excuse.

''I thought it would annoy Ron the most,'' he blurted out. She stared at him for a very long ten seconds, then started giggling before bursting out in peals of laughter, having to lean on Viktor for support.

''Harry! You- ow, my stomach. You are... **brilliant**. That will teach that jealous git!'' Harry exhaled slowly, glad to have avoided a catastrophe.

''Touching,'' Malfoy sneered, then looked at the other Champions, approaching them in his usual pompous manner, giving a short bow to Fleur and extending a hand to Viktor. He entirely ignored the rest of the people in the room. Cedric had brought Cho again, but Fleur wad followed by a girl from her school whom she introduced as her best friend, Lovette. Harry's gesture of bringing candy was thankfully appreciated, and Draco turned out to also be useful when he revealed that he'd smuggled in some stronger alcohol, to which only Hermione was opposed. It didn't stop her from sipping from Viktor's glass whenever he offered. They all grew more comfortable and loud as the evening progressed, laughing at the antics of Fleur, who surprisingly became a whole lot less frigid when feeling comfortable. She and Lovette described all the trouble they had gotten up to in Beauxbatons, overfeeding the Abraxan winged horses with different types of alcohol and sneaking off to town. Hermione chimed in, telling of the adventures that they'd had at Hogwarts, causing gasps all around as she described their encounter of last year when professor Lupin had forgotten his potion.

''He is an amazing person though,'' she said, slurring a bit. ''Just has a terrible illness. I'll never understand why people judge that.''

''He could have killed you!'' Draco countered. ''This is exactly why werewolves are regulated!''

''Many people could kill me,'' she replied. ''And they are a lot less careful about pretending to not try. Don't forget that as a Muggleborn, many are actively out for my life. Your parents-''

''Are not murderers!'' Draco yelled, his face getting red. ''They don't agree with Mudbloods just walking in an out of here, spilling secrets left and right to Muggles, that doesn't mean they'd kill any!'' Harry wasn't so sure about that. Mr Malfoy was the one who had handed Ginny Voldemort's diary, nearly getting her and other blood-traitors and Muggleborns killed. It didn't look like he had many scruples. He tried to get this point across, but his mouth wouldn't function properly and his head was all fuzzy. He saw that Viktor had sprung up, eyes flickering dangerously, most likely because Malfoy was stupid enough to have said 'Mudblood' in front of everyone here. Before things could escalate, he found his tongue again.

''At least the Dark Lord doesn't want to kill Muggleborns,'' Harry finally stated, not seeing the sudden sharp look that Draco threw him. Hermione just giggled.

''Don't say ridiculous things Harry. Of course he does.''

''No he doesn't,'' Harry stubbornly replied. ''Everyone with magic has value to him.''

''Potter, this is a better topic to discuss when you're not hammered.'' The fuzz in Harry's head cleared slightly as the warning tone got through to him. ''Anyways, it won't do to spoil a gathering like this with political differences-''

''The lives of my family are not just a part of your fucking political agenda Malfoy!'' Hermione snarled, held back only by Viktor. ''There's a difference between 'which party wants to cut taxes' and 'which party wants to commit genocide!' No Viktor, I am not going to be silent about this!'' Harry rose to his feet, swaying a bit and approaching Hermione, rather awkwardly trying to hug her despite Viktor having an arm slung around her waist.

''No-one is asking you to, 'Mione,'' he whispered, hugging her tightly as she shook with rage and tears. ''But Malfoy is right in that we're not getting anywhere by drunk shouting. We can talk about it later. Okay?'' Her anger dissipated and he could feel how she nodded against his shoulder. ''I'll always be on your side,'' he promised. It was a vow that he would do everything for to keep, even if that was begging Voldemort to spare her family. He shuddered when a part of the dream he'd forgotten about returned in full, a blackened hand rising from the flames. ''Always,'' he whispered again before releasing her, watching as she wiped away her tears and curled up against Viktor's side, not saying another word.

''Eh ben, 'ow'r you all doeen wizze.. ze.. tasks?'' Lovette suddenly interrupted. She had spoken very little until now, usually whispering to Fleur. Harry could finally understand why: with her accent he could barely understand a word. It was as if she glued them all together. Still, he was glad that she finally spoke about the topic that they'd all been dancing around.

Cedric, always the honest guys sighed loudly and said: ''I'm stumped on it, honestly. No idea how you are all faring, but I have tried everything and not gotten anything sensible out of that egg.'' Viktor and Fleur exchanged short, meaningful glances that told Harry everything he needed to know. They'd both figured out the clue already, perhaps aided by the heads of their schools once again. Damned Dumbledore.

''I haven't gotten very far either,'' Harry admitted, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the walls not moving as much, the more water he drank instead of alcohol. ''Though I found someone who apparently does know more. I'm still working on convincing him that the pride of our school is bigger than pettiness.'' He saw Malfoy stiffen slightly. '''Well, still have another two months, you know? I'm not too worried.''

''I do know what ze Task is,'' Fleur softly spoke, then hesitated. ''But figuring out ze clue is not the most difficult part of it.'' she carded her hand through her hair. ''If either of you still do not know two weeks ahead of ze Task, I will tell you,'' she decided. ''It would be a boring challenge if 'alf of ze Champions cannot even take part.''

Viktor nodded. ''True, I would not hav problems vith that.'' Harry's heart lifted and Cedric also looked incredibly relieved. ''But be varned,'' the Bulgarian continued. ''Two veeks may be too little time to prepare, you should really both try to figure it out yourselves.'' Both Hogwarts Champions nodded, Cedric looking incredibly pleased now. His organising efforts had clearly paid off.

''Thank you, really,'' Harry spoke earnestly. ''I know that neither of you would have to and it would be easier to stay silent especially with two of us being for Hogwarts...''

Fleur waved his thanks away. ''It would be entirely unfair for me to not 'elp at all. We all know now zat at least** you** did not choose for zis. I admit, at ze start I was angry for 'Ogwarts playing unfair... now I see zat you two 'ave it much more difficult than we do.''

''How do you mean that?'' Cedric frowned, still clueless as to the other schools' foul play.

''Never mind that, I'm still grateful,'' Harry quickly spoke, not wanting to disillusion the good-natured boy. Malfoy steered the conversation away again, asking about how everyone lived, possibly wanting see who was rich enough to be on par with House Malfoy. Harry wasn't very interested in it, instead watching Hermione with concern, who did not partake further in the conversation even when Viktor did. It must be difficult to be the only Muggleborn in a room full of people. Harry may have been raised by Muggles and be regarded as a Half-blood despite both of his parents being magicians, he still felt no strong connection with the Muggle world. To him, it had been a place to escape from and he'd found everything he wanted at Hogwarts, overlooking the uglier aspects beneath the glamour of magic. Not Hermione: she did not use her books as an escape from reality as many did, instead researching about topics she could then apply to the real word and support her arguments with. She saw the foul practises, the elitism, the racism, the evil that had dug its claws deep into the Wizarding World and thrived on exploitation. House-elf slavery was only the tip of the iceberg.

What would Voldemort say of all this? Harry was afraid to ask him, knowing that the answer would not be decided by what was 'good' or not, but rather by cold reasoning of what would be better to protect the magical community as a whole. If Voldemort reached the conclusion that there were no negative aspects for magicians in oppressing other races, he wouldn't lift a finger, Harry was absolutely convinced of that. While the Dark Lord's goals were admirable, he was not the right person to look to to end oppression. On the contrary, especially the gap between Purebloods and Muggleborns would widen, not because Voldemort inherently valued them more or thought them more intelligent or powerful, but for the pure logical fact that those who had grown up around magic were better suited to govern their kind than those who'd only come into contact with their society from a later age. Harry himself had had absolutely no clue how wizards actually lived until he'd been at the Burrow and still had a hard time adapting to it. And the Weasleys were people who still tried to adapt to a 'Muggle lifestyle' as much as possible.

He still thought about it after they said their goodbyes to the other Champions, his train of thought only halting for a moment when Draco offered his hand. ''One more chance for the both of us, Potter,'' the boy said in all seriousness. Knowing that it would be stupid not to, Harry confirmed the handshake. ''Give me a week,'' Draco spoke, lowering his voice. ''Then I'll tell you about the egg. If you're going to hear from** them** anyway, I'd rather it be me who aids you.''

''Thanks.''

''I fully expect you to put in a good word for me in time,'' Malfoy smirked. ''Now be off, else I might tell Professor Snape that there are a few Gryffindors out of bed after curfew,'' Smug, he walked away and Harry rolled his eyes, turning to Hermione, who gave him a tight smile.

''I'm not going to ask you what business you have with Malfoy Harry... just please be careful.''

''I told you whose side I'm on. I meant it.''

She gave him a piercing look and finally lowered her chin in acknowledgement. ''Let's return before Filch gets us. It became much later than anticipated.''

''Agreed.'' With many unspoken words between them and the memory of careless, alcohol-induced talk, they climbed the steps up to Gryffindor Tower.


	25. Cwealmdréor

Harry sat next to Malfoy on the frozen grass at the edge of the lake, Harry still in slight shock while the blond leaned back and enjoyed another cigarette. The words of the egg that he'd heard minutes before still echoed in his freezing ears. ''They'll take something from me? And if I don't get it within an hour they'll take it away forever?''

Draco threw him a 'look'. ''Don't be stupid Potter, it's a song. I doubt that they're actually allowed to steal something precious from you, that would go entirely against the law. That line is probably only there to add the sense of time pressure for you and tell you the official time limit for the task. I suppose they'll only dock points if you don't make it within an hour.''

''How come you speak Mermish anyways?''

Draco regarded his cigarette stump with disdain and then lit it on fire with his wand, watching as it burned away completely. ''My family has had ties to the Merfolk ever since the arrival of the first Malfoy in Britain. Armand Malfoy arrived with the Muggle King William the Conqueror in 1066, back when magicians and Muggles occasionally still worked together, certainly in royal families. My ancestor was the King's personal magician and eased the Crossing of the Channel. The first attempt to cross did not go well at all, you see, and many men drowned. Thus, Armand was called and he made a pact with the Merfolk there... they called forth a fog so thick that the ships were impossible to see even on the narrow Channel. In exchange, the Malfoy line was chosen to serve as ambassadors for the Merfolk all around Britain, to protect their waters from the influence and claims of wizards and witches. We've done so ever since, and as ambassadors, all Heirs of the Malfoy line of course must speak their language.''

''I've never heard of this.''

''We don't shout it from the towers, obviously'' Malfoy spoke on a berating tone. ''Having connections with non-humans isn't seen favourably nowadays. Even Dumbledore got shunned for protecting Centaurs and Merpeople here, and he's a light wizard! So, now you know.''

''And it took you a week to tell me to hold my head underwater to listen to this song?'' Harry asked incredulously. Malfoy shot him an annoyed look.

''It took me a week to get everything necessary to teach you how you'll get to the bottom of a lake and stay there for an hour without dying. If you're not interested...?''

''No!'' Harry exclaimed as Malfoy was already in the process of getting to his feet. ''Wait!''

''You'll give me your Firebolt for at least one Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match next year,'' the boy said, smirking. ''Let's see you win without it.''

''Fine,'' Harry agreed, gritting his teeth. Parting with his Firebolt was hard, the thought of** Malfoy **using it almost unbearable, but this was more important.

''Perfect. See? Making deals with me isn't so hard as you think,'' the other smugly commented. ''Now, the only thing that you have to realise is that this will be** dark** magic. Considering your stunt during the last Task I suppose this won't be a problem?''

''No, as long as it's not implausible for me to have found it somewhere myself.''

''I suppose, with enough digging, you could have found mentions of this ritual in the Restricted Section of the library.''

''Would the Blacks have anything that relates to it?''

Malfoy frowned. ''Oh yes, Sirius Black is your godfather right? If he didn't throw much out, then yes.''

''Then let's get started.''

''Mind you Potter, I'm not going to teach you step-by-step. This will make you able to breathe for a while underwater, nothing else. You will have to deal with the problems of the cold, water pressure and darkness yourself. Not to mention whatever creatures are in that lake.''

''No wonder the others said that solving the riddle was only the first step... At least there was nothing mentioned about wands not being allowed.''

''While true, I don't think that most spells work the same underwater. It's sure to affect you. Also, I'll have to warn you: this thing was designed for short meetings with Merfolk. It won't last a few hours. To be on the safe side, I'd say fifty minutes **at most**, meaning that you will definitely have to keep it within the set time limit.'' Harry eyed the book that Malfoy took from his bag with suspicion. None of this sounded very great. Then again, he hadn't heard of any other spell that would make him able to breathe underwater either. It was his best shot. ''We'd better go a bit further away from the castle still,'' the boy suggested. ''I'm sure that our dear Headmaster wouldn't want to see me teaching you this.''

Harry returned to the lake three times a week, always on different days and times to not let his friends notice that he was up to something. It was a carefulness that was probably unnecessary since Ron and Hermione still gave each other the cold shoulder. Harry often went to Hagrid instead, whose house was not that far away from the small stony beach he always practised at now. He hadn't told anyone about the conversation he'd heard between the man and Madame Maxime and didn't plan on changing that. It was quite mortifying to him to have witnessed such a personal scene. Another thing he was glad for was that there had been no further shaming articles published about Harry or people around him since that first one in October. Rumour had it that Rita Skeeter was missing, which Harry was very happy about if he was honest. Meeting her once had been quite enough.

He told both of his friends about the task separately as well, Hermione instantly dragging him to the library and calling Ginny and Dixie to help. Funnily enough, the first thing that was cleared was what Harry didn't need: another way to breath underwater in the form of a Bubblehead Charm that was taught during the sixth year at Beauxbatons. Harry could have slapped himself when she mentioned it: it wasn't the first time he'd heard of the spell, Barty had mentioned it in summer too. It had been the first accidental magic the man had done as a child. Harry still chalked it up as a reserve option as Malfoy had said that **his **method might not last as long as necessary. Thankfully Dixie saw nothing wrong with her option only coming second, telling Harry instantly that she was sure that Fleur would use it, and being original might give more points, although she was a bit too curious about what method he** was** planning on using. Afterwards, they focused on ways to see underwater and to tackle the freezing cold of the lake. Hermione even ordered a book on Muggle free-diving to give useful tips on how to swim and how to cope with pressure. It was a good thing too, he'd never known that rising up too fast from the depths could make his lungs explode.

Ron handled the task entirely differently, practising useful spells with Harry for duelling whatever obstacles might be lurking in the deep waters and trying to find out what could be taken and where it would be taken to. ''There is supposedly a village or something in the lake,'' Ron told him. ''Merfolk are very social creatures, so. You could avoid a lot of trouble by finding the village way before the task starts, so then instead of diving instantly and maybe getting lost, you swim as far as you can above water and then dive. That would enable you to avoid Grindylows and such, which hide in water plants close to the ground like Lupin told us last year, and also give you more time since you can swim way faster when you're still above water.''

He discussed those options with Malfoy later on, who unfortunately did not know the exact location of the village, although he could confirm that it existed. ''I do not recommend swimming above water though,'' the boy dryly spoke. ''Unless you want to suffocate yourself. '' Harry had thought the same. the method he was going to use would leave him unable to breathe air for a while. ''Can I take on other properties too?'' he speculated. ''Like the eyes or so?''

''Maybe, I've never tried. First you still have to get this down,'' the Slytherin remarked. Harry sighed and agreed, starting the ritual once again, washing the blood off his hands ten minutes later in irritation. Another failure. Malfoy wasn't a good teacher. He desperately wished that Barty would speak to him again.

Around the end of January, his friends finally started to talk to each other again, Ron a bit reluctant since Hermione still hung out with Viktor very often, and Hermione with relief that Ron's 'phase' seemed to be over. Harry wondered if he had accidentally prolonged his friends' time of silence by bringing Viktor to search Hermione out after the ball. Perhaps the girl would have shrugged the Bulgarian off as 'just a dance date' if Viktor hadn't ran after her. Now, there seemed to be something **more** blossoming even if she tried to hide it well. The three of them were on their way to Hogsmeade when they saw the Bulgarian swimming in the ice-cold lake, most likely to practise whatever spells he was using for the task, Hermione making a fond comment and Ron looking hopeful that the Champion of Durmstrang would meet his untimely end as the next meal of the Giant Squid.

They escaped the icy wind by diving into the Three Broomsticks as fast as possible, ordering some Butterbeer. Harry had vowed to himself to only stick to that until he was seventeen at least, he'd had a massive hangover the day after the Champion party. Bagman was here too, sitting in a corner surrounded by Goblins, looking as if he was having a hard time. Harry wouldn't have cared much about it if the head of Magical Sports wouldn't have come to Harry himself and requested a conversation in private. Considering the Goblins, Neville might have been right about Bagman having placed a bet on Harry winning. He politely refused, not wanting anyone to think that he could be cheating by interacting with one of the Ministry judges alone. Bagman tried to offer his help nonetheless, only heading off when Hermione loudly asked if he'd also talked to Cedric Diggory.

''I really don't like him,'' Harry muttered to his friends. ''I don't know what his aim is in trying to help me.''

''Yeah, he's also really slimy about it,'' Ron replied. ''Good thing that you've already solved the egg.''

''I still wouldn't have been tempted to accept help from a total stranger, certainly not one who is part of the Ministry.''

They drank out their mugs and left, going from shop to shop to refill their school supplies, sweets and prank items. Afterwards, the three of them spent a nice long afternoon at Hagrids' place. Hagrid finally agreed to listen to Harry's enthusiastic talk about the upcoming task when Harry made clear that he wasn't there to get hints or help, so it was entirely safe for the man. It was absolutely great to see Hagrid beaming with pride and spurring him on to win this Tournament. He promised to do his best and followed up with that by having another practice session with Ron and a swim in the lake to test the warming charms he'd been practising. Until his ritual succeeded, he had no idea how his body would be affected by the water, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

During classes, his attention was waning more than he'd wanted. There were so many factors to take into account when diving into the lake that he spent most hours of his more useless classes -History of Magic and Divination- studying pages on Merfolk culture that Malfoy had recommended he read. Proper etiquette was everything, the Slytherin had said. Harry had to admit that, if he was going to waltz into their village to reclaim whatever treasure had been stolen from him, it would be good to adhere to their rules. -not touching the very bottom of the lake for the ground was where their dead rested, bringing an offering from the land above, not damaging the ecosystem unnecessarily and other snippets of information that he would not have thought of-. That was about the only thing that Malfoy was useful for though, as Harry was getting very fed up with the boy's 'teaching method'.

''Just do it right!'' Malfoy screamed at Harry, who was standing to his stomach in the freezing water with a fish in his hands. ''You're such an idiot!''

''Wow,'' Harry spoke on a bored tone. ''What original insults Malfoy. Did you get that from your dad? Step up your game.'' He let the fish slip back in the water, watching as it splashed away. ''You know, I have to say that this ritual doesn't make much sense. Weren't Merfolk all about 'not damaging any of our plants and animals?'''

''Maybe, but they also like dragging people down and eating them so there's that,'' Malfoy grinned. ''Be careful of their teeth.''

''Great. I'm done here for today, I've got other places to be. You also don't have to come here with me every single time you know? I know I'm irresistible, but get a life Malfoy.'' He ruffled his hair to get the water out and trudged back on land. ''I'll manage.''

''Fine,'' the blond huffed. ''Not sure why I even bothered, you're obviously not up to such advanced magic.'' He stomped away in a very un-Malfoyish manner. Harry thought it was taking a toll on the boy to try and be nice to anyone in his life for once. Good, even Voldemort wouldn't tolerate this kind of behaviour and if Malfoy wanted to have a chance of following in his father's footsteps, he'd better stop with being so childish. Harry sat down on the beach, watching the sun glitter on the water as he let his shorts dry. Only a few weeks left... he wasn't overly worried anymore. Even if this ritual failed -which would be a shame since it was the only dark spell that he currently had in his repertoire for this task- he could always switch to using the Bubblehead charm that Dixie had taught him. It was a bit smaller than it should be, but considering the fact that it was a spell two years above his current level, he was satisfied with the result.

He wondered if Cedric had solved the clue by himself or if he'd gone to Fleur. Unlike last time, he hadn't felt like he had to tell the Hufflepuff of his own findings, knowing that Cedric wouldn't be left in the dark either way. He hadn't met with the other Champions an awful lot anymore, with the exception of Viktor, who often accompanied Hermione. He raked his hands through the wet pebbles, liking the sound of the small stones clicking against each other.

''You're relaxing a lot more than you ought to.'' Harry whirled around at the rough voice, not knowing how to react when he saw Barty standing behind him, leaning on his heavy walking stick. ''No need to get up,'' the man spoke, shuffling closer. ''So, things are going well?''

''Mostly,'' Harry curtly said, picking up a stone and skipping it across the surface of the water. ''I found out what the task is and two different ways to breathe underwater, one of which would suit His purposes better. Unluckily, Malfoy is a shit teacher and I cannot seem to grasp the right moment in which to use my magic for it to succeed.''

Barty remained silent for a very long time before he finally spoke again. ''I've missed you kid. I'm sorry for blowing up at you. I made myself guilty of exactly what I despise in others, completely forgetting about the part where nothing in this war was or should be on your shoulders until you grow older and actively decide to. Forcing you to prove yourself in this tournament... perhaps I should have tried to change His mind about it.''

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists. He'd had such a great angry speech prepared for when Barty would come back, and now the man had taken away all incentive to deliver it with his apology. ''All good,'' Harry softly said instead. ''I've come to terms with it. And what better way to prove that I** am** capable? I'm in the middle of this, whether I want to be or not. Even if He would tell me I could move to a sunny island and live out the rest of my life there, Dumbledore sure as hell isn't going to let me, nor will the rest of the Wizarding World if word ever spreads that He is back... And word will spread eventually. I'm not the only person who can slip up, nor is Dumbledore blind.'' He moved to make room for Barty, who had trouble sitting down due to his wooden leg. ''Promise me that we'll have a snowball fight next year and I'll forgive you,'' Harry smiled.

''Promise. Even if that means I'll have to kidnap you from Hogwarts and have a one-on-one battle under our Lord's nose.'' Harry laughed out loud at that. ''And before you ask, I managed to cover for your slip-up at Yule. Karkaroff forgot those last few lines you've said and is back on guard like before, hoping against his better judgement that the Dark Lord will never return. We'll see how long it lasts until he gets information from other sources.''

''And Snape?''

''He doesn't believe a word about you being intelligent or powerful enough to do anything by yourself, least of all aid your supposed enemies without Dumbledore noticing. I'll still keep an eye on him during the school year though. Speaking of Yule, here, your very late present.'' Interested, Harry took the package that Barty had just dug up out of his pocket. ''I cannot always be here with you, when the school year ends I'll have to go. This ensures that you can still ask for my help, I've enjoyed teaching you and would like to continue doing so.'' Harry unwrapped the cloth to reveal a small hand mirror. ''Two-way mirrors. I have the other half of the pair. If you ever want to see me, just call my name and my mirror will flash to signal me.''

''That... wow, thank you. I hadn't even thought of that you wouldn't be staying at Hogwarts forever.''

''The job is cursed,'' Barty shrugged. ''That's a fact, not merely a rumour. If I wouldn't have told Dumbledore that I'd only be staying for a year up front, who knows what would happen at the end of the school year. I'm surprised that the Headmaster never tried to rebrand the course to erase the problem.''

''Would that work?''

''It looks to me as if a mixture of the taboo curse, a fate ring and identifying spells are in play, so yes, the most obvious way to get out of it would be to erase the subject and create a new, similar one. I don't think Dumbledore ever tried.''

''Strange, one would think that he'd get tired of hiring different teachers every year.''

''Perhaps. Then again, I've heard rumours in the staff room that at least on several occasions, the curse was used to get rid of certain individuals. McGonagall still swears by that Dumbledore knew that this Lockhart fellow was a fraud and only gave him the position to reveal his true nature, which happened.''

''It doesn't make sense though, why would he have hired professor Lupin then?'' Harry wondered aloud.

''Oh, what could possibly be the reason for Dumbledore trying to get rid of a werewolf that was close to the person who had just broken out of Azkaban, who was in Azkaban in the first place partially due to Dumbledore?'' Barty snorted. ''It wasn't a coincidence that Lupin was hired right after news of Black's escape leaked. Sure, he may have sold it to the man as a way to keep safe from a murderer, but then why put him in a teaching position that is sure to enable him only a single year of protection with a possibly deadly end? As I recall from the review, Lupin mainly focused on creatures, being highly specialised in that. Did the job for Care of Magical Creatures not also open up that year? Would Lupin not have been far better suited for that than Hagrid?'' Harry stayed silent. He'd never thought about any of those things. If it had really been Dumbledore's intention to get rid of the one person who could believe in and perhaps prove Sirius' innocence, then the man was one hell of a slick manipulator.

''And what about Moody himself then? I've heard that he has been old friends with Dumbledore.''

''He's become more paranoid over the years, often causing trouble that the Headmaster had to get him out of. I figure that Moody was becoming too much of a risky factor to keep running about. Of course, as I said, I can hopefully avoid any negative consequences since I said from the start that I wouldn't be staying.''

''And if not?'' Harry asked with worry. Barty grinned and ruffled his hair.

''No worries about that kid, I'll do anything for our cause.''

''That is exactly what worries me!'' he got up, upset at even the thought of something happening to the Death Eater. ''Whatever happens, you just promised me that we'd have a snowball fight next year so that means you'll have to live beyond summer and be in good shape, okay?'' Harry didn't care how childish that sounded, he couldn't lose Barty.

The man let out a rumbling laugh. ''Alright kid. Now how about you show me what Malfoy was trying to get through your thick skull and I see if I'll do a better job at teaching it to you?''

* * *

The crowd roared as Harry ran along the edge of the glistening lake, towards the large grandstands that, rose upwards on the other side like colourful towers. How could he have overslept on a day like this? And why hadn't Ron woken him up? He finally arrived, tongue on his heels, trying to get some air. Percy threw him a scornful look for being late, and Ludo Bagman of all people tried to save the situation. Harry quickly took his place among the other Champions, who were all already shivering on the beach. He couldn't see either Ron or Hermione anywhere, which was slightly disheartening. Only at this very moment did Harry realise that he'd forgotten entirely to figure out what he would actually need to find. Before panic could take over, he focused on stripping down to his swimming trunks and then waited, feet digging into the unpleasantly cold, wet sand, sharp pieces of stone cutting into skin and grains of sand wedging their way in between his toes.

''The Champions have one hour to find what was taken from them!'' Bagman shouted, apparently not willing to make it any easier. ''On your marks. One. Two, Three!'' The three other Champions dove in to the lake and started swimming. Harry only waded into the water part of the way and drew his wand, first casting warming charms and then pointing it at the surface. ''_**Accio Perch**_!'' he shouted. In his past visits to the lake, Harry had become rather good at catching fish. He knew now which species were most abundant and where their favourite spots were. The bright red fins lit up in the sunlight as a fish shot out of the water and landed in Harry's hand, scales gleaming in the sun. After getting used to it, holding a slippery fish bare-handed wasn't that different from catching a struggling snitch at the speed of a hundred miles per hour. The crowd in front of him murmured as he trudged back up to the beach, grasping the fish tightly still in one hand as he started drawing a circle of laguz runes in the rough sand.

It was a strange sensation, Harry found. During practise, he'd done this a dozen times already, yet now that he had hundreds of eyes on him, he was aware of how severe of a taboo he was breaking. Sweat broke out on his back, as he was fully aware of the backlash this would bring. With the last Task he had been subtle, yet still not subtle enough for Dumbledore. This was on a whole different level that had made Harry wonder if Voldemort would even agree to how openly he practised dark magic. Barty, of course, loved it. With a quick slash, Harry cut open the fish from head to tail, its blood instantly being sucked up by ground, forming large blooms on the sand. He could hear gasps, cries of outrage, then a pressing silence. Hypocrisy, the boy decided. How many dead animals did each of them have to use every day when brewing potions? How many people had wished for Hagrid's monstrous creatures to be killed? How many more did they eat?

Harry considered himself to be a compassionate person. He still could not find it within himself to feel very bad for the perch in front of him. Ever since Aunt Petunia had brought him a bucket with live fish for Harry to freshly prepare for one of her fancy dinner parties, he'd seen the animals as little but food. And whether one killed for food, or killed to practise magic wasn't so different... though he would still draw the line at animals that he otherwise also would not eat. He wished to look up, to see what face Malfoy was making now, whom Harry had entirely replaced as a teacher with Barty. Perhaps unfair to the Slytherin... well, he shouldn't have been so abhorrent at teaching then.

_**'' Thes cwealmdréor, **__**eftfléwende ionna **__**waeter.''**_His voice carried far, rolling over the lake, each syllable pronounced with the perfection that Barty had drilled into him. Words from a thousand years ago, the first line in Anglo-Saxon that had been given to Armand Malfoy by the merfolk to complete their contract, sung by those few who had mastered the human tongue. Bloodied hands were withdrawn from the corpse and lifted to his face, the sharp tang of the liquid filling his nose as Harry smeared it over his cheeks and neck. It was oddly warm for having come from a cold-blooded creature. Perhaps it was due to the icy February wind being even worse, which now picked up, chilling him to the bone despite his warming charms. Turning to the water again, he spoke the second line, in Latin this time, a sign of two cultures that had mixed for the first time in history. ''_**Mutatio to huius animalis corporis.''**_

The surreal experience started as quickly as always. Vivid shades bloomed in a world that turned hostile. Water embraced newly formed skin, enclosing over the strange creature it had greeted so often in the past weeks, sleek scales covering and replacing skin. The current was palpable in a way no human could ever have imagined as Harry shot through the water, his fresh shimmering armour sparkling as he glided just below the surface. Everything here was astonishing, from the spectrum of new colours that was now visible, to the way he could see an entirely different kind of earth unfold beneath him. Harry was flying without needing a Firebolt, without feeling the cold anymore, propelling himself forward with such speed and freedom that bubbles of laughter escaped from his mouth. The leftover oxygen was rendered superfluous due to his newly acquired gills.

As hard as it was to control the excitement rushing through his veins, Harry managed to calm down after a few wasted minutes. There wasn't enough time to play around, not now. Thus, he began to head into the direction where he knew the village should be roughly located. It was still very much guesswork, as many spells, including this one, became useless underwater in the first place. Since the Black Lake was, well, a lake, there wasn't an incredibly strong movement in the water, but there still were currents caused by deep springs and several brooks that flooded to and from it. That, combined with the increased pressure and heaviness of the water, ensured that his wand didn't move one bit when asked to spin around. Instead, he'd used a skill called 'triangulation' that Ron had heard of from Charlie and which was used to find the location of missing dragons. He'd gone to several spots all across the lake and used the spell to point his wand into the direction of the village every time, drawing up a map to find out where the points crossed. Combined with a new friend that Harry had found while being a fish - a sense of direction -, he hoped that he'd be able to find what he was looking for in the short amount of time he had before he'd need to resurface.

It had been a good decision to keep swimming close to the surface. He came across no trouble at all. No monsters that could drag him into the weeds, no ambushes as he swam in an open space with clear visibility, and also no other Champions. This might well be the easiest Task yet, Harry decided. Grinning, he started diving when he thought to have arrived at the correct location. Having never tested out the result of Malfoy's ritual to its fullest extent, Harry was surprised by just how deep the waters were. There seemed to be no end to the pit that he sank deeper into...

A movement below caught his eye. Had that rock just moved? And the one next to it? Hesitantly, Harry halted, knowing full well that he could not afford to lose much time. Still, he spread his arms, the bright red fins and webs between his fingers that he'd stolen from the perch stopping his descend. It was a good thing too, for the next moment, Harry witnessed the entire ground move. It rose up in waves, stones tumbling over each other, sand being thrown around and drifting up into the water. Harry gripped his wand tightly and positioned himself so that he could still decide between attacking and fleeing. If he could have accidentally swallowed water, that certainly would have happened when the teen finally realised just what was happening. Ever so slowly, a part of the bottom of the lake shifted and unfurled, revealing to be a very muddy tentacle of such a size that Harry wouldn't be shocked if it could encase the entirety of Gryffindor Tower. He was atop the Giant Squid.

This was not a situation that he was very prepared for. Ron had practised spells with him against smaller, aggressive targets, instantly ruling out the Squid as a threat as it did not attack humans. The only problem was that Harry wasn't fully human anymore. Harry ducked under a tentacle that was swung his way, realising that he knew little to nothing about Squids. Where was its mouth? how many arms did it have? What was its preferred food?

He had not expected to get an answer on all three of those questions at once, but luck was always a fickle thing when it came to him. The squid positioned itself so that the teen stared right into its sharp opened beak that sat in the middle of its eight arms that attempted to cage him, while two much longer tentacles with barbs at the end blocked the way behind. With horror, Harry watched the rows and rows of moving suckers come closer, trying to keep him in place, a silver confinement of doom. The only thing he could do was trying to slip through the opening in between the arms and trying to blast his way out when they closed too tightly. His explosion turned into a jet of boiling water, which still fulfilled its intended purpose, but also hurt Harry himself when he was forced to swim through it to escape. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he rocketed away as fast as he could, not caring about exhaustion. Ending up as a squid meal was not a way in which he'd like to leave this earth. The massive beast behind him cried, and the noise sounded as if it came straight from hell, more terrifying than a banshee and certainly louder than the wailing that had come from the egg. Harry had never heard it make any noise before apart from a couple of blubbers in the water as it begged for food from students. This, this sounded as if it didn't belong on this earth. Nothing in existence could possibly produce such a howl. Terror overwhelmed the teen, who froze as he watched the arms flail about as the squid distanced itself, swallowed up by the muddy waters.

From that moment, Harry flinched at any shadow, afraid of that it would be another tentacle trying to grab onto his tail. A curl of kelp burned under his wand the instant it drifted too close, the touch reminding him too much of the monsters that lurked in these waters. The stunning habitat had turned ugly as soon as Harry's illusionary bubble of safety had burst. When the rocks finally turned into something more than mere pieces of stone and singing became audible, Harry had to hold himself back from attacking all that moved. Fish flashed around here, possibly seeking the protection of the inhabitants of the Merfolk's village. Harry found that the shaggy buildings looked more like temporary nests than anything else, gigantic rocks having been hollowed out here and there, the natural shape of the stone kept intact. The only sign of intelligent design were the gardens, plants flowering further below the surface than actually possible, kept upright with the aid of sticks, low driftwood fences showing what belonged together. He tried to calm himself down, tried to not think of the fact that he had only completed half of the journey and chances of running into** that** again were very present. Swimming over to a rather flat stone, he reached into the sides of his swimming trunks and pulled out his gift from 'the world above' as was proper: a small crystal ball that he'd only used once for Divination before he'd decided that he never would have the Seeing eye and only made up his visions from that point onwards whenever required for homework.

''_An hour long you'll have to look...'' _

And how much of that hour had passed now? He'd lost count of his precious minutes... A shiver went down his spine as he swam past a large rock with carvings of the Giant Squid, hunted by Merpeople. At least they had one common enemy now... Wary eyes followed him from cavities in the rocks. With thudding heart, he came ever closer to the centre of the unexpectedly large village, more and more Merpeople daring to venture out. All of Harry's illusions of pretty mermaids as seen in Muggle fairytale books at his elementary school had already been disillusioned by both Malfoy and Barty, but mere descriptions could not have prepared him for the alien sight in front of him. Harry could see why the creatures would have protested the Ministry's description of them being 'humanoid'. They might have heads, a torso and arms, to call them human in any form was too much of a stretch to be believable. Their skin had sickly grey, green and yellowish tints that blended in with the algae and aquatic mosses that covered their homes, their faces resembled that of a fish far more and their hands were as webbed as Harry's in the teen's current state.

Large, opened eyes and grinning mouths with spiky teeth followed his every move as he finally reached where he'd been led to: a chorus of armed Merpeople swimming around a gigantic statue of one of their kind, people tied around its tail. So this was why neither Ron nor Hermione had been cheering him on: both were part of the event. So was Cedric's girlfriend, and a little girl that could be none but Fleur's little sister Gabrielle about whom she'd talked at a few points during the after-Yule party. What were the requirements for the people they had picked, Harry wondered. The song had spoken of something precious, and he could certainly see why Ron had been chosen for him if that was the case, but he was confused about the rest. Viktor and Cedric had both not been together with their new crushes for very long, it would be strange if a truly deep bond could have developed. On the other hand, Fleur had friends here as well like Lovette, and was generally liked by those who weren't busy being jealous, so if only a shallow bond was required, surely they could have picked someone else than her sister? He concluded that either Viktor and Cedric had fallen harder for their girlfriends than Harry could imagine, or Fleur had a very lonely life indeed that the only person she could truly care about was her sister. Had they had to get the girl all the way from France since not even Fleur's best friends turned out to be important to her?

Harry stared at Gabrielle's sleeping, angelic face, the water turning her skin a pearly white that didn't look healthy. Bubbles trickled from her mouth, few and far between. Harry's hands trembled as he reached out, hissing as a sharp spear prodded in his side. _''Not yours!''_ A single bubble drifted past the girl's bluish lips again, and Harry became frantic, not knowing what to do. He'd finally read about Veela in order to find more about Fleur. They were a type of shape-shifting nymph that could live on both land and water, preferring deep lakes and streams. Like most magical creatures, spells on them did not always work the same as on humans either. And while instincts would pull them to water, partial-Veela like Fleur and Gabrielle were not able to breathe anything else than air.

As fast as he could, Harry went to Ron and used his wand to try and cut the slippery ropes of kelp. The Merfolk would surely hinder him if he tried to free Gabrielle, so he needed to ensure that his 'own' person was freed first. He cursed as his cutting spell didn't come as easy in this environment, though knew better than to try and touch anything on the ground, no matter how tempting that sharp-edged stone below him looked. After another few minutes, Ron finally was free, and Harry ensured that the sleeping redhead would not drift away by keeping a firm grip on the end of the ropes. As he turned to Gabrielle again, he saw that her eyelids were already fluttering dangerously. He frantically looked around, having no idea what was taking the others so long. Sure, he was fast in his current form, much faster than they would be if they really did only rely on a bubble-head charm and swam with their normal bodies. Looking back, he checked on Cho and Hermione. This was a task, he tried to tell himself. Only a test for all of them, there was no way that these people would be left here as prisoners of the Merfolk. Malfoy's words: _''Don't be stupid Potter, it's a song_'', rang clearly through his mind. That was only his rational side however, his emotions went wild as he saw pictures in his mind of a dead, drowned Hermione, Ron screaming at Harry for not saving her when he had the chance.

Was it possible to hyperventilate with gills? Harry's vision got darker, almost as if he had a tunnel-view, and he felt a sharp sting in his lungs. He needed to calm down, look at Gabrielle again, perhaps wait here for the other Champions and debate what to do...

_''Your time is almost gone_'' the choir sang, and Harry's heart sank. He hadn't been able to keep track of time anymore at all. This had not been planned... the ritual had taking ten minutes tops, so he'd spent perhaps half an hour already in his current form? Or forty minutes? This was bad, very bad. Why had he always broken off the spell soon after succeeding it? Why had he not listened to Barty's advise of trying to see how long it would last exactly instead of being afraid of being seen? Malfoy had said something about fifty minutes though, hadn't he? So Harry** should** still have a bit of time. A second sting in his chest followed that told the teen otherwise. Water rushed through his gills once more before he was left in pitch-black water that turned so cold that it nearly paralysed him, with nothing to breathe.

Something large swam past Harry, something that he couldn't properly see now. Not in this light, certainly not without his glasses. He struggled to lift his wand to his face now his body had lost its webbing and tail, making all of his movements sluggish, the unbearable pressure of the water also working against him. ''_**Sanu**_..._**spirant**_...'' he managed to blubber out, desperately hoping that he wasn't wasting his last bit of oxygen on this. In the next moment, his lungs filled with gorgeous air as the bubble-head charm enclosed over his face. Or well... better said, a tiny bubble barely covered his lips. The charm, which was understandably only taught to sixth years, was incredibly difficult to manage and unfortunately not one that Harry could miraculously perform well like the Patronus Charm. He'd managed a much better one before, easing his worries... perhaps he should have practised more. Now, under water and under pressure -both literally and figuratively- his previous results appeared laughably unmanageable. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he had to admit that his current bubble did not hold enough air to last for the trip back. Attempting the charm again was also out if he wished to bring both Ron and Gabrielle to safety, leaving no room for holding his wand anymore. He would need to strap it to his arm while keeping the tip lit to see anything.

Commotion sounded in the direction of the statue and Harry lit up his wand with a Lumos, which worked surprisingly well. It only held three people now: The shape he'd seen before must have been Viktor, for Hermione's place was empty. Harry had far more pressing matters however, for Gabrielle was awake and struggling, eyes opened wide in blind panic. Racing towards her, he conjured a bubble over her face as well, momentarily being shrouded in darkness again. He wished to speak to her, to calm her down somehow as soon as he could see her again, but no regular words left his lips despite the bubble. The Merfolk, possibly scared of the spells on Gabrielle failing, did not stop him this time as he loosened her ropes, several scaly hands even joining in to untangle the thick, slimy plants.

Another shape appeared now. Cedric. Harry sighed in relief and waited, realising far too late - after Cho had been cut loose and Cedric was already turning around to leave, that the older boy of course couldn't see much either and Harry's wildly waving wand wasn't helping much. Thus, he completely missed his opportunity, even as his bubble rapidly dwindled. Finally, Gabrielle was loose and Harry started dragging the both of them behind him, struggling to swim upwards now he no longer had a tail and was weighed down by two bodies, one of whom was awake, panicking and clearly not able to swim, clinging onto the ropes. Harry felt tears of frustration welling up in his eyes -having had no idea that such a thing was even possible underwater-. He ignored the Merfolk, who were swimming with them now, watching passively as he cried out and dragged the ropes, knowing very well that he would never make it to the surface in time.

Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, he stilled and turned to face the nearest creature, gazing into the staring, glazed-over eyes. He hooked his legs around the ropes to have his hands free, shot a mental prayer out to everything that was holy and moved his hands so that his left one was flat and his right on top of that with a thumb stuck in the air, which he then slowly moved to his chest, only to move it to his chin and away from him in a sharp motion with open hand. One long moment, all of them stilled, as if he was suddenly drifting amidst a school of fish that had frozen over and were stuck in invisible ice. Then, they burst apart in excitement, one grabbing the kelp ropes and another taking hold of Harry's torso. A necklace of plants and engraved teeth was thrown over his head. Harry closed his eyes as he felt water enter his mouth again in the same moment that they started to move, propelling him towards the surface. Shouldn't his lungs explode by now?

He came to on the beach, surrounded by concerned faces. Groaning, he tried to sit up but was pushed down again. Garbled screeching was to be heard and Harry turned his head, only to see three different Merpeople lying in the water close to him, Dumbledore kneeling next to one who looked like their leader, a female who was adorned with many more decorations than any he'd seen before. Turning his head once more to search for Ron and Gabrielle, the first person in view was actually Malfoy, who was listening in on Dumbledore's conversation with open interest. Really, trying to be a little less obvious would do some good... Not that Harry was one to talk. The sand was still red with blood from his ritual.

He barely noticed anything that happened after, as he was rushed into the medical tent. He vaguely heard something about Fleur being disqualified. Madame Pomfrey rushed about while Harry had the feeling that he was sinking in and out of consciousness, barely able to lift his head and think, every single sound reaching his brain as if through a filter, slower and slower until he sank into a much deeper state of drowsiness, where even the memories of the wailing Squid couldn't haunt his ears anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my Bèta was wondering: The thing with the background story of the Malfoy family is half canon, half tumblr headcanons. Armand Malfoy did indeed arrive in Britain with William the Conqueror, but their connections with Merfolk isn't canon anywhere.
> 
> About Fleur's sister: I know that this isn't a Veela trait in canon, but since Veela come from the slavic Vila, which are water spirits and also live in water, I thought it would make sense for her as a Part-Veela to have some problems.
> 
> As for the ritual: Thes cwealmdréor, eftfléwende ionna waeter, Mutatio to huius animalis corporis means something along the lines of 'This blood shed in death, flowing back within water, change into this animal's body.'. Forgive me for any mistakes, I speak neither Anglo-Saxon nor Latin and this was the result of spitting through online dictionaries and grammar explanations for a couple of hours.


	26. White Lies

_Bubbles escaped his lips and drifted towards the surface far above, gleaming in the light of the sun that reached even these depths. Harry breathed out again as he rested his head on the bottom of the lake, tiny plants tickling his skin. How long would it take for Voldemort to arrive, he wondered. For it was certain that this was a shared dream, he would not be so aware of himself dreaming otherwise, not without waking._

_It had to be his own dream, he decided. He'd started noticing the subtle differences between his own mind and Voldemort's: his consisted of vast spaces that were clear where he stood and faded into distant shapes the further one got from the centre, whereas Voldemort usually had them confined in a specific spot that was entirely detailed, such as closed rooms or a forest clearing with such thick vegetation around that Harry knew that he could never go past it without falling into a void. Another giveaway were the senses: in his own, there were barely any sounds apart from their own voices, as opposed to the Dark Lord's, where smell was absent._

_~A peculiar place of meeting,~ he heard. ~Was one trip not enough for you?~_

_Harry sat up slowly, noticing the other at last, sitting on a throne-shaped rock that was overgrown with colourful, slowly waving aquatic plants. Had Harry placed that there or could the man influence the shape of Harry's dreams now? The water gave Voldemort's skin an oddly blue tint, and made his many-layered robes drift to all sides, making the man look much larger than he really was. It looked... highly disturbing. ~I don't know why we're here,~ Harry freely admitted. ~I only recall falling asleep in the medical tent... that was in the morning though.~_

_~It still is morning,~ the Dark Lord clarified. ~You called out to me from your dream, which is why I decided to pay a visit like this.~ _

_Harry blinked. He'd... called out? To_ _ ** Voldemort** _ _? ~That... was not on purpose.~_

_~Well, it was not_ _ ** you** _ _, technically, instead the piece of my own soul reaching out. It does still have a certain consciousness. You suffered from brain damage.~_

_~Tell me something new,~ Harry scoffed, trying to stand up now._

_~It's not a laughing matter. Tell me what happened.~_

_Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts, then gave a brief summary of how he'd fared during the Task, starting from the first ritual and ending with his last encounter with the Merfolk. When done, he was glad to see that the Dark Lord showed no sign of disappointment or anger. _

_~So you used Draco Malfoy to divulge his family secrets... rather unexpected. And, I assume, he was also the one to inform you of that the Slytherins communicate with the Merfolk here using sign language?~_

_Harry nodded. ~He tried to teach me a bit of Mermish but I was absolutely rubbish at it, so he showed me a few signs that could be useful. I thought that being able to communicate even a bit could help. It was a surprise that it's a common thing the Slytherins do.~_

_~It's a tradition that started about two centuries ago by a deaf student, who was not yet allowed to use sign language in class. To still practise, she befriended the Merfolk, who often drift by the windows of the common room, and slowly they caught onto the signs. Being ambassadors to the Merpeople, the Malfoys who were at Hogwarts at that time picked up on it and endorsed it then, since it was far easier to communicate from the comforts of the common room than to go out to the lake each time to speak. I've witnessed many conversations between them and Abraxas when I went to Hogwarts myself. Not that I ever actively participated.~_

_~Why not?~_

_~Already having ideas of a revolution back then, I didn't think that the Merfolk of all people would be among my chosen allies. They are confined by the bodies of water they live in, and this group in particular is very loyal to Albus Dumbledore. They even were when the man wasn't Headmaster yet. Thus, I found it to be a waste of my energy. I kept myself busy with other projects...~_

_~Such as?~ Harry asked curiously. _

_Red eyes gave him a calculated look that was too unsettling to not dread the answer._

_~Such as trying to see how many times a human can disappear from the face of this world without consequences. Or testing out which poisons have what effects exactly, since all we learnt about that in Hogwarts was theory. Or seeing for myself where the pain limit of the human mind lies... I possibly killed more people in my last year at Hogwarts than I did in any year after. It wasn't very difficult, with people panicking about Grindelwald, even up in Hogwarts.~ Harry looked at the other with wariness, only receiving an eerie smile. ~Ah, nostalgia... the world is not that simple anymore. I have to fulfil those desires mostly with Muggles now.~_

_It was hard to find any kind of appropriate answer to that, Harry found. He was in no position to berate a Dark Lord on his urge to murder, nor would a conversation about the worth of Muggles bring him further again. And unfortunately, Harry was too far into this now to pull back and wipe his hands clean, nor did he truly want to. He was torn between wanting to help magic, and following his own views of right and wrong. It was difficult to explain, even to himself. Everything he'd seen in Voldemort's mind screamed at him to help the man, the only person who could improve the world for their kind, the man who had been chosen by Magic for this purpose. On the other hand, how could he silently stand next to someone whose greatest enjoyment seemed to be watching the life be drained from another beings' eyes? Why could Magic not have chosen another?_

_Harry was shocked out of his musings when freezing fingers tightly gripped his chin and forced him to look up into blazing eyes. ~It's a bit late to have second thoughts now,_ _ ** Harry** _ _.~_

_~This summer... life with you can be so absurd,~ the teen suddenly noted, trying to ignore the nails digging into his skin. His Lord didn't react at first, watching him in silence for a good while._

_~How so?~ the man finally asked _

_~You can't tell me that it is normal to one day explore magical theories, the next to fight over the ethics of killing Muggles and the day after to read a book in all peace as if nothing has ever happened.~_

_~I fail to see why not.~_

_~Well, you know... I always thought that doing... doing illegal things and hurting others would define one's character more. Maybe it is silly, or I read too much, I don't know... But you know how murderers and thieves are usually portrayed as only doing that one thing?~_

_~That really is a surprisingly childish view,'' his Lord said with a slight smirk. ''People are not one-dimensional characters who are defined by the last impacting action they took. Murderers do not suddenly lose the ability to enjoy a good meal, to relax in the evening or to take care of pets or other people. Of course, some people might think that we would lose the_ _ ** right** _ _ for those things, but that is a whole ethical debate I won't touch upon now. Look at Barty, for example. The experiences he had before becoming a Death Eater, his whole childhood and character that formed then, did not suddenly disappear from his mind. The training I gave him does not consume Barty's whole thoughts nor does it make him unable to take pleasure in the small things in life. Take a look at yourself too. I know you may not consider yourself a murderer since you only killed on accident... and yet that is the exact point I am trying to make. You did kill Quirinius. Did it change who you were? No, not in the slightest. So try not to worry too much about any of that and move forward.~_

_Harry sat in shocked silence for a while as the knowledge dawned on him that it was true. He was already a murderer too... Somehow, this underwater dream state softened the impact of this knowledge to such an extent that he was able to brush it off in a way that would never have been possible otherwise. He sincerely hoped that he'd forget this particular piece of info. ~No wonder you got so many people over to your side,~ Harry grumbled. ~You certainly have a way with words.~ He was released again and Voldemort sat back down on his throne while Harry grabbed onto a nearby plant to not drift upwards at the sudden movement._

_~Indeed. Now, time is running short again, you will have to wake up soon. I hope you are prepared to face Dumbledore. The man has been meddling quite a bit again to my knowledge. It appears that your godfather returning to his old home was Dumbledore's doing. I had not expected Black to ever set foot in there again, it must have taken quite an argument to convince him, which is worrisome. The Black home is one of the most well-protected properties in the country, so Dumbledore must have ulterior motives with that building. That also raises the problem of your request... Should Black invite you to spend the coming summer with him, it would be suspicious if you declined, and you already are on thin ice with Dumbledore now, I'm sure. Barty informed me of how wary the old fool was after the first Task, and you using a Rite of Weaving will certainly not sit well with him either.~ Harry wanted to ask about the name, then had second thoughts. He would not remember most of this anyways, he might as well ask Malfoy. He hoped the blond could tell him more though, Malfoy had never mentioned this ritual to have any particular name. _

_~I'll try to come up with believable excuses for both Sirius and Dumbledore,~ he promised, surprised at the news of Sirius. During their last conversation at the burrow, the man had made it quite clear that he didn't want to return to his ancestral home._

_~Let us hope that your creativity in lies improved over time then.~_

_~Never going to let me live down 'Harrison Black', are you?~ Harry glared when Voldemort merely upturned his lips. ~At least I didn't spend hours trying to find an anagram that didn't sound entirely ridiculous!~ Eyes flashed up dangerously, which Harry ignored, feeling defensive. Considering that this was_ _ ** his** _ _ dream, he should be relatively safe. ~And you didn't even completely succeed, I found out through Dixie that 'Voldemort' isn't even grammatically correct.'' His smirk froze as the Dark Lord was suddenly in front of him again, ever so slowly and deliberately closing a hand around Harry's throat and squeezing until it was incredibly uncomfortable. His face was a blank mask, which was possibly even worse than if Harry had managed to get him furious. His heart drummed in his ears as he realised just what he had said and to whom. He struggled to breathe -strange, considering that they were first of all submerged and secondly all of this was a mere image of his sleeping mind-._

_~I think,~ Voldemort whispered, leaning forward so his lips were almost brushing the shell of Harry's ear. ~That you have gotten the wrong impression here. I do not enter your dreams as a form of entertainment for you.~ There was a slight tremble in his words that spoke volumes of the amount of tightly strung control the Dark Lord was currently exercising. ~Let me make this_ _ ** abundantly** _ _ clear. I am the most powerful sorcerer in the part of the world assigned to me, perhaps the most powerful being that_ _ ** you** _ _ will ever have the privilege of encountering, and I will not have you_ _ ** belittle** _ _ me. You being the vessel of my soul does not exempt you of the same basic courtesy that all my followers show me, nor will it stop me from punishing you as I see fit should you fail to meet those standards. So if you wish to retain the position I bestowed upon you and leave our compromise intact, you shall behave accordingly. Else, you might find yourself in a rather... unfortunate position. Understood?~ _

_Harry swallowed thickly and nodded as well as he could with his neck still in an iron grip. ~Yes,~ he rasped out._

_~Good.~ Sharp nails were pressed into the skin of his neck in warning for a few seconds before he was released. The Dark Lord did not move away, mouth still at the teen's ear. ~I realise that sharing dreams might have given you the incorrect impression of that we are equals in some way and that formalities do not matter. Or perhaps, we shall chalk it up this once to you not being apt enough yet to filter your mouth when required. Should there be a next time in which you find it necessary to utter unwanted critique that is not relevant to any situations I have asked your opinion on, you will find yourself on the wrong end of my wand.~ Finally, Voldemort moved away, his gaze narrowed at Harry's face. ~Wake, now.~_

Harry gasped as he was forced out of his own dream, harshly woken up by the foreign presence that threw him out of his own mind with ease. Pomfrey rushed over instantly, unwanted attention that Harry could not use right now as he grasped his dizzy head with sweating hands. That had been... different. If there was one thing that Harry absolutely hated about Voldemort, it was that the Dark Lord was so unpredictable. One minute he would be talking of leniency and tell stories, the next he was threatening.

''Mr Potter! I had already wondered when you would wake. You were... hissing.''

_Again_?

He muttered something about nightmares, really not feeling up to trying to find a different explanation. It was really a pain that he was a sleep-talker. At least in the dorms he had silencing spells now to keep the other boys from waking up. He closed his eyes again as she checked on him, noting that he had a heightened pulse. Not exactly surprising information, considering that the most dangerous man on earth -in Harry's humble opinion- had just had him in a chokehold, speaking of threats that were left to his imagination if he stepped out of line again. At the very least, Harry reassured himself, it would be much easier when he would meet Voldemort in person again, for the sheer magic that hung around the man like a suffocating cloud was enough to bring him to his knees without a word of protest. Even the memory of it gave him pleasant goose bumps. Maybe that was why it was so much easier to defy the Dark Lord in his dreams: every scrap of the magical power he normally wore was gone in there, and words alone had never been the way to impress Harry.

''What happened to me?'' he asked after struggling for a moment to not slip automatically into Parsel.

''What did you do to yourself, you mean,'' the nurse scowled. ''Your half-transformation or whatever it was, failed at the bottom of the lake, putting intense strain on your body. Then, the oxygen in the Bubblehead Charm that you produced wasn't nearly enough, so while you were being dragged upwards by the Merpeople, you managed to get water in your lungs and fainted. Their amulet,'' she pointed at his chest, where the necklace he'd been given still hung, now looking rather sad as the plants had dried and shrivelled up, covering the snake fang beneath it, ''saved your lungs from the normal effects of being exposed to rapidly declining water pressure, thank Merlin. Why did you wait so long? I've heard you were the first to arrive at the hostages.''

''I saw that one of them was in danger,'' Harry commented. ''Fleur's sister was waking up, I had to make sure that either Fleur still got there in time or bring her up myself.''

''A remarkable action,'' another voice spoke that made Harry freeze. How long had Dumbledore been standing there? Madame Pomfrey was startled by it too, though that didn't mean much, the Headmaster had ways to make himself invisible without a cloak, he'd said so himself. ''You did many remarkable things today Harry... a few of which I would like to talk about before we return to fulfil everyone's anticipation by giving marks.'' Harry merely gave a nod and tried to sit up straighter while avoiding looking into Dumbledore's eyes directly, as even Voldemort's amulet couldn't protect him from invasive magic then. Harry had hoped that he'd have some time to come up with a plausible explanation over the day before maybe being invited by Dumbledore. No such luck then. Could he keep his promise to Voldemort of coming up with a good enough excuse?

The man sat down at Harry bedside, ignoring the nurse's protests until she walked away steaming. Piercing blue eyes twinkled beneath their spectacles, bright and curious. Harry relaxed slightly. For all the man's possible manipulations, Dumbledore was not evil either, and certainly morally a better man than Voldemort, wasn't he? Harry frowned at that sudden thought, a spark of fear growing in his chest. He should not let down his guard so much. Yes, he could partially agree with the statement of that Dumbledore had, in general, better morals and also protected his people, yet he'd exactly used and betrayed those dear to Harry: made teen soldiers out of his parents, left Sirius in Azkaban, put Lupin in a certain harmful position, left Harry and his friends to solve a bunch of clues that anyone else should have been ale to handle better than a couple of children...

''Harry?'' the tone was soft and calming, relaxing Harry again. He was perhaps a bit too paranoid after everything he'd been told... much of which had still not been verified.

''Sir, I am not entirely sure what you wish for me to say,'' he spoke in the end. ''If it's about Gabrielle, she should never have been put in that position. She's part-Veela, of course she would wake up under water!''

''A fact that is not very well-known. I myself had no idea of the consequences, neither did Madame Maxime, otherwise we'd never have allowed it. Where did you pick up such a thing?''

At least this was one thing that Harry didn't need to make up an excuse for. ''The Hogwarts Library actually. At the Weighing of the Wand ceremony, I found out that Fleur has Veela heritage. I thought that it would be a good idea to look up more about Veela, to see if she had any advantages over the other Champions due to that or any weaknesses that could be used against her, should one of the Tasks be a direct duel or so. Hermione combed through the whole library and found a few books that mentioned them. Having that knowledge, and seeing that Gabrielle was a lot more restless than the rest of them, I couldn't just swim away and leave her behind. I wasn't sure if or when the merfolk would notice.''

''I see... a heroic action worthy of praise. Both Madame Maxime and Miss Delacour are very thankful to you and it will surely be reflected in your scores. About the Merpeople, I came across the delightful knowledge that you **talked** to them?''

''Not... exactly,'' Harry spoke. ''I don't know Mermish or so. I used sign language, knowing that they can understand it since some of the Slytherins communicate with the Merpeople from their common room like that.'' A thought suddenly came to him. ''I saw that two years ago when.. eh... when Ron and I snuck into the common room to grill Malfoy. We thought that** he** might be the Heir of Slytherin and took it upon ourselves to find out.'' He peeked upwards, trying to gauge the headmaster's reaction.

''Ah. I take it that this was the moment when Ms. Granger had to spend an unfortunate night in the Hospital wing with a cat face- and tail?'' Dumbledore's eyes glittered with amusement. ''Do not worry Harry, I am not going to deduct points for rules you broke two years ago. Well, that does explain quite a bit... yet not your most fascinating piece of magic. Did I not tell you after the last task to stay away from anything not taught at Hogwarts?'' the words held a warning edge to it.

''With all respect,** Sir**, I still have more than three years to go and do not know the entire curriculum that is to come. During my entire time at Hogwarts, I have not learnt of a way to stay underwater.''

''You also used the Bubblehead charm, I heard.''

''A spell I was told about from Dixie, who learnt it at Beauxbatons. I had no idea that it was taught in Hogwarts until I saw that Cedric used it. By my own knowledge, I would not have been allowed to use that either.''

''A charm is a different story from a rune ritual that requires the death of an animal,'' Dumbledore spoke, his friendly tone oddly enough reappearing. '''Surely, you knew that.''

Harry clenched his jaw. ''I was trying to stay alive. If you heard that I attempted a bubblehead charm, you maybe also have heard how abysmally bad it was. Since this ritual was designed by merfolk themselves, for the exact purpose of contacting them, I didn't see any harm in using it. It doesn't hurt any humans, has no negative effects on myself, and I thought perhaps the Merfolk would recognise the spell and grant me easier access.''

''Did Sirius tell you about this again?'' It was hard to gauge the tone in which Dumbledore asked his question. He was calm as always, not looking either disappointing or judging now. Perhaps Harry's words about why he'd thought the ritual harmless enough had convinced the Headmaster.

''Yes.'' Harry answered with a straight face, mentally apologising over and over to his godfather for dragging him in further. ''He's my godfather, of course he'd want me to get through this as unscathed as possible.'' Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his crooked nose and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

''Sirius is reckless and, after Azkaban, seems to have lost sight a bit of what was part of his childhood education and what he learnt here at Hogwarts. As much as he tried to distance himself in his youth, it seems that he has less trouble now with certain types of magic. Harry, I'll be blunt. What you performed today was very dark magic. Anything that involves having to kill another living being** cannot** be accepted here.'' He looked at the teen as if he expected a reaction of shock. Harry didn't do anything, knowing that he could not muster up enough energy to make it believable, nor feeling like pretending dark magic was some sort of slimy stain he'd have to be ashamed of. A flicker of disappointment entered Dumbledore's eyes. ''I see that you were already aware of this.''

''I knew that it couldn't be** light** magic no. I thought it was either neutral or dark and didn't ask too many questions,'' Harry spoke. ''Since the spell itself isnot **illegal**, I had hoped it would be more towards the neutral side.''

''Harry, neutral magic is a word made up by the Ministry. There is only light or dark, nothing else.'' Harry was actually surprised by how honest Dumbledore was with that explanation, especially since in this context, the words sounded rather extreme. It was only because Harry knew that light and dark merely referred to the weight of the spell, that he was familiar with there being nothing in between.

''That is... good to know. But then what is with the hexes and such that we learn here at Hogwarts? Aren't those dark?''

''The concept of light and dark magic is not as clear-cut as being divided in light charms and dark curses, unfortunately. Anything taught at Hogwarts though, is safe to use. I wish for you to trust me on this, it would only over-complicate matters if we started teaching such confusing matters on top of everything else. I'm sure you already have enough homework.'' Harry had to fight to put a smile on his face. So they were not taught any of this because it was** inconvenient** for students to learn more? That was some bull if he'd ever heard it. Dumbledore just didn't want them to find out that many beneficial spells were dark and that there were also light curses. In short, that the whole division between dark-bad and light-good was not challenged.

''I know how this must look,'' Dumbledore spoke softly, his voice but a mere ancient whisper. ''That we teach magic that we pretend is something else, I can see that in your eyes.'' A vaguely sad smile lingered at his mouth and Harry's stomach jumped a bit. Had the man read his thoughts? ''I thought much the same when this knowledge was revealed to me by a... dear friend of mine, who had attended one of the other Wizarding schools. He raged on once about several light spells that were incredibly harmful and still taught here only because they were light. Ever since I was appointed as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I have tried to protect my students by changing the curriculum of several courses to make it safer. Quite a challenge when teaching during not only one, but two wars, I assure you.''

Harry frowned, not entirely sure what Dumbledore was getting at. ''Safer how? Just this year we were taught about the Unforgivable curses.'' Two dark and one light spell respectively, he added in his mind. Also, Voldemort had specifically pointed out that more and more dark spells had been removed from the curriculum after the previous Headmaster had resigned. That didn't add up. Additionally, why opt for safe lessons when at the same time putting monsters in the school and sending students out to the Forbidden Forest as punishment?

''Defence Against the Dark Arts was always a bit of an exception.. and Alastor was right in his passionate speech to me about that one cannot defend against what one doesn't know. You may have noticed that while I allowed for demonstrations from his side, none of you were taught how to perform it.'' Not exactly true, Harry thought, they had also practised the Imperius curse themselves, but perhaps that was only on Barty. ''Rather than dark or light, I try to see what a spell does, how it is cast and what effects it has on the magician and the object of casting, if you follow me.'' Harry nodded. Voldemort's explanations had been far more long-winded and complicated than any of this. ''I put in certain criteria for a spell to be taught here... and most dark spells do not meet them. For the few that do... well, Cornelius Fudge would not be very happy about any dark magic here after the last Dark Lord wreaked havoc upon the country.''

''So now you are saying that there** is** dark magic at Hogwarts and you just pretend that it is light?'' -well, that certainly confirmed Voldemort's words and theories then- ''And still disagree with me using spells that might be?''

''I carefully filtered out every spell that could damage you or others that I knew of. If you then go and get books on other magic, especially given by people who know that none of this is taught at Hogwarts... it tramples all the efforts of those people who try to create a safe environment for you. I admit that I am not omniscient, nor do I know every single spell in existence. Yes, the ritual that you used is... not officially illegal, but only so because it is ancient and very unknown. Instantly upon seeing it however, I knew that I would never allow a spell that required death to be cast. Especially** you** should understand that Harry, after meeting Voldemort twice and seeing what terrible powers he uses. There is a time and place for most magic... and for some magic, that time and place will never come, that I hope from the bottom of my heart.'' A brittle hand pat Harry's shoulder. ''Perhaps I have underestimated how much you can handle if you are willing to go to such extents... you always were rather reckless. We should both head back to the lake now if you feel up to it. We will have another, longer conversation about this in my office in the coming days.''

''No, wait, I have so many questions!'' Harry said in frustration when Dumbledore was already moving outside. This talk had only led to more confusion about Dumbledore's view on light and dark magic. The Headmaster allowed some dark spells while knowing that they were dark, when they were deemed safe enough for students, yet still in general pushed for an image of only light magic being good? That was just wrong... and entirely flipped Harry's image of Dumbledore yet again from someone who vied to only ever use light magic no matter the consequences, to someone much more... complicated, and not in a good way.

''Later Harry, you should not let all the other Champions wait for so long. Poppy? Harry seems fine enough to accompany me, don't you agree?'' The nurse growled something under her breath that Harry took as a permit to leave, so he hurriedly put on the spare set of school robes that lay ready on a chair next to the bed. ''I shall go a bit in front,'' Dumbledore cheerfully spoke. ''Lest dear Igor will accuse me of cheating even more than he does in this Tournament. Which is, naturally, deplorable in his eyes.'' Harry nodded without answering and slowed down his pace, watching as the Headmaster took brisk strides that were far too fast for someone of his supposed age. How old could wizards get without having any physical troubles?

He took his time, not just because Dumbledore had asked him to, but also to properly gather his thoughts. Everything had happened so fast from the moment he'd jumped into the lake... the fight with the squid, rescuing the hostages, swimming with the mermaids, his dream of Voldemort and then talking to Dumbledore. He wished to have a much needed break, to sit down in a quiet spot of the castle or to listen to Ron and Hermione bickering without having any responsibility himself. Maybe he could ask Barty if he could sneak to the man's office for an evening or so, to talk about more pleasant topics than grand schemes and impending doom. The fact that Dumbledore had said they'd talk again in a few days was not very encouraging either, he had the feeling that this would not be a conversation where he'd receive a ready answer on his questions. It had already been a bit odd to finally have Dumbledore reveal some of his own honest thoughts.

The stands were still filled with people by the time he got there -how long had it been in the first place?- although they looked slightly more empty than before. Perhaps some had given up on waiting... Karkaroff and Percy glowered at him from the jury table, both apparently not so happy to have been kept waiting. Dumbledore was a lot more chipper than before, giving a bright smile and chatting away with the Headmistress of Durmstrang, who cried out when she saw Harry and stood. Not the best idea that she could have had, as she nearly bumped her head against the overhangs that were there in case of rain.

''Mr Potter! Finally! I 'ope you are well? My Champion would still like to- ah, Fleur, zere you are!''

Before Harry had the chance to reply, Fleur rushed to Harry and flung herself at him, bursting out in tears as Harry stood there still as a statue, wondering what was happening. ''You saved 'er! You saved my little sister! Oh 'Arry, if you 'adn't noticed! Ze Grindylows got to me, I am a worzless witch! She could've **died**!'' He awkwardly pat her on the back as she pressed two kisses to his cheek, aware of a thousand jealous stares on him.

''You're not worthless, it could have happened to anyone,'' he muttered. ''Gabrielle should never have been allowed as one of the hostages. If the jury would have done more research...'' She shook her head, silvery hair flying everywhere.

''I cannot blame zem, it is not well-known zat descendants of.. well, zat people like us 'ave difficulty with water.'' She withdrew, giving him a soft smile. ''Sorry for zat. If I can ever do anyzing for you...''

''Don't mention it,'' Harry shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed being hugged and kissed by the hottest girl around.

''Well then, Ladies and Gentlemen!'' Bagman's voice suddenly boomed through the stands. ''Now all of our Champions have recovered from the shock of these terrifying tasks and showed their spirit and character to us with their actions, it is time to award some points! The head of the mermaid tribe, Murcus, has given us details on what happened exactly in those **murky** depths-'' Harry rolled his eyes at the pun, ''-and we have chosen a point total, the maximum being fifty. Miss Delacour has shown us her skill with magic in form of the Bubble-head charm, but unfortunately needed to back down when faced with Grindylows and did not make it to the hostages. As such, we can award her only twenty-five points.''

''I wouldn't mind getting minus fifty for failing to protect my sister,'' Fleur miserably spoke. ''I don't deserve any.'' Harry awkwardly grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

''You do, you showed some very advanced magic.'' She kept silent at that, yet didn't retreat her hand. Harry definitely hoped that Skeeter wasn't around anywhere. After that first horrid article, he certainly didn't want a second with rumours about him and Fleur. It was a good thing that she was missing and that her replacements were obviously not as apt in diving on juicy information.

''In third place, Mr Viktor Krum, being the second Champion to return to his hostage, will be rewarded forty points. While he did manage to reach his hostage, his transformation into a shark was only half-successful, and he was a few minutes more over the time limit than the first Champion, which brings us to Mr Cedric Diggory! What control of magic and speed! Returned only a single minute over the time limit and made use of a perfect Bubble-head charm! We award him forty-seven points...'' It hadn't escaped Harry's notice by now that while Fleur was fourth and Krum third, Bagman hadn't mentioned explicitly whether Cedric was in second or first place, only that he'd surfaced first.

''Ah, and now to our most complicated case! Always doing things a little bit different. Harry Potter returned last but managed to not only find one, but** two** methods of breathing underwater, spending forty-five minutes under a transformation specifically created by Merpeople as Merchieftainess Murcus informed us, and then still casting a weak but working Bubble-head charm far above his level. On top of that, he saved both his own hostage and the one of Miss Delacour, arriving first in the village yet waiting to see that everyone got to safety. The decision to reward extra points for this bravery was shared by **almost** all members of the Jury -Karkaroff was thrown a glower by Bagman-. On the other hand, some points had to be deducted for rather... unorthodox methods... bringing the total on forty-one points!''

Harry sighed as cheers broke out. He should have known that his stunt with the ritual would definitely mean that he wouldn't make first place, but he was still one point above Krum because of all the extra things he'd done. He could certainly live with that. Hell, just managing to survive this was a feat. He did his best to smile along with the other Champions, genuinely moved by his friends cheering him on, both Ron and Hermione looking much better now they were not in a magically-induced coma. He also walked up to Cedric to congratulate him. It must be great to make such a comeback after the First task, where he'd finished in last place, to suddenly shoot to the top. Harry made some mental calculations and concluded that Cedric was in the lead now by two points, followed by Harry, who was only a single point above Krum. Fleur came last with a shockingly low amount, all to blame on the fact that she was disqualified midway this time. Still, as Cedric had told him after the first Task and then been confirmed by Bagman, their points here only determined in what order they would face the third task, giving only a minimal starting advantage. Anyone could still win this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words Harry 'said' to the Merpeople in the previous chapter were 'Please help me' in British Sign Language :) -which was a lot more difficult to find that expected, since American Sign Language always automatically comes up first in Google searches..-


	27. Mad Dogs

Hair flew everywhere as his paws landed on the white fields that stretched most of Hogsmeade's surroundings, snow instantly catching on the fur and weighing him down. It was ridiculous weather for March, even here in Scotland. Sirius sneezed loudly and shivered - perhaps he shouldn't have come in his Animagus form after all, he longed to have a thick winter coat now. Still, people could not always be trusted. He trotted down to the village, loving the attention as friendly passers-by pet him. Others might write it off as an Animagus' instinct that made him so craving for others to stroke his pelt. Sirius knew different, reluctantly admitting to himself how starved he had been for any kind of companionship in Azkaban and the year that followed that he'd relish in any kind of human touch. It was one of those things he'd never admit to another soul.

Longingly, he looked up through the storm to behold the silhouette of Hogwarts. Once, he'd considered it his only home, before moving in with the Potters. Now, he wasn't too certain how he'd feel, entering those walls again. Last year he'd been a trespasser, then he'd fled with the help of his godson and Harry's friends. To return now felt odd, even if it meant escaping the cursed house of his parents again. It felt like a prison to him, Dumbledore's arguments being the only reason why he'd given in. It was indeed the safest place he could be now, and if the Order of the Phoenix was to be revived at any point, there would be no better headquarters. While Sirius had not forgotten Harry's angry words about Dumbledore, he also did not see why he should instantly make Dumbledore an enemy without any proof.

He shivered again and ran for shelter from the snow, not entirely prepared yet to go. People hurried past, most not glancing twice at the large dog that hid under the overhang of a shed and watched them with intelligent eyes. People... even now, Sirius had to restrain himself to not panic every time he thought he saw someone who might recognise him. He longed to be a part of that world again, something that had **almost** been within his grasp. He still could not believe how it could all have gone so wrong. Pettigrew had been caught, he'd** confessed** to the Aurors, freedom had been so close before being ripped away again... A pained whine escaped him, being lost in the fluffy whiteness that kept swirling down on him. At least Harry knew, he thought, clinging onto that thought. And not only him: Remus believed him as well, and he was slowly being accepted by the Weasleys and a few other people, even if the prejudices that clung to him were hard to overcome for many.

If only the Aurors had been more careful, if only Sirius had taken care of Wormtail himself, if only the rat had not escaped on that fateful night... He still found it absolutely idiotic that the memory of Peter's confession didn't count since it had not been during a trial. Yes, of course memories could be manipulated, but of so many people? And so fast? And why had Wormtail not had a Mark?

Despite his best efforts, Sirius had still not come up with a proper explanation as to what had happened to the rat. None of it made any sense, from the Dark Mark disappearing - which Sirius was** sure** he'd seen on Peter's arm last year - to his former friend looking like he'd gotten the Kiss without any Dementors being there. The only two theories he currently had were that either one of the Aurors was a traitor who worked for Voldemort, or the Dark Mark held some kind of magic on its own that could do this to the bearer. He hadn't found support for either theory, not even after carefully trying to share them with Dumbledore.

He broke out into a sprint, energised enough now to face the biting, cold wind, running down the road he'd taken so often when he'd still been a student here during their trips to Hogsmeade. James had always been so cheerful during those, talking about all the items they could buy for their next big stunt, or, in later years, fretting over what gifts to get Lily. Back then, Sirius had always teased Prongs about the latter, only now could he understand how his friend must have felt. It was a good thing that it was harder for his eyes to tear up in his dog-form, for the road was suddenly filled with images of the past, Peter trying to pelt Remus with snowballs, who easily flicked them away with his wand, trying to redirect them to either hit one of the other Marauders or passing Slytherins. And there, wasn't that Lily, passing them and throwing a disdainful look as James tried to ruffle up his hair again as she entirely ignored him? Or there! Little Snivellus, hunched over the books he carried, hateful eyes hidden behind his curtain of hair, cautious for the next prank that would befall him...

Snow whirled and the visions fell apart, leaving Sirius confused and alone for a good few minutes until he recalled where he was.** When** he was. He continued down the road, mad at himself, growling and biting every branch in reach to have something to do, to feel the pain in his jaws and claws so he wouldn't fall back into the past, so the hallucinations that had kept him company in Azkaban so often would cease. As helpful as they had been then, they could no longer appear now, not if he wished to retain a semblance of his pride and self-sufficiency. Dumbledore may have forced him back into his ancestral home, Sirius would never allow another to take 'care' of him there or confine him to the house as the Headmaster had wanted.

He shuddered as his paws took him further down the road, any traces of the passing of time covered by a blanket. As crazy as it was, Sirius actually had come to like this kind of weather. At first, he'd feared that the iciness would remind him too much of his four prison walls and the Dementor's presence, yet that wasn't the case at all. **That** cold had reached deep within his chest and left him hollow.** This** cold was different, prickling on his skin, filling his mouth and nostrils, reminding him of deep winter nights spent at Hogwarts or with the Potters, of only going inside when his skin was completely red from the cutting wind, to warm himself. He knew that it wasn't healthy to let these thoughts in, to live with one foot in the past and another in the present, all the while trying to erase the time he'd spent in that dreadful place that had left him numb. There was no foot left for the future.

Finally, the iron gates of Hogwarts were visible, rising far above despite his size. Could he still fit in between the bars as he had last year? Kreacher avoided cooking anything edible without direct commands and Sirius wasn't good at it either, not to mention that after twelve years of only receiving scraps and weak soup, his stomach couldn't handle an awful lot of food anymore. Nonetheless, Molly Weasley had started to somewhat accept him, if only to give him food at every opportunity she could think of. After overcoming her initial suspicion of him, they'd developed a somewhat tentative bond since it was one of the few houses Sirius could safely go to that wasn't Grimmauld place, and the fact that the woman regarded Harry as family made for many a conversation over cups of tea. Not that Sirius entirely agreed with her views of his godson, she seemed to be under the impression that Harry was a polite young man needing shelter and protection. While Sirius could definitely see that Harry hadn't had the most perfect childhood and needed much love and understanding, he judged the teen to be a bit more capable than Molly seemed to. He was the son of James Potter after all, had faced Voldemort -or a version of him- three times already according to Dumbledore, and it now looked like he was dabbling in the more dangerous aspects of their world...

That last point was exactly why Sirius was here right now, in fact. Sure, he could have sent letters, but that didn't sit well with him. After Harry's open distrust of Dumbledore, Sirius didn't wish to give Harry the impression that their contact could in any way have been intercepted, even if personally he thought that his godson was a bit misguided when it came to the Headmaster. It wasn't as if he had full faith in Dumbledore, not anymore, not after the first war, the death of his friends and his own imprisonment. No, the old man had flaws like any other human, and motives that he wasn't prone to sharing very openly. And yet... and yet he could not be blamed for all that had gone wrong. Could Dumbledore have saved him Azkaban as Harry said? Perhaps. Should he have?

Personally, knowing what he did about warfare, Sirius didn't think so. He'd agreed to be part of something bigger when joining the Order, something he'd been willing to give his life for. Also, while Dumbledore may or may not have known that Sirius had not betrayed the Potters, even Sirius himself had fully thought that he'd at least killed Peter, making a life sentence in Azkaban deserved by law. That he was not guilty of betrayal nor of the death of those thirteen Muggles would not have diminished that sentence without proving that Wormtail had been a Death Eater. Why then, would Dumbledore stick out his neck and risk the position of himself and all Order members for Sirius, right after the fall of Voldemort, only to clear his name in two aspects? Even now, while Sirius had been hoping for freedom, that hope might actually not have come. Yes, he hadn't committed the crimes he had been accused of... but he'd still **attempted** murder. How that trial would have gone would've been questionable, his only hope being that Peter was a proven Death Eater and thus, by old laws, a free target by the Ministry.

It had taken a while to come to all of these conclusions of course, the first reaction after Harry's words having been a feel of betrayal by the head of the Order. And if James - _no, Harry_ \- was as stubborn as he'd always been -_as his __**father**__ had always been_ -, it would take an awful lot more time to convince his friend - _godson!_ \- of that Dumbledore's actions were understandable in this case. Not to mention all the other cases. Sirius wished that he could sigh as dramatically in his dog form as he usually could. Perhaps for the better, there was no-one around to admire it in the first place. He finally managed to worm his way in through a set of bars that were apart slightly further than the others - thank Merlin that this castle had been build ages ago and everyone in the Wizarding world liked that sense of uniqueness and authenticity that left room for non-standard fences- and soon after he was running across the grounds. His thoughts were still on Harry and Dumbledore. Sirius wondered if he should take up the role of trying to diminish Harry's animosity towards the man or let Dumbledore deal with it himself. It couldn't be a good thing for Harry to push the one man away who had taken a stance against Voldemort the first time around, even if Dumbledore certainly had done questionable things too.

More than a bit worried, he snuck over the bridge into a courtyard and went from there, finally transforming back to be able to open doors. Perhaps he should have been a bit more careful in choosing his attire before coming here. It was only now that he noticed that he'd grabbed a rather old, ragged robe that had lain around his parents' home, one of the few non-cursed items he'd found. Molly and Arthur had offered to help him clean up the house, which he'd refused. He'd been able to remove the most annoying objects from the rooms that he occupied and left the rest. Why would he care what man-eating vile things were lying in a back closet of his parents' bathroom? In fact, he'd only set foot in two of the four stories, mainly moving between living room, bathroom downstairs, kitchen and the largest bedroom, which he shared with Buckbeak, now named Witherwings. There was little use for him to go anywhere else, although he'd at least picked out a few interesting books from the small library that neighboured the drawing room with its hated tapestry of Black purity. Now that he was the heir to the Black family -funny, since he'd been burned off the tapestry he hadn't expected that to still work-, he did not need to heed childhood warnings about the library anymore, able to access any book he wished without consequence.

A few of those he carried with him now. It may be a stupid move, but if Harry was going to claim that the magic he knew from who-knew-where came from Sirius, he'd better have proof to back that up. Did he fault his godson for that lie? Perhaps a bit. Who knew how desperate the kid had been and what explanation he had for his actions. Sirius surely had gotten into enough trouble himself and had had to make up flimsy excuses on the spot to avoid being caught doing **too** illegal stuff. He may have hated all dark magic that came from his parents, that didn't mean that he and James hadn't used it to get back on people, nor had it stopped him from liking flashy, violent solutions. They'd been right bullies and he somehow still couldn't find it within himself to fully regret that when thinking of how fun it had been. They'd hid behind the idea of 'bullying bullies back', a motto that James had introduced to appeal some of their more questionable ideas to Remus and Peter. In short, it had come down to bullying Slytherins, but that hadn't stopped them from fully believing it themselves most of the time. And some of those gits** had** downright deserved it, Snivellus in particular, for being such a slimy two-faced bastard.

Upon finally entering the seventh floor, Sirius transformed back into his Animagus form, having learnt his lesson from last time he'd tried to force his way through the portrait. It was around seven in the evening now and students would soon be returning from dinner. If he waited here, Harry would definitely recognise him. He paced up and down the corridor, trying to find a shadowy spot where not everyone would instantly see he was there, glad for his midnight fur. He finally settled half-hidden behind an unlit stone torch and waited. Before any of the children came into view however, he heard a 'Stupefy' from behind him, which he only narrowly dodged. Hair on edge, he faced his attacker, growling.

* * *

Something had been in the air all day long that had made him nervous. Now, while he was nervous more often than not, it felt different and Barty sure wasn't stupid enough to ignore the feeling. It was true that 'constant vigilance' was a motto typical for Mad-eye Moody, but it might as well have come out of his own mouth. Ironically, Moody might have been created as the ideal role for him to play, so alike their characters were: rough, paranoid, prone to mood swings and fiercely loyal to their beliefs. If only they hadn't been on opposite sides in the last war, Barty thought he might have gotten along splendidly with the Ex-Auror. To be in Moody's skin was sometimes easier than being in his own.

It was thus hard to concentrate on teaching at the moment, and even harder to not try to check every three seconds on the child he'd sworn to protect. Finally giving in, he looked at Evan with both eyes, noticing that he wasn't the only one distracted. The kid looked positively exhausted, which worried him more than he'd ever show. Perhaps he should anonymously send some chocolate again from Honeydukes so Evan would at least get some sugar in his body. Not that there hadn't been plenty of opportunity to get a sugar rush. The boy had come to his office about a week after the second task, finally able to escape from all the social interactions. Apparently the other Champions had seen fit to throw a party each to celebrate, completely filling all evenings with either preparation or the parties themselves. Evan had divulged thatthe only good thing about all the gatherings was that his evenings were so occupied that week that Dumbledore had not sent an invitation for a second 'talk' just yet. Barty was actually getting rather worried about the Headmaster too after hearing what he'd had to say to Evan... especially now. It was nearing the end of the second week since the last Task and there still hadn't been word from Dumbledore. In fact, the man had been absent since last Saturday, it appeared, for he didn't show up at either breakfast or dinner anymore, his chair always glaringly empty. Barty had tried to ask the other members of staff, which he'd given up on after Minerva had huffed and told him this was 'one of those things that Albus just** does**'. Whatever the old fool was doing, Barty sure hoped that it didn't involve his Lord in any way.

Tapping his wand against his wooden leg, making a pleasant clonking sound that calmed him somewhat, Barty hurriedly instructed the students to practise on each other, leaving them to find pairs themselves for once. Normally he preferred to challenge them by making duel-matches between people who were on equal level. Today he wasn't in the mood for that, not able to keep his concentration to the required level to seriously assess each of them in detail. He returned to his desk, taking another sip from his flask -curse those double periods- and carefully withdrew a letter from the second drawer. It was a dangerous thing to do, keeping letters from the Dark Lord in his teaching desk... but now and then he needed to see the man's handwriting to ground him in the here and now.

It was a miracle that this correspondence went through, credited partially to his Lord's crafty spellwork and partially to Dumbledore's faith in his own people despite already having had traitors in Hogwarts multiple times. One would think that someone got more careful after finding one of the teachers with the allegedly slain Dark Lord on the back of their head... Barty wasn't one to speak about carefulness however. Only a few months ago, he'd been caught by Snape as he'd rummaged through the potion supplies when he was running low on Boomslang skin. He'd managed to nick some, but wasn't entirely sure if Snape had believed his story of sudden inspections. Then again, Snape wasn't acting very unsuspicious either, not even by his own doing, but because Karkaroff wouldn't stop leaving him alone. Changing the man's memories of his encounter with Harry hadn't diminished the paranoia, it seemed. Karkaroff being a known Death Eater, him hanging around Snape definitely raised enough distrust even among the rest of the staff that all had sided with Barty on the necessity of such inspections. The only negative consequence was that Severus now jumped at every opportunity to blame something on him, which was not the amount of attention that he could use right now. Snape's scrutiny made it much harder to invite Evan over as well.

He sometimes didn't really know what to do with the kid. Some days he felt a fiercely protective instinct, the next he wanted to bash Evan's head in for doing something incredibly stupid. No change from the very first day they'd met, all in all. To think that the boy shared the soul of the most amazing person on this world made Barty feel both envious, pitying and worried. Somehow, he didn't think that the kid could really live up to the duties it brought. Well, at least he'd managed to get through the Tournament 'till now. Granted, he'd had help from many people, Barty and even the Dark Lord included, yet he'd come up with some ideas on his own that others might have been stuck at. It was also wonderful to see how Evan had manipulated the Malfoy heir into giving aid, even if Barty still thought it** questionable** to say the least that Evan had gone around telling people of his true intentions. The methods used in the tasks themselves were another thing where Barty was baffled at times. To save a second hostage was not something that** he** would ever even have considered doing, yet it had entirely saved Evan's image after so blatantly using dark magic in front of everyone. If he hadn't checked on the other girl and decided that she needed help, Evan might be in an entirely different position now.

Class ended and Barty resisted the urge to call Evan back to invite him for later. As relaxing as their talks always were for the both of them, being able to completely drop their masks and talk openly, the boy definitely needed to get some rest. As such, Barty used the fifteen minutes until his next class -he had the sixth year students next and some of them needed to come all the way from the northern tower,- to unfold one of his Lord's letters. It was a slightly older one, a reply to his report on Evan's first task. He smiled down at the words. They were very typical, a short message that was entirely apathetic and consisted mainly of instructions on what to do next. Barty couldn't quite put in words why he kept all of these. He certainly wasn't infatuated with the man, no matter what some other Death Eaters had said during the first war. No, he'd leave that to more suicidal and masochistic people.

_Like Evan_, he added in thought, frowning as he folded up the letter again. Ever since he'd walked in on his Lord with glistening fingers and Evan's blushing face, Barty knew that something more had to be going on there. What was bewildering however, was that Evan acted completely clueless at any hints he gave to knowing about it. At first, Barty had thought the boy was lying, but over time he'd become convinced of that that wasn't it: The boy was just that dense. It had also made him evaluate the Dark Lord's stance. While it was incredibly clear that Evan became a blubbering mess whenever the Dark Lord came too close, the man hadn't actually reacted all that much apart from with amusement. Good. Regulus had already been a tad young at barely seventeen despite being technically an adult, Evan was definitely still a child and despite Barty's fierce loyalty to the Dark Lord, he would certainly be torn about supporting something like that. For his own sake, he hoped that his Lord, if at all interested, would leave such things for much later, else Barty would be stuck in an uncomfortable position.

The next class came and went, two hours filled with trying to cram mostly theory into the heads of his students. He always had mixed feelings about teaching the sixth years. On one hand, all of them had passed their OWL's with an E or higher, meaning that he had no students who weren't good or interested in the subject. On the other hand, the curriculum was controlled much stricter by the Ministry since he really needed to prepare them for the NEWT's, and most of their previous teachers had been shit. Even Quirrel had been despite being possessed by the Dark Lord himself, since he'd been trying to keep a low profile and been a mediocre teacher at best. As such, these students seriously lacked in theoretical knowledge about even the very basic concept of Dark magic and only knew the most famous dark witches and wizards from rare chocolate frog cards...

It was a good thing that he at the very least got the freedom to teach them in the way he wanted, using visuals and memories to show the class the work and inventions of previous dark mages. The infuriating thing was that he couldn't entirely clear up the misconceptions of dark magic, since he was still acting as a highly light wizard who supposedly hated anything dark and thus couldn't put any of it in good light. It was only a comfort that the real Mad-eye Moody would have been much harsher on it than he was...

He dismissed class a bit early when noticing that none of them were paying much attention during the last five minutes anymore, using it to clean up the classroom a bit. For once, Barty was happy at being listed for Patrols that evening, not having much else to do in his spare time at the moment. He couldn't well floo to Riddle manor directly from Hogwarts, Evan needed rest and the third Task hadn't been announced yet, giving him nothing much to do. Naturally, he was one of the few who already knew what was going to happen exactly, having overheard Bagman and Weasley Nr. 5 talking over details. Since the two Ministry employees were the hosts of the event, they remained on the castle grounds during all times, usually, with only Weasley Nr. 5 being such a stuck-up workaholic that he occasionally went back to the Ministry to work. What could one expect from a person who'd apparently worshipped the corrupt bag of slime that had been Barty's father? It was hilarious to see how the Weasley ran around telling people of the search party that he'd organised personally for Mr. Crouch. Barty sure wondered how long it would take for people to notice that their search was futile, just like it had been for Bertha Jorkins. There had also been talk of a third person missing, the reporter Skeeter. Not a large loss if she would also turn out to be dead, Barty mused. Would his Lord know more about that as well?

Having finished putting his classroom in order, he went to his office, still having to sit through a detention session with two students. Both were Ravenclaws who'd messed up in Potions Class and would have served it with Snape, had Barty not made it his mission to make sure to take over every detention from the bat that he could. First of all, it filled his own time and secondly, it was much better for the students to do something useful during their detention than being verbally bullied while they scrubbed cauldrons or cleaned up gross potion ingredients. Let Snape clean his own things rather than using the excuse of 'badly behaving students' who got detentions for small things like speaking without raising a hand or messing up their own potions when Severus failed to give proper instructions. If there was one thing that Barty hated as much as cowards, liars and traitors, it was teachers who didn't do their jobs. Snape happened to fall in all** four** categories of people Barty hated, thus it was his mission to make the man's life as much hell as possible. That included trying to more sneakily steal multiple ingredients out of the potion storage that he didn't even need, at times that no-one else could be around. Having Polyjuice potion to parade around as Moody did not mean that he ALWAYS needed to play Moody. He had quite a few stores of different hair from students by now that enabled him to enter places where even a teacher couldn't go, such as the Slytherin common room or Potions class.

Barty sighed deeply as he finally sank down on his office chair and could put up his leg, the one thing that he absolutely hated about playing Moody. If the man had been able to get his eye replaced by something useful, why walk around with a common, wooden leg? Sure, it looked bloody wicked with the claw at the end, but it wasn't practical. It wasn't even self-walking, needing to be dragged.

The Ravenclaw students came in soon, and after prying a bit, he found out what they'd actually done to warrant their detention. Both were partners in potions and one had gotten nervous when Snape had suddenly appeared behind them and dropped a wrong ingredient in the cauldron out of fright, while the other then had overlooked completely what a bloody bastard Snape could be and gotten angry over the detention the other had received, earning them another.

''Look Inglebee, I know that sticking up for friends is a sensible reaction to them being treated unfairly if you had been going up to a rational person. Everyone knows that Severus Snape doesn't react well to students acting in any way that displeases him though, and practically everything displeases him.'' The boy pulled a face while the other, Grant Page, just looked down at his hands.

''But it's unfair! Snape has always been this way, I know that, but that doesn't mean that we'll just have to take it, do we? It's entirely unfair to give Grant a detention just 'cause his hand slipped. 't was Snape's fault in the first place for startling him like that!''

''And what will going against him like this accomplish?'' Barty said, perhaps slightly louder than necessary, slamming his hand on the table. ''He's a teacher at Hogwarts, the only one who saw what happened. There aren't many potion masters out there and Snape happens to be pretty irreplaceable. You think that getting angry will impress him or make him change his ways? Or that you can go to Dumbledore or another staff member and he'll be forced to play nice? Of course not!''

''So what, this is a 'the world is unfair, deal with it' speech?'' Inglebee challenged.

Barty growled. ''No, the world is unfair and you have to think of different ways to change it than hurling yourself straight at the problem. Look, I will still have to punish you two no matter what, so I prepared some reading material on the potion you had been working on. Meanwhile, think of at least one method to improve Snape's classes without directly confronting him. Tell me after the next Defence lesson. If all people who get detention from him work together on this problem, we may well be able to do** something** useful.''

He smiled at the two looks of admiration he got. Sometimes he could clearly see why his Lord liked to gather people. The detention didn't take long and, having time to kill after, he decided to already start patrols, not having anything better to do. Stalking through the corridors, Barty took his time. Other than most teachers, he didn't need to lie in wait anywhere to see if he could catch any students doing illicit things. His magical eye could see into every classroom and broom closet without having to open any doors. Thus, he could leisurely pace through only the main parts of the floors assigned to him for the day, now and then looking left and right, sometimes up if he saw odd movements through the ceiling.

It had been peaceful until now... still, the jittering feeling he'd had all day only became stronger. Something would happen tonight, he was certain of it. Frowning in concern, he looked out of the window to the castle grounds. Had something moved there? No, it couldn't be, the image he'd seen had only been a figment of his imagination. It being March, the sun had already set hours before dinnertime, the grounds a mass of twisting shadows by now. Peering into the dark for too long would bring back views of a time long gone, of fluttering, robe-like folds of skin and rattling breaths. the Death Eater closed his eyes and steeled himself. That was over now, had been for more than a decade. There was nothing to fear anymore about Dementors, quite the opposite. They were - or would be again- some of the closest allies of his Lord.

Movement caught his eye that shouldn't be there. The students should all still be at the dinner he'd decided to forego in favour of searching the castle for threats. Of course, he couldn't be certain that there weren't one or two skipping meals, and yet, Barty tried to make out what he'd seen before as he went up a flight of stairs, eyes directed towards the ceiling. Had it been one floor up? Two? It was hard to tell in this darkness. There it was again, something large moving in the corridor that led to Gryffindor tower, something much larger than the average student lurking behind a pillar of sorts.

The man picked up his pace, enchanting the wooden leg so the sounds it made were muffled. Navigating through a secret tunnel that led from the sixth to the seventh floor, he managed to get to the seemingly dead end of Gryffindor corridor, behind the intruder, whom he now saw had taken a surprisingly familiar form of a gigantic, black dog. It was now and then impatiently looking past the pillar to the other, open end of the corridor from which the students would arrive later, not noticing Barty at all, who used the opportunity to draw his wand and shoot a quick stupefy. He cursed when it missed, the dog jumping out of the way. He had to deal with Black quickly, before people would return from their meal and intervene.

It was obvious why the man had snuck in, yet talking to Evan here could be dangerous, especially since the boy had pinned the dark magic he'd used during the Tasks on his godfather when Dumbledore had tried to find out. Besides, while the well-trusting teen may believe in Black's aid, Barty wasn't so sure. Sirius Orion Black had worked for both the Ministry and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. His best friend had died at the hand of the Dark Lord, and Black had fucking broken out of Azkaban, a feat never seen before, to off the one who had betrayed said friend. It wasn't bloody likely that someone like** that** would easily listen to the other side, especially since he'd rejected all that was dark before, when he'd grown up, fleeing to a light family. Evan was possibly a tad optimistic about fully having Black on his side. Well, Barty would definitely find out whether or not the other was a threat.

He dodged claws and fangs easily, having the major advantage in this fight, as the other would only be able to use magic again upon transforming back, which would take precious seconds in which Barty would most certainly stun the beast. Finally, one of his spells hit, the dog crumpling on the stone floor, just as a buzz of voices reached them. Wanting to stay out of sight, the Death Eater dragged Black with him to the false wall at the 'dead end' and disappeared with him.

* * *

A large, shimmering object drifted into sight as Sirius blinked slowly. He couldn't quite place it, staring at the vague shadows inside the depths. Looking around, many more items came into view that he recognised as having seen once, a long time ago_. Yes, Auror Training!_ Sirius finally thought. They had been shown all kinds of magical objects to detect evil intent or dark magic...

A wooden leg landed in his view. With a painful neck, Sirius looked up from the floor, struggling against the ropes that bound him. He tried to sit up, all the while glaring at his capturer. Wasn't Moody an Order member anymore, or had Dumbledore not informed the entire group yet? ''Hold on Alastor,'' he groaned. ''We're still on the same side as last time. You're as paranoid as ever man, didn't you hear the news?''

The other replied with a short, hoarse laugh: ''Dumbledore did not inform me of anything regarding you, and how convenient that he isn't here right now.''

''I'm not only talking about Dumbledore, your whole bloody department knows that I didn't kill anyone. I just want to see my godson in private, Is that a crime?''

''You expect me to believe that an entirely innocent man happens to be the first one to ever break out of Azkaban after thirteen years of imprisonment, to be reunited with his adorable godson? I've heard several different versions of this tale yes, none of which paint you in good light. In each, you tried to commit the murder for which you were arrested in the first place. Not something one would do who wishes to live a new life with a clean slate, is it? What would Potter say if they put you back in Azkaban only because you couldn't resist getting revenge?''

Sirius blanched at the accusation. ''I thought Harry would want nothing to do with me then. It was him who convinced me to hand Peter over to the Dementors instead and look where it got us. The rat escaped not once, but twice after!''

''If you can call his state that,'' Moody commented. ''So, if it is true that Dumbledore is protecting you as you claim, why sneak into Hogwarts? Old habit?''

''None of your business.''

''I digress. Since the Headmaster is away, it puts me in a difficult position. Tell me your intentions or we'll go straight to the Ministry... which reminds me.'' Moody held something up and Sirius' stomach dropped. ''Neither the Ministry nor the Order would be entirely happy about you trying to sneak illegal books into Gryffindor tower. Who knows who could get a hold of them?'' the mockingly raised eyebrows made Sirius growl. ''Not to mention that I wasn't aware of a Sirius Black on the registration list for Animagi. So let's see... prison break, trespassing onto private property several times, unregistered Animagus, possession and smuggling of banned books and twice attempted murder. Pretty list you've got there, Black. Whatever could make me think that you may have ill intent? Surely even Dumbledore cannot let all of this slip through the cracks. I may owe that man, that doesn't mean that I have the same opinion where it comes to second chances.''

Sirius' throat had dried out as all his crimes were being listed. ''Please Alastor, I can explain...''

''Oh surely, I'd love to hear why you'd thought it a grand idea to visit the hero of the Wizarding world. Thought you'd be a good influence?''

''He's my godson!'' the man exclaimed, getting irritated. ''Now get rid of those ropes, I'm not going to fly at your throat.''

Moody ignored the last line, pacing up and down the office. ''Sure helped him loads, all that time you were imprisoned. I've picked up a thing or two about his home life. It would have helped him more if you'd broken out a bit sooner instead of only when you figured out that your murder attempt didn't succeed.'' Sirius bared his teeth and snarled, feeling pushed into a corner. He hadn't thought that Alastor Moody of all people would start berating him and taking a moral high ground. His guilt over leaving Harry with his Muggle family was already high enough without all of these details being pointed out. And it wasn't as if he'd** known **that Harry would be put with those Muggles instead of being taken in by a magical family. ''Now, I suppose it will be awkward when I will have to explain everything you've done to Dumbledore when we come back...'' something glittered in Moody's eyes. ''How about this, Black. You will stay here, unable to run, while I go and get Potter. I would feel muchsafer knowing that he is talking to a criminal in my office where I have a dozen instruments that would decapitate you if you would have any harmful thoughts towards him, and where I can overhear your conversation. If you truly are only here to talk to him, that should not be a problem. Naturally, I will confiscate these books.''

Sirius fidgeted, trying to look for a different way out, finding none. If it was either being thrown out of the castle after seeing Harry in a controlled environment, or not at all, it wasn't hard to pick. It completely negated his reason for coming personally however, since he'd been wanting to find out exactly Harry's thought behind his godson using dark magic and being angry at Dumbledore. None of these were topics that could very well be discussed in front of someone like Moody.

''Fine,'' he finally resigned, trying to come up with various different sets of plans to get back on Moody and also to ditch him during his talk with Harry. Fighting the crazed ex-Auror head-on wouldn't work. Tricking him however... well, he had plenty of time to set things up when Moody left and he could try some more extreme measures to get rid of these ropes. Without another word, Moody walked out of the office to get Harry. Sirius instantly set to work. Yes, it may be painful to break one's own thumb to get out of confinement, but nothing compared to roughhousing with a werewolf every month for a couple of years.

* * *

Harry collapsed in one of the chairs in the common room as soon as they got back from dinner, groaning at the pile of homework he still hadn't even started on. Bagman had announced at the very end of the second task that they wouldn't be getting any information on the third one for quite some time yet, leaving Harry with absolutely nothing to go on and, other than with the dragons, he'd heard from the other Champions that even the Heads of the schools were still not aware of what exactly it would be, Bagman and Percy organising something in secret. As such, while some of the teachers had been more lenient on him when he was stuck figuring out tasks, he had to do even much more to 'catch up' now that they knew that Harry wouldn't get a clue about it for a good while still. Combined with his self-studies on Runes, Arithmacy and whatever books Voldemort had sent him, he didn't have any free evenings anymore.

It was hard to believe it had only been two weeks since the second task. At least there had been the Champion parties, which had been both exhausting and fun, especially the one where Viktor had been allowed to invite a slew of people onto the Durmstrang ship that now lay empty on the lake. Not wanting to have any further awkwardness with girls, Harry haddragged Ron with all three times since Malfoy was too offended, something about his help not being needed anymore since he'd been replaced as a teacher. It was even funnier since Malfoy had no clue who he had been replaced with, he wasn't in on the fact that Moody was Barty. It looked like Voldemort hadn't seen it fit to reveal that to anyone.

Another bonus was that, since Ron had been part of the second task, Harry's best friend finally also got a chance to stand in the spotlight and took away much attention that otherwise would have befallen Harry, who preferred to get as little as possible. Instead, Harry could amuse himself with staying in the background, listening as Ron's tales got more and more extreme. Since he enjoyed it so much, Harry also pleaded with Hermione to not point out to other people that the only thing Ron had done had been sleeping. The girl had agreed reluctantly and only because she was getting so much support from Viktor, who felt horrible about the fact that Hermione was getting a lot of negative attention from classmates since she was what he had 'missed most'. At least Ron and Hermione were, despite Viktor, on amicable terms again now they'd shared the same experience in the second task. That saved Harry quite a few headaches he just knew he otherwise would have had.

In between partying and socialising, Harry tried concentrated on reading and learning, still determined to not slip into the habit of slacking off again. It was getting harder as time passed, he found. Even with the incentive of the third task on the horizon, he had always preferred more practical approaches to magic and his memories of summer were decidedly slipping away. Barty endeavoured to help where he could, but needed to be so careful that meetings were scarce, especially ones where they did more than talk and actually worked on magic.

After critically taking in the pile of work in front of him, Harry decided to get Hermione's help in organising it a bit. She was hesitant when he first asked, thinking he only wished to copy work from her, then relaxed when he made clear it was only her skill of planning and prioritising that he was desperate for. In no time at all, she'd created a list for him to work through, starting with a short essay on the care of flutterby bushes for Sprout, then his regular Divination homework where he made up what he pleased, and thirdly the tough task of filling out a potion identification sheet from Snape, where with only a few ingredients, they had to determine which potion was being brewed and complete the list and brewing instructions. It was, for once, an actual helpful piece of potion homework, although Hermione was quick to point out that several parts referred to potions that were most definitely above their year.

A ruckus at the entrance finally caused him to look up, surprised when seeing the intimidating figure of his Defence teacher stomping towards him. ''Potter. You're in deep trouble. Office, now.'' His first instinct was to think 'shit,' and look to his friends for help, then mentally slapping himself for not instantly realising that, again, Moody was only Barty in disguise and this was almost certainly merely a ploy to talk to him alone. Then again, Barty had never outright walked into the Gryffindor common room -since when did other teachers than one's Head of House have access to common rooms in the first place?- so there must really been something severe going on. He ignored Ron's whispered ''What'd you do mate?'' and hurried to pack his stuff together.

Shooting a look to the portraits left and right on the corridors outside, Harry decided not to ask anything until they'd arrived at Barty's office. The man seemed to have other plans though, for when they were on the fourth floor, Harry was suddenly pulled to the side into a storage room that was devoid of any possible listeners. ''Your godfather thought it was a great idea to break in here and talk to you in Gryffindor tower,'' Barty growled, his tone not a good sign.

''Sirius? Here? He didn't write me a thing.''

''It doesn't seem to go into his stubborn head that he cannot just walk about and that even his Animagus form would be suspicious. He smuggled a bunch of highly illegal books in too for you.'' Floored, Harry took in this information.

''But why-''

''No idea. He's out of trouble now, sitting tied-up in my office. Look kid, I know that he's important to you or something like that, but you should not forget that Black is not on our side, will never **be** on our side and is currently a criminal in more than one way, which I was sure to remind him of.'' The Death Eater grabbed Harry's shoulders and looked straight at him with both eyes.

''We'll see about that,'' Harry unwillingly spoke, not ready to give up on Sirius so quickly just because Barty told him to. ''That he's smuggling in books for me should tell you quite a bit. Do remember that I got away with doing Dark magic because I told Dumbledore I'd gotten it from Sirius. If he's going so far as to give me actual evidence on that, he can't be such a hopeless case, right?'' Barty let out a low snarl at that. ''Not sure if it was such a great idea to get him into your office either,'' Harry continued with uncertainty. ''True, it would have been very strange for a large dog to suddenly appear in Gryffindor tower, even more of a shock to all if he'd actually reveal himself, and yet, I would have been able to openly talk to him up at my room. Since you're impersonating Moody, one-hundred percent Dumbledore's man and Ex-Auror, he won't be so open about his intentions with you being there. Since he came alone without even a hint of it in letters and broke in here under cover of darkness, what he has to discuss has to be pretty secretive.''

''While that may be so, the alternative of it being discovered by anyone else that he did so would have been worse in the long run. He may have Dumbledore's hand above his head for now, he's still a criminal to the world. Also, if the old fool **would** find out that Sirius went behind his back to talk to you, you'll** both** be in a mess.''

''Which would only be a problem for Sirius, I don't see why you'd care about one of your enemies getting in trouble,'' Harry noted, then grinned. ''Are you jealous?''

''**What**?''

''You don't want me depending on Sirius, do you?'' Harry nearly laughed out loud at the look on Barty's face, who struggled to answer.

''Do **not** take this in any way as a confirmation of** jealousy**, but you are right in that I think it's very irresponsible to put your trust in Black. He's a convict, being hunted still by the Ministry since his innocence could not be proven. Other than that, he's notorious for ranging from 'general nuisance' to 'dangerous enemy' among Death Eaters. You never know what you get with Black, and the Dark Lord has a personal grudge against the man too.''

''He does?''

''Ask Him about it if you want, I'm not going into details there. The point is, Black is unreliable, even more so now that we've convinced you of our ideals, ones that he swore to destroy. He betrayed his family by running away, turned away from Dark magic and set out to fight against it. What do you think he is going to do when he finds out that you've done the opposite and turned away from the Light?''

''I'm sure he already did take up on some of the hints, he's not stupid.'' Harry protested. ''He is the only person who knows with absolute certainty that I didn't get those ideas from him and that my actual source needs to be bad enough for me to have to lie about it. And honestly, if even half of what Volde- our Lord, told me is true, then Sirius has every reason for joining us too. Dumbledore-''

''-managed to convince Black to return to the house that he hates just so that the Headmaster will have a place to resurrect his little rebellion group if he deems that necessary.'' Barty finished. ''If it hasn't already happened. Dumbledore isn't stupid either, and will have started taking precautions ever since the events after the World Cup. Black was influenced by Dumbledore before and will be again, you cannot convince me otherwise. I won't deny that Black seems to have a fondness of you, enough to try and cover your arse, but do not for one second believe that it means he will** accept** what you did. Most likely, Black will try to reason with you.''

''Sirius and reason?'' Harry laughed, thinking of how irresponsible his godfather's plan had been with Peter.

''Kid, you barely know the man. You've interacted with him, what, three times tops? Sure, he's your godfather and I** know** how tempting it is to find a parental figure who actually gives a shit about you, okay? I know. That doesn't mean that you can just drop your walls and happily tell him everything you've achieved until now.'' Harry looked away stubbornly, not wanting to believe that Sirius, the man who'd gone to the Goblins while he was on the run just to buy Harry a new broomstick, would do anything that would affect Harry negatively. So what if they hadn't actually talked all that much? Sirius cared about him enough to take stupid risks, only proven by the fact that he was at Hogwarts right now. Barty sighed. ''I'm clearly not getting through to you. Fine, you can talk to him, alone if you want to. Just promise me that you don't reveal what you actually did this summer, nor breathe a single word about our Lord's return.''

''I swear.''

An uneasy silence descended over them as they continued their way to Barty's office. Upon opening the door, they were met with a bright flash of light that blinded them both, and before Harry knew it, someone had grabbed his arm and started dragging him away. Mad laughter reached his ears and as much as he struggled, he couldn't get to his wand. In a fit of panic, Harry slammed a fist into whoever was holding him and was dropped to the floor.

''Ow, watch it! That was my face!'' he heard a very familiar voice whine.

''Sirius?'' he hesitantly asked.

''Hey kiddo, sorry for that spell, I meant to only hit Moody. Was a bit stronger than anticipated.'' As soon as the flecks in front of his face faded a bit, Harry narrowed his eyes to peer at Sirius' guilty expression. ''Are you okay?''

''Yeah... what are you doing here? Moody only told me that you broke into Hogwarts.'' The other scowled.

''Not here. Know any places we can talk in peace?''

''You created the Marauder's map, not me,'' Harry shrugged. ''You probably know this place a lot better than I managed till now. The only area I ever found that wasn't on the map was the Chamber of Secrets and I'd really rather never return there.'' He wasn't kidding about that either. Although he personally knew Voldemort now and had bonded a bit with Nagini, making him see everything Slytherin a bit more positive now, that didn't mean that he held any love for the cold, damp, deadly trap that Salazar Slytherin had created. The giant stone statue of the Founder and the lurking monster set out to eat those not 'pure' enough didn't make Harry very fond of Slytherin either.

''Okay then, let's see... definitely has to be a magically hidden room, Moody will soon catch up and should be able to see through all normal walls and most illusions. Ah, I know just the thing! Sorry to say, we'll have a bit of a climb ahead. Perfect place for... well, anything really.'' Curiosity piqued, Harry followed his godfather through sets of carefully hidden stairwells and narrow corridors between walls. As much as he loved the map, Harry had actually not had the time in the year he'd had it to explore its potential fully, mostly using it to see who was where. He mainly used a selection of routes to cut the time it took to go between classes or avoid certain areas where Snape often lurked. And of course, the passageways to Hogsmeade, which were no longer necessary since Sirius had signed his permission slip. Sirius finally stopped in front of a blank space of wall.

''Behold, the Miracle room,'' he proudly exclaimed, starting to pace back and forth until a door appeared. Walking in, Harry was awed to find himself inside of a gigantic room with a dome-like ceiling. A circular part of the floor was lowered, rows of dummies of sorts standing on one end. The walls were lined with bookshelves. ''Convenient place, it can turn into anything you wish for. Or rather, as James and I discovered after weeks of thorough investigation, it has a set of one hundred and thirty-six different rooms, changing into the one that most closely fits your description. My deepest regret is not finding it earlier, we barely had half a year left at Hogwarts when we found it. By the time that we figured out how it worked and wished to at least add the entrance of it to the map, our crafty invention had already been confiscated by Filch,'' he scowled, flopping down on a rather comfortable chair that hadn't been there before. ''All the rooms seem to be linked, you can wish for a particular item and as long as it is stored in one of its versions, it appears here too,'' he explained.

''That's... incredible. Does anyone else know of it?'

''Possible. I'm almost certain that the Hogwarts house-elves should know since they are bound to the castle, and I suppose Dumbledore is also aware as Headmaster of the school. As for others, since it appears when desperately wishing for something, I can imagine some would stumble in by accident but not know how to get back. We only found it since, even after the initial creation of the map, the marauders made it our lives' mission to map every part of the school. Our greatest failure was never finding the Chamber of Secrets, truth be told. I'm glad that Prongs' son was the one to get in,'' the man grinned. ''You never did tell me how you managed that, I'll be looking forward to that story. I only have a vague description of your adventures from Dumbledore.''

Harry nodded, a bit unsure. Him being a Parselmouth had been a Big Thing at Hogwarts, but did Sirius actually know of it? A couple of students might have told their parents, but so far it never leaked to the press. ''Sirius, not that I don't appreciate you being here...'' he started.

''Oh, right. You of course want to know why first... Honestly, you made me worry a lot more than I thought being capable of. When I told you not to put yourself in mortal peril, I really must wonder why I thought you'd listen.'' Sirius flashed a grin. ''Not that I would have passed up on the opportunity to sign up for this Tournament.''

''I didn't put my name in the cup,'' Harry sighed, tired of hearing it.

''Oh, really?'' the man frowned. ''That's surprising. Kind of a shame, that really kills a lot of jokes I had prepared about it.'' Harry smiled, not sure whether to be angry at the other for thinking he'd do such a thing or relieved for the fact that his godfather instantly believed his words, other than most. ''At least that does excuse some of your more radical ways to get through it I guess... which is really why I am here.'' His face grew more wrinkled than Harry had ever seen it. ''To help you, I need to know what is going on, Harry. A lot of weight was put on your shoulders that you shouldn't have to bear already. I really do wish to take some of that away, which I can only do if you tell me what you are thinking. We both know that I never told you a thing about obscure dark rituals, and your hostility towards Dumbledore didn't fall from the sky either. Who've you been really talking to?''

Barty's warning words sounded in Harry's mind again. ''I don't want to lie, not to you.'' Harry finally decided. ''So I cannot tell you anything.''

Sirius sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat. ''See, that puts me in a bit of a dilemma. I can't protect you if I don't know who has you under their influence.''

''I'm under no-one's** influence**,'' he protested. ''I finally got myself some answers and decided on my own what to do with those. Part of that was finding out that Dumbledore's been hiding a lot of important things and done a lot of wrong too.''

''If you try to appeal that idea to me again with the whole Azkaban-thing, I will tell you briefly how I see it. No matter my intentions, I committed crimes that I would have been convicted for no matter what. Whether or not I betrayed your parents was knowledge that would only save my pride, not relieve my sentence. I was arrested at the same day that Voldemort fell, it was a hectic time and people looked to Dumbledore for answers. There was no malicious intent on his behalf, it was him who saw to it that the Ministry did not fall into utter chaos and that you were taken care of.''

''But... he knew that Peter...''

''Yes, he cast the Fidelius on request of your parents and knew that Peter was the Secret Keeper. And? That Voldemort knew of the location of your parents could have been because of the information being tortured out of Peter. I only thought he was a traitor because I suspected an information leak for longer and turned out to be right. I also thought however, that I had killed the little bastard. What should Dumbledore have done for a murderer? Since I thought that the explosion really did blow him to pieces, there was no proof anymore of him being a Death Eater either.''

''Wait, you thought that you really did kill Peter? Didn't you see him cutting off his finger and transforming?''

''Not exactly. I was chasing him through the streets on a late October evening. There wasn't an awful lot to see. He ran into a dead alley and I thought I had him… he'd never been a good dueller. I completely ignored the Muggles around us, who were out trick-and-treating. Most likely, they thought we were dressed up as well, which is why they didn't move out of the way. Next thing I knew, the street was blown up. I honestly thought that Peter, in a last desperate attempt, tried to perform a spell above his level and destroyed himself in the process. As much as I later regretted the many other deaths and the fact that I would never be able to legally justify wanting to kill him since I couldn't prove that he bore a Mark, in the moment I was torn between delight about having gotten revenge and guilt over your parents' deaths. In short, the entire situation was a mess and I don't blame the leader of the Order of the Phoenix for prioritising the wellbeing of the entire country over a single member, especially when said member did a few questionable things in the rush of the moment.''

''It's not the only thing,'' Harry protested, foregoing his speech about Azkaban. ''Dumbledore has put me in dangerous situations before, even led me to them, all the while hiding the fact that I am supposedly literally destined to destroy Voldemort.''

''Whatever do you mean?''

''There... there is a prophecy about me destroying the Dark Lord,'' Harry said, unsure of how much he should tell, especially as this was one claim that he hadn't been able to verify by himself. ''I don't know about any specifics. Still, it was made when Dumbledore was present, the whole reason why he warned my parents to hide in the first place.''

''So that's why he went after James and Lily so fervently?'' Sirius muttered to himself.

''What?''

''Just a thought... For all of the horrors under Voldemort's twisted idea of ruling, he usually only disposed of his enemies in battle, as a sign of magical prowess and power. Only especially dangerous or influential individuals sometimes 'disappeared'. Hearing that he broke into their home definitely made me wonder for years** why them**, you know?''

Harry stored the information away in his brain on the list of 'Things Voldemort had spoken the truth about', a list that thankfully appeared to grow longer over time. ''So yes, Dumbledore knew of this whole thing and never once mentioned it, despite me asking him several times why I survived and why Voldemort is after me.''

''Harry, you're fourteen! What, you think Dumbledore would introduce you to the Wizarding World and instantly take you aside to tell you about how the gruesome fate of your parents' death was because the most evil wizard in history wants to see **you** dead? Worse, that he isn't through trying? That's what adults always try to do, protect the younger generation from whatever could hurt them.''

''He put me with the Dursleys!'' Harry exploded. ''He couldn't have done** more** to hurt me! And even though I asked to stay at Hogwarts over summer, he refused because of bloody wards that I'd never heard of before.''

Sirius got up and kneeled down in front of him, carefully ruffling his hair as Harry tried not to break down when thinking of the unfairness put upon him. Why couldn't Sirius** understand**? Why was he trying to defend the headmaster so much? ''They were your closest relatives. Dumbledore's single greatest flaw is that he puts faith in people to do the right thing. He honestly thought that they would care for you. I must disagree with his decision here, of course. It was well-known that Petunia hated Lily and anything to do with magic. It was just a disaster waiting to happen. Then again, he didn't leave you there completely unguarded. I met a few members of the Order, and one happens to be a Squib who lives a few streets down from the Dursleys and who has kept an eye out for you. Nothing too obvious, she didn't want to so noticeably like you that your family would keep you from visiting.''

''What? Who?''

''A Mrs. Figgs. Crazy lady, has a bunch of Kneazles and Kneazle-cat crossbreeds that spy everywhere for her. She ranted a bit to me about how awful the Dursleys are and how every time you were over to her place, she put strengthening and healing potions in your drinks and food so to ease your burden.'' Harry's head spun. Mrs. Figgs? The old lady in her home full of lace and the stench of cauliflower? **That** Mrs Figgs was a Squib?

''Why... why did she never tell me anything?'' he asked, completely thrown off. ''I lived my life there being unaware of who I was, thinking that I was an outcast who was better off not existing, so I wouldn't bother my family anymore. And right down the street was someone who could have shown me my world and just... didn't?'' he looked up into Sirius' pained eyes, looking for some sort of confirmation that his feelings were justified. ''Why?'' he whispered.

Arms enveloped him, and Harry clung onto his godfather. ''It wasn't the right decision, or fair,'' the man spoke. ''I'm really not trying to say that what happened in your childhood was **good**, Harry. I only want you to understand that no-one on our side, not Dumbledore, not Mrs. Figgs, acted the way they did to be evil or to cause you grief. The Headmaster thought it better for you to grow up around your relatives, who by all means **should** have cared for you, a helpless child. When I confronted him about it, he told me of that there are wards around that house than no other place will have, ones that protect you specifically from Voldemort, and will need renewal each time. And furthermore, he knew both James and Lily, and if you turned out to be in any way like your dad, giving you to a random Wizarding family would also not have been great. Imagine them treating you like those on the street: admiring you for something you cannot remember, something you didn't actively do. Being both feared and revered at the same time by the people who have to raise you...''

''Better than feared and loathed,'' Harry dispassionately answered.

''No-one could have foreseen that they would treat you as vile as they did. By the time that you went to school and Mrs. Figgs finally saw that what went on in that house wasn't normal, that the Dursleys spread rumours of you being insane and such... it was too late to place you elsewhere, not to mention those wards.'' Harry pressed his lips together, wondering how much Sirius actually knew if he could still stand here and partially defend Dumbledore's decision. Mrs. Figgs may have seen him weeding the garden or being chased by Dudley, he'd been treated much worse even when away from the prying eyes of neighbours.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling withdrawn and empty. So Barty had been right: Sirius would defend Dumbledore's actions no matter what then. Disappointment washed over him as he realised that the one person he'd thought would be just as angry at Dumbledore as he was, chose to ignore the grave mistakes of the Headmaster in this way. It took every ounce of self-control that he had to not scream at Sirius, shake his shoulders until he'd wake up and see Harry's points. Instead, he only said: ''Too bad about those wards then, I left Privet Drive only a few days after arriving there last July. From what I gathered, they would need a few weeks of me being there per year for them to be effective. They should be down by now.'' Which was true, but not for the reason Harry just stated. His shared blood with Voldemort and the depletion of Lily's sacrifice would have made any possible wards useless.

''That... Merlin, I didn't even think of that. You should tell Dumbledore!''

''No, I don't think I will. Last time I told him how I was being treated at the Dursley's, he thought I was exaggerating.''

''My offer still stands,'' Sirius spoke, taking one of Harry's hands. ''You can always come live with me, I'd love that.'' Harry gave him a shaky smile. It was still tempting, even now he was overcome with frustration over the man's trust in the Headmaster. It did, however, interfere with his actual summer plans. Then, an idea came to him. ''It'll be Easter holidays soon. Normally I always stay at Hogwarts but... could I come over then? I still have so many questions. About mum and dad, about your ideas and beliefs, about the previous war and more. I'd really love getting to know you a bit more. After that... we can see?''

Sirius' brilliant smile almost made up for all his previous words. ''Of course kiddo, you'll be more than welcome. I have to warn you that my house isn't the cosiest place though, and that my house-elf is a grumpy bastard who wishes death on my head and that of any and all of my guests.''

''I'll survive,'' Harry said, a twinge of hope in his heart.

''Maybe during Easter, you will tell me a bit more about why I had to become your scapegoat for your use of dark magic too?'' the man asked, raising an eyebrow, having Harry wincing.

''Sirius, I'm really sorry about that. I couldn't think of anything to tell Dumbledore at the moment, and then you showed up and I... I panicked.'' Sirius sighed and stood up. For a moment, Harry thought that he'd just messed up everything, until a pile of books was dropped into his lap, which he took with acted surprise, having been warned before by Barty. ''_Circles of blood? Violet Night?_ _How to use your local Muggle_? Sirius, what is this?''

The man shrugged. ''You were right with your line of thought that I** could** have told you about all these things, I certainly have a large library of books on dark arts at my disposal. I figured that you might as well have some evidence to back that up. I will ask you to please not try anything of _'Your local Muggle_', since I wouldn't be very happy with you if you suddenly decide that Muggles are merely potion ingredients.''

Harry scowled. ''Of course I would never! That I grew up with a couple of awful Muggles doesn't mean that I see them as a lesser species or whatever.''

''Good.''

''But why go along with my story?'' Harry asked hesitantly. ''If you are so hell-bent on trying to convince me that Dumbledore did everything for my good and the good of others... Besides, I thought you hated dark magic?''

''Those are some loaded questions...'' Sirius started.

''Please don't tell me I'm too young to know,'' Harry all but begged.

''No, I suppose you wouldn't be, having faced all that you have until now,'' the other sighed. ''It is clear that, wherever the hell you got it from, you have some knowledge of and opinions on dark magic already. As much as I myself dislike it, it's not up to me to decide what you wish to do with the powers you've been born with. Growing up in a dark household, I also know better than most of our society that it isn't all death and disaster. There are some pretty epic dark spells that don't do any harm. James and I actually experimented with some books that I nicked from my parents before I closed off that chapter of my life completely. What is most important to me, is that you don't harm yourself or other people. Beyond that, whether you get through life with light or dark spells, I couldn't care less about. Just... be careful. The reason so many dark wizards and witches went** bad** is because dark magic can take a toll on one's physique and mental health.''

''So you don't believe that all dark magicians are evil and all light ones good?''

Sirius barked out a short, sad laugh. ''Honestly kid, I would be the last person to say that. Remus is a werewolf, a notorious dark creature, and one of the kindest people I'll ever know, I'm sure of it. Your own grandmother was a dark witch -a Black, actually- and she was incredible, taking care of me like her own son. She never denounced my family's ideals and preferred type of magic. In contrast, Peter was a light wizard and turned out to be a piece of shit. And remember that I told you about Crouch, the one who put me in Azkaban without a trial? He was one of those people who were as light as they come in a bad way, going mad with the desire to hunt down dark wizards by any means necessary, giving his forces the right to torture and kill just as brutally as his enemies did. What makes up a person is their character and what they do with their power, not the type of power itself.''

Harry smiled at hearing a bastardised version of Voldemort's favourite line coming from Sirius' lips. ''Thank you. That is... relieving to know.''

''I'm not going to pry into your source more now, but I am curious about why you hang towards dark magic so much. You're not addicted, are you?''

Harry shook his head. ''No, I've got books on how to prevent addiction, no worries. I make sure to properly cleanse myself and everything. It's not so much the rush I get -although truthfully, that is nice too-, it's more... I can identify well with it. That maybe sounds ridiculous, they're just spells... Nevertheless, dark magic has always been pushed away in a corner, treated like some sort of dirty secret, you know? And yet so much good can come out of it. I found elaborate rituals and chants and such that are just so** beautiful**. I wish to... to share that with the world. Just like with Remus' condition, there's so much prejudice in the Wizarding world against things people don't understand.''

''Which dark spell do you like most?''

Harry honestly smiled at that, not having anything to hide there. ''The Patronus charm.'' Shock coloured Sirius' face.

''The... The **Patronus**?'' he spluttered. ''What do you mean? That's a light spell!''

''Not if you use it for its intended purpose, to ward off Dementors. The shield that is creates feeds off the happy emotions tied to the memories you use as soon as Dementors attack it. It's true that nothing will happen if you use it as a messenger, but with Dementors around, the emotions that you put into it are sacrificed.''

Sirius looked highly disturbed at that information. ''I honestly am getting more and more interested about your source. Merfolk rituals are one thing. This? On a whole other level.'' He then gave Harry a suspicious look. ''You chose the word 'sacrifice'...''

Harry shrugged. ''I know that's what dark magic really is. Any magic that uses sacrifices and requires more than mere energy and thought. It's one of the reasons why it was a lot easier for me to get over the whole stigma around it. My mother sacrificed herself to protect me. I'm literally alive because she used dark magic if you look at it like that.''

''That is certainly something to think about...'' the other admitted. ''Well then, I'm glad to hear that you know what you are doing. I only ask of you that you don't swallow anything they tell you without proof or another perspective. Your views on Dumbledore's ideas are too bitter and angry to have all come from you yourself. I am still putting my trust in that man, just so you know. He's the one who right now is trying his best to make up for letting Azkaban happen to me, and also who kept you - if relatively- safe over the years.'' Harry let out a disbelieving huff. ''I'm just saying, the first opinion is not always the right one. And while I was truthful in that I don't think everyone dark is evil, there is a disproportionate amount of nasty people on that side, not to mention the whole ideology of pure blood being very prevalent. Keep your guard up, always. Now, I really have to go. I'll pick you up in my Snuffles-form on King's cross on the first of April, okay?''

Harry nodded, then looked up in horror. ''Oh no...'' he spoke. ''The train goes on April's fools. Can I come a day later? Please?''

A wicked gin spread on Sirius' face. ''Absolutely not. I have **years **of missed April's fools' days to make up for.''

The teen just groaned miserably. What had he just signed up for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, it might sound odd that it is continuously freezing and snowing in my chapters even as we are going into March and approaching April, but I delved into some preserved diaries of Scottish people in the 90's that were published online and the weather really was That Bad back then apparently.


	28. A Warm? Welcome

As he had expected, neither Ron nor Hermione reacted well to the news of Sirius coming to Hogwarts, for different reasons. Ron was **still** a bit sour at the man for not apologising in person for the broken leg even though Sirius had come to the burrow in person - despite Harry reminding him of that Pigwidgeon had been the apology-gift already - and Hermione was worried about Sirius bringing Harry in danger. Neither was comparable to Barty though, who didn't want to hear a word about 'that damned dog' after, so Harry tried to avoid the topic of Sirius altogether. Considering that he barely saw Barty outside of class with the amount of work he had, it wasn't very difficult. Easter holidays kept creeping closer, and Dumbledore's prolonged absence was prevalent, making several of the teachers quite antsy and arising suspicion among the guests of the castle, according to Dixie, Fleur and Viktor.

Harry had not hung out much with the other Champions anymore after the parties were over, all of them concentrating rather on schoolwork. While Cedric and he didn't need to worry about exams, Fleur and Viktor were both in their seventh year and had to at least take their countries' equivalents of N.E.W.T.'s before the summer holidays would start. Harry seriously wondered how they would manage. He supposed that for the both of them, this was the perfect time to study, now nothing was known yet anyways about the third task. Considering that this wasn't like the first one, where they were supposed to go in blind and had to scramble for info by themselves, it would be foolish to not wait till they received the promised intel freely.

At the moment, he was sitting in the library, close to the window to enjoy the rare sunbeams of late March. It would only be a couple of days now until he would see Sirius again... His friends were sitting opposite of him, bickering a bit about the homework they'd received from Barty. Hermione was convinced that Ron didn't pronounce the spell correctly again, while Ron stubbornly persisted on not taking Hermione's advice in Defence Against the Dark Arts since it was the only subject she didn't normally receive all O's in. Harry took the opportunity to think of all the things he wanted to ask his godfather. After his friend's reactions to Sirius' stunt, he actually still hadn't told them yet that he would be spending a week at his godfather's home and wasn't sure how to break the subject at this point. He was certain to get some disapproval.

''Enjoying the sun?'' he heard, and he nearly twisted his neck as he looked at Dumbledore, who had appeared behind him, still wearing a travel cloak that covered his usual eccentric choice of robes.

''Professor, you're back!'' Hermione exclaimed, smiling. ''Many people missed you at Hogwarts.''

''My deepest apologies, I had matters to attend to elsewhere, but your concern has been noted, Ms Granger. I do hope that your excellent academic abilities haven't faltered? And Mr Weasley, staying out of trouble?'' Harry fidgeted as his friends answered, Ron's cheeks colouring a bit at the mention of trouble. ''Very good. Harry, I must apologise that I could not uphold my promise of answering your questions before. If you would, I'd like to talk to you in my office. No no, you can leave your things here, we shouldn't be long,'' he spoke as Harry already started packing his bag without a word.

As they walked towards Dumbledore's office, Harry brooded about what he wanted to ask exactly and forced himself to calm down. The man had believed his story before already about Sirius, and Harry's thoughts were safe as long as he didn't directly stare at the headmaster, due to the snake fang pendant he wore. For a moment, he tried to push all of his newfound knowledge and dislike for Dumbledore aside, trying his hardest for Sirius to see things from another perspective. It was more difficult than he could imagine, his thoughts screeching to a halt every time the words 'Dursley' and 'prophecy' flashed up in his mind. Should he reveal that he knew about that? Probably a bad idea, even if it was one of the main sources of his problems with the Headmaster. Staying ambiguously vague about his source to Sirius was one thing, Dumbledore was sure to know that not many people would have had access to knowledge about this prophecy.

As they entered the room, Harry first noticed Fawkes, who looked close to his dying day again, a pool of feathers at the base of his bird pole. ''Take a seat Harry,'' Dumbledore said in a friendly tone that made Harry relax despite himself. It was easy to forget that this man had turned his parents into soldiers when he looked like the perfect picture of a fairy tale wizard. ''I'm sure that you have many questions, but first sit down and have a drink if you will.'' Harry froze up slightly, having been warned about Veritaserum by Barty right before he left Riddle manor. Would Dumbledore actually try to use that on him? ''Some tea,'' he rasped out, figuring that it would be strange to deny the offer. Taking the risk, he carefully sipped from the steaming cup that appeared, not knowing what even the effects of the potion would be if his tea had been laced with it.

Nothing happened, Dumbledore circling a teaspoon in his own cup and taking a long sip. ''Ah, warm, yet refreshing,'' he stated, smiling. ''Certainly something I needed after my travel.''

''May I ask where you've been?'' Harry asked. ''I heard that Headmaster Karkaroff and Madame Maxime became a bit uneasy with your absence.''

''You have eyes and ears everywhere, do you Harry?''

''No, I have friends everywhere,'' Harry corrected, frowning. ''I've taken Cedric's attempts at unity to heart and befriended Fleur and Viktor. They're both very nice people once they warm up. I'm actually surprised that the cup chose the three of them, since none are the competitive type. Cedric just wants everyone to get along, Viktor is already famous and rich and just wishes to be liked for who he is and Fleur... well, Fleur also wants to be recognised as a person.''

''I'll tell you a little secret,'' Dumbledore smiled, tapping the silver spoon at the rim of his teacup, droplets falling back into it. ''The Triwizard Tournament is a competition unlike any other, having been forged to stimulate international cooperation. While the Headmasters of the schools -myself included- of course like to see our Champions win, the Goblet of Fire was tasked to not necessarily pick those best suited for handling the Tournament itself, but also those willing to look past the trials and see each other. It is most important that, during times of peace, we stick together also, to not forget the bonds that we share when storms are to be weathered in the future.''

''That explains quite a bit,'' Harry admitted, glad to know of it. He stayed silent then in expectation, Dumbledore still not having answered his initial question. After a minute and a few silent sips from their cups, the Headmaster smiled at him.

''Not so easily distracted, are you? Very well, I've been on a mission to gather pieces of a rather complicated puzzle. I had actually wished to wait a few years with it still... However, with Voldemort showing up two years ago and now with the unfortunate happenings of Peter Pettigrew's mysterious demise, I felt forced to speed some things up. Not to mention...'' he stared Harry down ''That it looks like I indeed gravely underestimated your abilities and understanding. Perhaps you can handle more than I gave you credit for. A mistake I shall not make again.'' It might have sounded like a threat, had Dumbledore not said it with a comically-raised eyebrow and a smile.

''Have you ever heard of a Pensieve?'' he asked. Harry warily shook his head. ''They can show memories that have been extracted from one's mind. Duplicates, if you will, the memories also remain where they were before of course, lest we forget their existence in the first place. It is a handy invention that keeps me sane at times, when I find it better to observe a memory from an outside perspective. The ones I wish to show are not mine though, I have gone to gather some particular memories related to a certain individual with whom I think you should familiarise yourself. A great burden was placed on your shoulders the night that Voldemort chose to attack you and your family, and as much as I wish to protect you, you won't be within the walls of this castle forever. Voldemort shall not rest until he gets what he wants. Therefore, I have some things to show you.''

He waved his wand, upon which a cabinet opened, a strange silver light glowing as a shallow bowl floated out of it and landed on the table in between them. Harry stood and leaned forward, peering at the object in fascination, drawn to the shiny surface. It rippled not unlike dry ice, yet was clearer and more substantial. ''Memoria fluidum,'' Dumbledore explained, standing up too, opposite Harry, putting his hands around the bowl. ''A tricky substance to create, even harder to maintain.''

''How do I use it?'' Harry asked warily.

''Look closer. Much closer. I've already added the memory I wanted you to see.''

Harry lowered his face to the swirling, misty matter, something drawing him to the depths of the bowl. At least, he calmed himself, he knew how to cast a bubblehead charm if this was all a plot to drown him.

* * *

Through smudged glass, the landscape whooshed by, early spring flowers covering the green meadows of the English countryside through which the Hogwarts Express ploughed itself. The train was only half as full as on the first of September, and it was the first trip that he made without Ron. His friend had been cross with Harry for not telling him about going away for the holidays. Thankfully he didn't start a row about it, possibly two major fights in barely half a school year putting some sense into the other. Hermione hadn't been so lenient, and even as she sat with him in the train compartment now, she didn't say a word, convinced that what he was doing was absolutely stupid.

It did give Harry time to think, the ride taking over six hours and having hardly anything else to do. He would have used the time for studying, if he didn't always get nauseous when staring down at a book for an extended period of time while sitting in a moving vehicle. Hermione had no such qualms, it seemed. Perhaps, Harry considered, he was destined to be bad at** all** forms of travel apart from with a broomstick. His mind lingered still on the memory he'd been shown, unsure what to make of it, of the purpose behind Dumbledore's decision. He'd been taken to little Hangleton, not Riddle manor, instead to a little shack on the outskirts of town which he didn't know of if it still existed. The memory had been of a Ministry employee, a certain Bob Ogden, who had visited Voldemort's maternal side of the family. It was hard to get the desperate look of Merope Gaunt out of his mind, the cruel treatment that was comparable to the Dursleys' way of raising Harry. He didn't know how her story continued, had no idea how exactly things had fallen apart in such a way that Voldemort had landed in a Muggle orphanage. It was undeniable however, that the cracks had already started far before Tom Riddle had been born.

In the end, Harry had been so occupied with the memory that most of his other question for Dumbledore had been left forgotten, from the way magic was taught at Hogwarts -not that he had expected a straight answer there in the first place-, to what view Dumbledore had on Voldemort now. After all, it was clear that the headmaster was starting to move against the man, despite Voldemort not even officially making any appearances. For all Harry knew, Dumbledore still thought that the Dark Lord was playing parasite, although perhaps his fears of the Dark Lord's return to life had been strengthened by what had happened with Peter. Harry himself still didn't know how that had been managed either, the Dark Mark disappearing and Wormtail ending up an empty shell...

''Hermione,'' he spoke quietly. She gave a noise that was in between a huff and a grunt, making him think it might be okay to continue. ''Dumbledore has apparently started to try and train me,'' he admitted. She instantly shot up, anger forgotten and eyes wide.

''Train you? In what, duelling?''

He smiled wryly. ''No, not exactly. Maybe 'train' wasn't the right word. In fact, I hardly think I'll be learning any new magic at all, which is why I wanted your opinion on it. I was called up in his office to look at a memory of Voldemort's past. He told me that this will be a regular occurrence and said that it was the reason he was away for so long, hunting down memories of Voldemort's parents and such. I can't really see how it would help me, or why Dumbledore would think it's necessary. I mean, I survived before on pure luck, surely he doesn't expect I can do anything against a Dark Lord?''

Hermione hesitated and put her book away. ''Well, there is the saying of 'Know thy enemy', I'm sure it will be useful to know of his background. Honestly, it's frightening to imagine how little we actually know of V... of Voldemort,'' she spoke the word a bit breathlessly. The fear of the word had, with her being a Muggleborn, never been so ingrained into her as in others. Still, for years, Harry was the only one who dared utter that name aloud, it having a sense of taboo that Hermione had always also found hard to break since all around her reacted so negatively to it. More than anything, one of his friends finally getting over the fear of the man's name calmed him more than anything. ''I mean,'' she continued. ''We know** of** him, of course, and with the happenings of the Chamber of Secrets you also found out a bit more about his past. We know that he used to be Tom Riddle and attend Hogwarts. Prefect, then Headboy, outstanding academic ability... but he doesn't really show up as Voldemort until his mid-thirties, effectively vanishing for over a decade. Even from there on, hardly anyone dared to mention him in literature. Who he really is, what drove him to do the things he's done, are a mystery.''

''And even about the last war,'' Harry agreed, nodding. ''We've only heard bits and pieces from adults who were involved in the first war, how it was then. To me, those stories are puzzling too. In some, it sounds as if he kept in the background, yet then again he shows up by himself on the battlefield... No-one actually told me much about what that side actually fought for, only that they lost and had some radical ideas of overthrowing the government and being against Muggles and Muggleborns.'' And he knew that at least the latter was more an ideology pursued by the Pureblood families that counted themselves to the Dark Lord's following than of the man himself.

''Not to mention the whole mystery with his return,'' Hermione quietly agreed. ''No normal human, wizard or not, should have been able to accomplish what he did. No ghost could take hold of a human body the way he did with Quirrel.'' she shuddered. ''To think that he was there all of our first year, right in front of us!''

''True, you may have a point in that getting to know him might help. Then again, why me? As I said, no-one can honestly expect me to, what, duel him or something?''

''Harry, as much as you like to keep out of the spotlight, fact is that both times he appeared, he went after you,'' she reasoned

''That's not true,'' Harry threw in. ''I went after him.'' Surprised, she looked up. ''In our first year, it was I who decided to snoop into the whole thing with the Stone and wanted to stop whoever was after it. He could have easily caught me alone by using Quirrel and offed me. Instead, he left me alone all year until I appeared in the room when he was trying to figure out how to get the stone. The only incident where he did attack me in some way was on the Quidditch field, and I honestly can't say that that was really supposed to be an attempt on my life. I mean, so publicly, with loads of teachers around? And then second year, it was also us who wanted to figure out the mystery, right? Voldemort would have had no way to know that I could hear the Basilisk in the walls, nor that I would find the diary after Ginny tried to flush it through the toilet. As much as I can blame Voldemort for the deaths of my parents, I cannot truthfully say that he tried to be a direct threat to me after. It was I who kept getting in his way however I could. As it is, I have no idea why Dumbledore thinks that I should be the one of all people to receive more information about the man. I'm not the only one who lost their loved ones.''

''You are the only one who survived his Killing curse, that must count for something.'' Her tone sounded more doubting than her words did.

''I only survived because my mother put herself between me and him after he asked her to step aside,'' Harry spoke, frowning. ''Dumbledore told me as much a few years ago already. He knows that it is not through any feat of my own.'' There was, of course, the Prophecy, which he shouldn't even know about. It still did not make sense to him that the Headmaster would start giving him these 'extra lessons' before actually revealing **why** Harry was supposedly the only one it could be useful for.

'''Maybe...'' Hermione hesitated. ''Maybe he wants to give you something to concentrate on other than what you have been doing.'' She refused to meet his eyes, making Harry raise an eyebrow at her.

''And what **have** I been doing?''

''I wondered why Dumbledore gave you such a low score during the first Task and did some research. Then after hearing how you conquered the second one, well... I'm not stupid Harry. I know very well that you performed much darker magic than you should know. Also, you have been talking to Malfoy a lot, and have had lots more extra classes with professor Moody in Defence than you should, which can't all be for the Task. I know that you've already been training in secret on your own to take on Voldemort.'' She gave him a determined stare, which he could only blink at. How had she come to that spectacularly wrong conclusion?

''Hermione...''

''No Harry, you don't have to hide it from me. Look, I know that professor Moody's approach to dark magicians is 'use their own means to beat them', **and** that Malfoy has potentially useful info that you can use against him since his dad can't be favoured that much anymore by Voldemort after buying his way out of Azkaban. Merlin, even your visit to Sirius now would definitely not be approved by Dumbledore, I can only imagine where you got the knowledge of all those obscure rituals.'' She raked her hand through her frizzy curls in frustration. ''I don't know how to get this point across better, Harry: you've got to stop. It won't work the way you think it will, professor Dumbledore trying to show you what made Voldemort become the way he did surely has got to be a sign that you're not going at this the right way. It's frustrating to be famous, I've seen how you dislike it. Still, it's a reality that you will have to face. People look up to you and will scrutinise your every move. If you start fighting dark magic with dark magic, who knows what can of worms you're opening. It might become like second year all over again, with peopled determined that** you're** the next Dark Lord only because you used the same means to do something entirely different. You were shunned for talking to snakes, a skill that surely cannot really be harmful , only because it is** associated** with Dark Arts.''

Harry sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, wondering whether to go along or not. In the end, he settled for speaking the truth while also leaving her with the illusion she obviously wanted to believe in. ''I don't give a damn about public opinion,'' he commented. ''As long as those I care for know that I'm doing everything I can to protect them. You were right, the entire magical population will blow up whenever I 'step out of line' even if that is just by being myself. Guess what, that means there will always be something they'll complain about. I'm not going to walk around on eggshells and sit back, hoping that when I am really attacked, I can throw my knowledge in Voldemort's face of that I know his granddaddy was an abusive dick. What you are saying makes sense in the way that yes, there might be backlash. Sure, Dumbledore possibly thinks just as bad of me as the rest of the Wizarding community and is afraid of that I'll turn out like Tom Riddle did. Well I won't, and you should **know** that I will** never** enjoy hurting other people.'' For as much as he admired the Dark Lord for his power and control over his own bloodlust, he would be the last to say that he wanted to be like the man, or agreed with taking pleasure in the pain of others.

''Oh Harry,'' Hermione said, trails of tears slipping from her eyes. ''Of course I do, you twat! I am only worried about that others won't! I don't want to see one of my best friends getting hurt, don't you understand that? I feel like you're going onto a path where it will be hard for me to follow and fully **show** my support for you, I'm not saying that I will not.''

Looking down, Harry didn't react to that, having no idea how to reply. Trying to accept her words would be equal to lying to her. To hear that she had full faith in that he was trying to fight against Voldemort on his own and that being the reason why he spoke to against Dumbledore was...

He didn't need to finish his thoughts, for she frowned and put her book to the side, leaning forward. ''The only piece that I cannot puzzle together is why you just claimed that others cannot expect you to fight You-Know-Who when it's so obvious that that is exactly what you've been trying. As you said before, you did go after him a couple of times already.''

Carding a hand through his hair, Harry wondered how he could talk himself out of this mess without revealing too much of his own thoughts. Honestly, he wished he could just tell Hermione everything that had happened since the end of their last year. Then, Voldemort's words shot through his head of him picking friends who wouldn't benefit from choosing the side of Magic, and he also recalled Hermione's outburst at the first Champion party of her family's lives not just being a theoretical political point to check off on a list. That also brought a dilemma for Harry. Having sworn to protect his friends, that included their wellbeing and happiness. Her parents being harmed was out of the question, no matter how lowly Voldemort thought of Muggles.

''I guess I don't really know what I'm doing,'' he muttered. Which was entirely truthful: he was a confused mess who tried to do his best and got stuck between two sides. It all had seemed so simple the past few years: the people he loved were on the Light side, those who resented him and wanted him dead on the Dark. Finding out that not everyone light magician had his best intentions in mind and that the Dark Lord had an agenda that would -in Harry's opinion- change the world for the better, altered that outlook completely. And still, he couldn't exactly say that he could stand behind Voldemort fully either, since Harry did not agree to many of the man's methods and his flippant way of handling other humans. The only hope he clung to was that Voldemort would not change his mind on not trying to start a war again this time. Also, apart from Barty, all of his friends were still light, and he couldn't blame them much for it either if the other alternative would leave them poor and shunned. As far as he knew, they had not been manipulated nor charmed to believe that the light was the better choice, it really was for them. Other than for Harry, who had nothing to lose, as Voldemort had oh so kindly pointed out. No, **he** would get safety, respect even for being so close to the Dark Lord if he played his cards right.

A small hand landed on his knee and Hermione smiled through her tears. ''I'm here to support you Harry, and I know that I can speak for Ron as well. You don't have to shoulder this burden alone you know.''

His knee still burned hours later where she had touched him, guilt and dread filling Harry's mind. Why couldn't things be easier? Why could he not find any good arguments that he knew they'd understand too that might make both Ron and Hermione understand why he made the choices he did? Why did he not have anything concrete against Dumbledore that might change their outlook on things? For as much as he himself had been convinced about that the headmaster had lied to him, hidden important information and twisted situations to his own favour, Harry didn't actually have any proof for any of it.

They said their goodbyes at the train station, Hermione hurrying towards her parents once they were past the barrier, both of them looking happy to have their daughter back, only casting a couple of dubious looks at her large trunk and various not-so-normal items. Harry watched them silently, the realisation dawning on him that he hardly knew anything about them. It had been so easy to integrate in the Weasley family that he'd hardly ever thought about the parents of his other friends, and now that he thought about it, Hermione's were least mentioned. He even knew more about Neville's grandma than about Mr and Mrs Granger. That also made him realise that he was probably not the only one: none around him had asked about them either, a sort of silent agreement between magicians of all blood statuses existing as a barrier that made it hard to mention Muggles. It was what had kept Harry silent about the Dursleys, or what made that he knew quite a bit about Seamus mum, but no details about his dad other than that he was a Muggle. The segregation that Voldemort sought seemed to already be ingrained on the most basic levels. Could he then really blame magicians who had had little to do with Muggles or only had negative experiences, for dehumanising them so? And was Harry then very different? All Muggles he'd been forced to be close to, from his own family to children at elementary school, had treated him horribly. He'd had no friends, none who cared for him. It was a miracle that he didn't have the same attitude as Voldemort towards them.

Which left Harry wondering** why** he didn't, thoughts that were broken off when a very large dog enthusiastically ran up to him, followed by a man who was obviously part of the personnel here at the train station. ''This yours?'' the man panted, hands at his knees as he skidded to a halt in front of Harry. His face was the shade of red that betrayed he might have been chasing Sirius around for quite some time already. ''Pets are to be leashed here!''

''I... I'm so sorry!'' Harry stuttered, trying not to burst out laughing as Sirius sat down next to him like the most well-behaved dog in the world, wagging his tail and nudging Harry's hand.

''Are your parents here boy?'' the man huffed, straightening again and eyeing the large dog disapprovingly.

''Erhm... no. Snuffles must have come here on his own, no-one was supposed to pick me up. Sorry, my dog sometimes gets a little excited and tries to find me on his own. Isn't he smart?'' he asked, hoping that his and Sirius' combined puppy-eye looks would convince the man to let it slide.

''I'm not getting paid enough for this,'' the guy muttered, his look resigned. ''Run along kid, please at least find something to use as a leash so I don't get into trouble for letting you go.'' Determined to get back at his godfather for this whole situation, Harry rummaged in his trunk, finding the sash of his dress robes to tie it around Snuffles' neck.

''It's your own fault,'' he grumbled as Sirius whined and tugged on the leash. ''Happy April's fools.''

Harry soon found that he wished to have swallowed those words. Whenever he'd thought of staying at Sirius' place, he'd imagined the first impressions of a deeply dark Wizarding home, gloomy corridors and magical books. What he got instead was a whirlwind of trying to avoid the most basic pranks: a bucket of water on the front door, loud sirens when he stepped over the kitchen threshold, a bombardment of confetti in his face whenever he opened a cupboard. ''Sirius!'' he whined when he tried washing his hands after using the toilet and cold coffee came out of the tap instead of water, splattering his shirt with stains.

''Ye-es?'' the man sing-songed, a wide grin visible when Harry opened the toilet door and glared out. At least no-one would be able to say that Sirius was a sore loser: the leash was still around his neck even in human form, now tied in a gigantic blue bow. Determined to get back on the prankster, Harry scooped up a hand of coffee and hurled it at Sirius, who dove into another room, laughing hysterically. The teen sighed and went after him, trying his hardest to ignore the itching when it appeared that he'd just plopped down on a chair covered in a tickling charm. Harry was also determined to not eat anything that evening anymore after warily accepting Sirius' toffee apples and finding out that they were, in fact, caramel onions. All in all, it definitely was not an experience that Harry had imagined ever having, though all the pain was worth it when seeing how much fun Sirius was having again. For once the lines on his face that had been left by Azkaban looked a bit more shallow.

''Oh Merlin, you look just like James!'' The man wheezed after Harry had become, yet again, the victim of a rather childish prank that grew out his eyebrows so that they nearly covered his entire face. ''I did the same thing to him on the day of our graduation. Lily was furious at me.''

''And my father?'' Harry grinned, trying to brush the hair out of his eyes.

''He braided them and told everyone he was a Viking. Hey, you should-''

''I'm not braiding my eyebrows,'' Harry deadpanned.

''It would be so much **fun**! I'm not giving you the counter spell until you do!'' Having no other choice than walking with a curtain of eyebrows on his face or humouring his godfather's request, Harry gave in, hoping that Sirius at least didn't have any hidden cameras set up anywhere to record his shame. ''Amazing!'' the man cheered. ''Lily will never know what hits her! Come on Prongs, if we hunt down Peeves he might decide to copy this look on a couple of other students!''

It was as if the bucket of ice water on the door doused Harry once more as the teen took in the words with growing horror. The other didn't seem to think he'd said anything odd, still laughing. ''Sirius...'' he said quietly, hesitantly reaching out to take the man's hand.

''What? He's not going to be floating around on the second floor all day, I...'' his godfather fell silent and appeared confused for a moment, then looked around. ''Why am I here?'' he whispered, frowning. ''Prongs?''

Taking a deep breath, Harry kneeled down and carefully placed his hands on the man's cheeks to make Sirius focus on him. ''Sirius, come back. I'm Harry. James' son, okay?''

''Harry...'' It was as if he heard a mere echo of his godfather's voice. ''Of course. I'm... so sorry that you had to see me like that.'' Clearly struggling, he removed Harry's hands, staring at them. ''I might not have been as ready for this as I wanted to be,'' he spoke, words filled with regret. Then, Sirius cracked a smile. ''Wow, it's a bit hard to take this situation serious myself though, with you looking like** that** kiddo.''

Relieved that the moment was over, Harry rolled his eyes, deciding that it might be best to ignore Sirius' lapse for now. He hadn't truly expected Sirius to come back completely sane from twelve years in Azkaban. ''Then give me the counter spell, you menace!''

''Fine, fine!'' A moment later, Harry's face felt like it had turned back to normal. ''Oh yes, there's something I still wanted to ask you. And I know it's April's Fools as you **might** have noticed, but this is a matter of severe severity that could put Severus to shame, okay?'' Wondering what could be so important, Harry nodded, then jumped as with a loud bang, an old, shrivelled up house-elf appeared that threw him a foul look, hurled an envelope at Sirius and disappeared again.

''What in the...''

''Ah, my absolutely disloyal servant, I would have kicked him out if I hadn't been persuaded otherwise. Apparently I should still at least have** someone **to keep watch, even if the little bastard would love to murder me in my sleep if he wasn't bound to obey me. Take no notice of Kreacher, Harry, he's still bitter about me inheriting anything from the Blacks. He loved my dear mummy to death. Her portrait hangs in the hallway, I'm shocked that she didn't start screaming through all of these pranks. Maybe she's tired. All un-pleasantries aside of my family, I received this a few days ago. Care to explain why Lucius Malfoy knows you're spending the holidays here and thought it a great idea to invite me to one of his fancy parties?''

''What?'' Harry hissed, taking the envelope from the outstretched hand of his godfather, unfolding the letter.

_We, the Malfoy family, wish to extend a hand towards Sirius Orion Black and Harry James Potter. _

_As extended family, you are hereby invited to Malfoy Manor to join in the celebrations for the noble Feast of Ostara in closed circles. Dinner shall be included and your hosts shall provide the necessary set-up and ingredients. Formal attire required. _

_For your safety, this invitation is only readable to the recipients. _

_Malfoy Manor, accessible via Floo only._   
_3rd of April, 1994_   
_17:00 - 23:00_

Dubiously, Harry flipped over the paper to see if there was anything on the back. There wasn't. ''That little shit,'' he cursed. Harry had suspected before that Malfoy had been listening in on him, catching the Slytherin quite a few times on the Marauder's map, being far too close to Harry's location when there was no need to. ''Draco,'' he sighed at Sirius' raised eyebrow. ''We've been rivals for years and finally formed a sort of truce this year. He actually helped me with the second task as he speaks Mermish. I haven't spoken him much since Christmas though, it looks like he's been stalking me instead and picked up something about me going here.'' Harry scowled. ''Ron made a big fuss about it when he found out, my friends think it's too dangerous for me to be here since the Ministry is still after you and such. Speaking of which, what** are** you going to do about that?''

Sirius shrugged. ''I suspect I will have to hide away for the next decade or so. It's known now that I didn't kill Peter, but that's it. Things would have been different, had I been able to prove he was a Death Eater. Since I cannot and most likely never will be able to prove that now he died, there isn't much left for me to do other than running around outside as Snuffles. So, Draco Malfoy told his daddy that you would be here huh? What should we do?''

''You're the adult here.''

''Debatable,'' Sirius snorted, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. ''It could be interesting, if slightly risky. For all I know, this is a gigantic trap and Dementors will be waiting for me there. On the other hand, Narcissa and I used to get along as kids until I ran away. Who knows how she feels towards me now. It certainly would be less boring than being cooped up in this house, even if you're here too. Hey, if we get attacked I can polish my duelling skills!''

''How'd you get your wand back in the first place?''

Sirius pulled a face. ''I didn't, my wand was snapped when I was shipped off to prison. Dumbledore helped me finding a new one and talked to Ollivander.'' Harry nodded, silently brooding about why the headmaster was putting so much time and energy into Sirius. Was it really kindness, making up for his own mistakes, or were larger things at play here?

''Oh no, I know that look,'' Sirius groaned. ''I'll try not to mention Dumbledore around you for at least a couple of days, okay?''

''Not sure, I actually have some things I want to talk to you about regarding him.'' Harry spoke. ''Before that, we should first think of this invitation. You say we should go? Wouldn't anyone think you're jeopardising my safety by bringing me to known Death Eaters?'' Not that that would really be a problem, but it would be strange for him to just go along with it, Harry found.

The man chewed on his lip, looking torn. ''You should be able to handle yourself... With Malfoy manor having powerful wards, you should definitely get away with using magic, especially since the Malfoys have a kid that goes to Hogwarts.''

''You mean my wand trace would be blocked by the house being a place where it is not odd for magic to be cast?'' Harry asked, vaguely remembering Barty's explanation of how it worked.

''Basically. If you want to be sure, we should maybe look to see if we can find a different wand for you to use there. I can't guarantee anything otherwise. the Trace is a fickle thing. So, if you can cast magic, there really shouldn't be anything to worry about, and I'm there with you too. Don't forget I used to be an Auror!''

''You were?'' Harry asked, baffled. ''I actually didn't know that.''

''Yeah, joined the Training program when I was right out of school. I tried to convince your dad too, but he was wealthy enough to not need to work for a couple of years and he first wanted to focus on Lily and later on you. Not that I was in need of gold really. When I was burned off the family tree, my Uncle Alphard left me a large sum, with which I bought my own little flat at eighteen, once I was out of Hogwarts. Before that I had crashed at James' place during the holidays since running away from home. I mostly got the job to have some excitement in my life and do something proactive apart from only Order missions. Ah, good old times. I only barely managed to finish the training before.. well, before everything went down. It's why I was so hoping that I could show people Peter's Mark, as a trained Auror I was even allowed to use the Killing Curse on Death Eaters freely.''

''Did you?'' Harry asked uncomfortably.

''If they fought back, or if I knew of horrible things they'd done but I couldn't prove? Yeah, it was war. It's not as if any of those bastard would have spared my life either, not to mention their boss. The only one I ever let run when I met him on the battlefield was my little brother, who was barely seventeen at the time. I still can't believe that he bought all that crap from my parents. Seeing him there, standing all proud, mask in hand... idiot...'' Sirius trailed off.

''What happened to him?''

Sirius shrugged and stared at the ceiling in a way that reminded Harry very much of Barty. ''He died. Figured out in the end that there wasn't only glory to be found on the dark side, so he turned tail. Still have no idea when and how exactly, but it cost him his life rather fast. Kreacher still isn't over it, Regulus was his absolute** favourite**, just like my little brother was perfect in the eyes of my parents.'' The bitterness betrayed that Sirius wasn't quite over it either despite all those he spoke of being six feet under. ''He was murdered by Voldemort or, more likely, by one of the Dark Lord's cronies. Having only joined a few years prior, I can't imagine that Regulus was important enough to be killed by him personally.''

_Regulus_ echoed through Harry's brain, a pleading voice crying out for one long dead. So Sirius had not been aware of just how important Regulus had been to the Dark Lord then.

''Right,'' he replied. ''Well, with you having been an Auror, I certainly should not have any trouble. I don't mind going either. Might be interesting, as you put it.''

''True, it's not as if the Dark Lord is waiting for you himself, is he?'' Sirius cheerfully said, swinging himself forward to fist-bump Harry's shoulder. He tapped the letter once with his wand, the crest at the end of the page glowing up blue. ''Now they know we've accepted,'' the man explained. ''Come on, I'll show you the rest of the house while cleaning up these prank items. Can't promise you that I won't accidentally miss one or two if you don't help me,'' he smirked. ''In the meantime, I'll have Kreacher prepare dinner. He's a good cook but since he tries to do his worst for me, don't expect miracles. The only reason why it's still not poisoned is because House elves are incapable of purposefully botching up a direct task to such an extent that it wouldn't resemble food anymore.''

''I could cook,'' Harry offered, earning him a horrified look.

''As if! I'd rather bring down these wards and order food every day than make you **work** during your holiday! Preposterous.''

Harry only smiled. Even if the food he received here was trash, nothing could make that wouldn't enjoy spending time with Sirius.


	29. Addiction

Sipping from a glass of pumpkin juice that Sirius had pressed into his hand, Harry observed the garden of Malfoy Manor through a stylish, high arched window. Wet snow clung to the glass before melting, the wintry spells of March not having waned yet, to much complaint of the guests, who had been hoping for a warm Easter this year. Ostara, Harry corrected himself, although it didn't really make too much of a difference to him yet. The tables were still laden with the same food that had been served at the Dursley's, including even painted eggs and edible flowers. Apart from a few pieces of magic on the set of rooms that had been decorated for the event, Harry found it hard to compare this to what he'd experienced at Lughnasadh. Quietly, he growled into his glass. Where had he picked up this habit of comparing every new experience with something of last summer?

Part of that might be contributed to that Easter was actually the wrong date to celebrate the magical feast. Sirius had told him that Ostara was a celebration to highlight the Spring Equinox that took place on the 21st of March. All parties had been forced to be moved in Britain because the staff of Hogwarts had adapted the holidays to fit with Muggle feasts instead of traditional ones for decades already. Considering that many people of traditional families still wished to celebrate Ostara with their children, they had -under much protest that had been quelled around the 1950's- resigned to rather move it to a date that wasn't of significance to them than to not being able to celebrate it with those they cared about. It was one of the more prominent examples where Harry could absolutely understand why Voldemort was angry at Muggle culture repressing magical traditions.

''Don't look so hostile, Potter,'' he heard behind him, and he turned to glare at Draco Malfoy. ''Have you even introduced yourself to everyone?''

''I'm sure everyone is well aware of who I am. For me getting to know others: the few people I tried speaking to entirely ignored my attempts at making conversation. Why did you tell your dad to invite me?''

''I didn't, I only told father that you would be at Black's place. I think mother actually convinced him since it is rude not to invite family and, well, he** is** her cousin. I must say that he looks rather... wild,'' Draco sniffed.

''He's absolutely brilliant,'' Harry snapped. Malfoy still hadn't grown out of insulting those he cared for.

''Not that you look much better, of course,'' the boy continued, a mean smile appearing on his face. ''Do you only have one set of dress robes? This must be the fifth party I have seen you wearing these.''

''Not everyone makes it their hobby to spend three hours styling themselves. Besides, you're one to talk, your skin looks even paler than normal to the point of being sickly. So, knock it Malfoy.''

''Alright, alright,'' the boy said, throwing his hands up. ''You're no fun Potter. I wasn't intending to start a fight, I would never ruin my mother's favourite feast.''

''Oh?''

''Well, from when she was small, she's always been the centre of attention at Ostara due to her name,'' Draco said, smiling fondly at his mother. ''Daffodils are very prominent this time of the year, and it is featured often on altars as a symbol and in spring spells to channel love or luck. I didn't know that you were** this** uneducated about these kind of things, Merlin.'' Ignoring the comment, Harry looked over to Draco's mother. The woman was indeed shining as if she thrived under all the looks of admiration she received. Harry did not have much of an opinion formed on her yet, having only been very briefly introduced an hour ago. He supposed that it spoke for her that she stuck close to Sirius, who otherwise would have no friendly faces to look upon. ''Come on, you look like gloom itself, let me try to speak on your behalf.'' Shrugging off Malfoy's hand from his shoulder with a glare, Harry followed the blond to the other side of the ballroom and further towards the dining room where a long table was set up in buffet-style. ''The food isn't going to eat itself.''

Harry hadn't actually wanted to touch much of the food. It was elaborate in a way that the smells were overpowering and colours stung his eyes. The dishes screamed of riches, from the parmesan-crusted tilapia to the honey-and-orange braided tea loafs. In any other place, he'd happily have indulged. Here though, at the Malfoy's, where he knew that all of it must have been prepared by their new House-elf... While he hadn't agreed with Hermione's hunger strike at Hogwarts for the House-elves, he knew for a fact just how terrible the creatures were treated by the Malfoys. He may have freed Dobby, that didn't mean that the family wouldn't have bought a replacement within the past two years. Knowing how much the one cooking all this must have suffered made it hard for him to swallow a bite. He only went through with it because he **was** very hungry and knew that it would not make a difference if he went on a silent protest here. The people that he was 'introduced' to were mostly other Hogwarts students that he already had seen at one point and wasn't really interested in getting to know much better. It hadn't exactly worked out with Draco either, and even then only because the boy knew that Harry had witnessed the Dark Lord's resurrection. Draco's extended family didn't appeal to him very much.

As expected, the others were rather hesitant about him being there despite Draco's admittedly strong efforts. There was Pansy Parkinson and her younger brother, who turned out to be the children of Lucius Malfoy's sister, and a few more distant cousins twice or thrice removed. Harry hadn't even been aware of Lucius having siblings actually. It made a lot more sense to him now that Draco put up with Pansy so much despite the girls' nasty personality. The others were some Slytherins and Ravenclaws a few years above or below them with whom he hadn't interacted much. Harry spoke with them warily, not discussing much of importance while they all sipped their drinks with hostile glares.

''Harry!'' he heard, turning to find Sirius looking panicky. '''Merlin, I suddenly didn't see you anymore... I thought...''

''Everything's fine,'' he reassured his godfather, walking towards him. ''Draco said I was sulking too much and invited me here. Don't worry so much.''

''Yeah... you'll handle yourself right?'' Grey eyes flicked from left to right, then came to rest on Harry's sleeve, in which a wand was hidden. His godfather had insisted on giving him a holster and had found a different wand that fit Harry alright.

''Of course, go talk to your family some more.''

''You should join us soon, Narcissa has been asking me non-stop about you.'' Sirius scowled. ''Best to face her yourself.''

Considering for a moment, Harry shrugged and said: ''Might as well come with you now then.'' Malfoy and his relatives had not been very pleasant company after all. Time to find out if at least Draco's mother was friendlier or if she was as much of a stuck-up aristocrat as Draco and Lucius were. The latter was unfortunately the first one who actually approached them.

''Well well, Potter. It has been a while.'' The man's tight smile was strained, and steel eyes bored into his own. ''I have heard... so many tales about you. Hogwarts Champion was your latest title, no?''

''Is that the way you treat your guests, **Lord** Malfoy?'' Sirius spat.

''What way would that be, exactly? I am merely inquiring as to the quick way in which your charge seems to gather titles. Boy-Who-Lived, Hero, Triwizard Champion... and a few more unflattering ones if we may believe the Prophet over the past years. Press can be such a nasty thing when the wrong words land in the wrong quills.'' Lucius Malfoy's sneer made Harry very aware of that the man hadn't forgotten about or forgiven him for freeing Dobby. Nor had Harry forgotten how the man had lunged at him after, intent on harming a twelve-year old for standing up for, essentially, a slave. ''And that goes for all of us,'' he finished, giving Sirius a **look**.

''Inquiries with clear implications of being threatening are still threats,'' Harry's godfather spoke, narrowing his eyes. ''We accepted your **gracious** invitation to come here and expect to be shown the same courtesy as everyone else. Even your own son seems to understand that better. Now, I wish to speak to your wife, if you would kindly move?'' Sirius grabbed Harry's arm and practically dragged him away, muttering curses.

''You handled that surprisingly smooth,'' Harry commented. ''I'd thought you'd blow and we'd cause a ruckus, leaving with a grand exit.''

''If I had been alone, maybe I would have made more of a scene. As it is, you really can't afford to have more enemies... or for those you already have, to grab the chance to become hostile. That's not to say that I'm losing my touch though, I've already cast a spell on him while he was looking the other way. Let's just say that he'll find it hard to enjoy dinner, what with everything edible turning to ash in his mouth for the next three hours.''

''You're the best.''

''Cissy!'' Sirius exclaimed, waving at the woman. Gracefully, Narcissa Malfoy turned away from her current conversation partner and devoted her attention to Sirius and Harry. ''Since you wouldn't stop grilling me, here's Harry.''

''My my, don't you look lovely dear,'' she said, smiling softly. ''My dear cousin is exaggerating, I have already heard quite a bit of you before, of course, from my son. He often gets very worked up when you are mentioned,'' she giggled behind her hand. Harry wasn't sure if he should mention that when Draco got worked up by Harry in person, it usually ended in a lot of curses and punches. ''I would please ask that you do not get him in trouble again though.''

''Me getting** him** in trouble?'' Harry blurted out. ''When? Last time I checked, Draco did that all by himself or set me up.'' The woman didn't smile anymore now, her gaze turning cool.

''That is a grave accusation.''

''Not really,'' he hastened to say. ''It's all medium pranks at school. Still, I was not the one who challenged him to a duel at night, then informed the teachers of it and didn't show up. Nor was I the one to run away in the Forbidden Forest, leaving the other party all alone in there.'' He shut his mouth with an audible clack before he got too heated again about all the unfairness he'd been put through because of Draco bloody Malfoy. An uncomfortable silence settled over the three of them, which Sirius tried to break with a strained smile.

''So, erhm, any plans for the holiday still?''

While Narcissa latched onto the topic, clearly glad for having a good reason to change the subject, Harry stayed silent and stuck close to Sirius, using the time to observe the rest of the people. Considering such a large room had been opened, there were surprisingly few people, although the letter** had** mentioned that it all was to be in a closed circle of family. Not that he had any idea who all of these people were or how exactly they were related in the mess that was Pureblood lines. The party wasn't nearly as exciting as he'd hoped. There were no rituals to speak of apart from a small one at the start where every guest had added flowers and a bit of their magic to an altar. He could also not really say that he felt a sense of community here, people dividing in groups and not interacting much outside of them. Pretty disappointing all in all. Only Sirius being here was great. They should have just celebrated something together. Maybe next year...

Harry was shaken from his thoughts as Draco appeared in front of him again, looking frustrated. ''You're really going to do everything to be a depressed outcast aren't you?`'' the teen complained, earning a disapproving look from his mother -a first if Harry had ever seen one-. ''Come on, there's something I want to show you.'' At Sirius' half-shrug, he complied, being led away again by Malfoy.

Only when they went in a completely different direction, did Harry abruptly stand still. ''This is not the way to the dining room again, is it?''

''No, just come. Or are you scared of large houses? I bet you've never seen such a place before, being stuck with either Muggles or Weasleys- Oh fine!'' he huffed at Harry's glare. They started walking again, up a set of grand, gleaming wooden stairs to the first floor. Portraits disdainfully stared down on him as they passed, going deeper into the maze that was Malfoy manor.

''I always wonder how you manage to be so generally unpleasant. How do you even have friends?'' Harry asked in exasperation, the question having bothered him for a few minutes now. ''Seriously, every second sentence is an insult to someone. Just because I didn't accept your friendship the first time does not mean that-'' He gulped as Draco turned around and held a wand at his throat, eyes spitting fire.

''Don't. mention. that. again.''

''Or else what?'' he challenged. ''Are you going to get me with a leg-locking jinx like you practised on poor Neville? And careful not to conjure any snakes, I might send them right back at you,'' he challenged

''I'm not twelve anymore Potter, and I know some curses that would make you shake in fear!''

''Yes, two years will make** such** a difference. Oh, give it your best shot, let's see how much will be left of you when I get you back!'' he yelled, drawing his own wand. ''I've heard that the wards here should hold in any underage magic, maybe I should give it a try. You think that learning to breathe underwater was the only new thing I've learned for this Tournament?''

Draco bared his teeth for a moment, taking a few steps back and adopting a duelling stance. ''Don't expect me to hold back Potter. My father has taught me a whole slew of curses!''

''As interesting as this looks...'' a different voice drawled that made Harry freeze up. ''If blood is to be shed on my doorstep, I'd really rather be the one to put it there. **Wands down**.''

''My... my Lord,'' Draco squeaked, falling to his knees on the carpet that covered the corridor. ''I didn't know you were still...''

''Don't **lie** to me, of course you knew, why else lead Potter to this part of the house, if not in the hopes of having me confront him and finding out once and for all how much of his words were empty?'' Slowly, Harry turned around, hesitantly putting his wand away. Voldemort stood on the threshold of a room a bit behind him, looking highly annoyed and more than a bit menacing. Something was off about him, the teen noted. Something on which he couldn't put his finger very well... Voldemort certainly still looked the same: impossibly tall, ominous and with blazing red eyes that seemed to glow. ''Why don't you two come in and make yourselves... comfortable,'' the man whispered, lips stretching in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. A whimper came from Draco, who shakily walked past Harry, obviously scared shitless. As he should be, no-one got away with lying to the Dark Lord,** that** was a lesson Harry had learned all too well this summer. Before Harry entered, he noticed the way the Dark Lord took in his robes and raised an eyebrow, the only acknowledgement that he recognised the similarity between this and the robe Harry had worn in their first dream.

''You're... different somehow,'' Harry finally spoke when Voldemort had stepped back to let them in. Then, it dawned on him. Seeing the man only in his dreams for over half a year had faded his memories. ''I can't feel you!''

''A good evening to you too,'' the Dark Lord said, nostrils flaring as he threw Harry a glower. ''You haven't learned from our past encounter it seems.''

''Ah...'' Harry very eloquently spoke, making an awkward half-bow. ''Right. My Lord.''

A few seconds ticked by, until Voldemort let out a frustrated noise and paced away from him, towards Malfoy, who had looked at their exchange with wide eyes and now scrambled back a bit. ''You really have tested my patience Draco,'' the man hissed. ''Going behind my back, then lying to my face, all in the hope of gaining the favour of a few other people? I confess myself... disappointed. You inherited neither your grandfather's strong will nor your father's brains and sense of caution. So I wonder, what to do with you?'' Voldemort's bone-white yew wand was raised to Malfoy's temple. ''I could make an example out of you...'' he mused.

_~Don't hurt him. Please.~_

With inhuman movement speed, Voldemort's head snapped back to look at Harry. _~Oh? Was Draco Malfoy not your tormenter for years?~_

_~That doesn't mean that he should be punished. _ _ **I** _ _ made the mistake to reveal my allegiances to him.~_

_~We shall still have words about that. Currently, I am more concerned about his tendency to outright deny the truth, which I have witnessed happening more than occasionally.~_ Harry couldn't argue much about that, Malfoy truly lied left and right: to teachers, to friends, to the press, to his own family even.

_~It still won't make things better if you hurt him. You told me that you had picked apart how humans work. You should also know then, that parents will do anything for their children, just like my mother did for me. Should you harm Draco, the loyalty of the Malfoys will definitely waver. It's better to punish Lucius and Narcissa for allowing him to always get away with these kind of things and have them handle their son.~_

_~Surprisingly insightful. You have a point, I admit.~_ the Dark Lord hissed, then removed his wand in favour of sitting down and staring at Harry, completely ignoring Draco further. Harry shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling anxious as the Dark Lord tapped his long fingernails on the wood in a penetrating, slow rhythm.

''I'm surprised you are not taking part in the celebration,'' he spoke, grabbing the first topic that came to mind, trying to ignore the scrutinising stare that looked like Voldemort was trying to see if his patience had grown since last time. It hadn't, so Harry wasn't even going to pretend. ''Shouldn't you be the one to lead these things?''

''They survived without me in the twelve years I was dead, they'll manage a few more. While honouring magic is one of my duties, I have slightly more important matters to do at the moment that require me to stay in the shadows. Apart from the Malfoy family, few have been privileged with being informed about my return.'' Harry's lips twitched at the casual arrogance in the assumption that this knowledge was in any way a right instead of a burden. It was highly doubtful that Draco had been jumping for joy to have the Dark Lord in his house, nor would Lucius have looked forward to being punished for what happened to Voldemort's diary. Then again, who knew what upsides being among the first to be allowed back at Voldemort's side would have for them in the long run. ''Also,'' the man added darkly after a moment. ''It is a travesty to not place Ostara on its correct date. All proper rituals do not work to their full potential now, so what is even the point?'' the bitterness was audible, which made Harry stop trying to poke further into the subject.

''Right. Well, perhaps there will be a new chance this summer...'' he tried to not sound too hopeful about it, even though he desperately wanted to have a repetition of his last birthday. Without the first part of being forced to connect to Nagini, preferably.

''We shall see. I have not forgotten your reward. And yet, your godfather may have a different idea about how you spend your time then.''

''Didn't you have a plan involving Dixie again? I stayed friends with her over the year.''

Voldemort smirked. ''Who would have thought you to suggest manipulating the mind of an innocent girl for your own gain.''

''I blame Barty,'' Harry replied with a straight face that he had practiced for sassing Snape in class without being punished too harshly.

Voldemort's eyes glittered as he replied: ''I'm sure you do.''

Harry tried to smirk back, but couldn't quite do so wholeheartedly. It itched him somehow, that he knew Voldemort was right there in front of him, and it was still as if a thick barrier lay in between their minds. As if this too, was only a dream. A bad one at that, with Malfoy being in it.

_~Could you.. send him away or something?~_ He finally hissed, shooting the blonde a glance.

_~And what would that bring? Imagine if Draco shows himself downstairs again, alone. Your __**precious**__ godfather would detonate in worry. No, better for him to think that you and Draco are up to something instead. I prefer not to have any search parties up here to rush to your aid.~_ Harry scowled, throwing a look at Malfoy, whose expression had changed from afraid into attentive, calculating almost.

_~Not to be rude, but what are you actually doing here, if not to partake in the feast downstairs?~_ Harry asked, wondering why the Dark Lord thought it wise to stay here while a party was going on in the same house, if he did not wish to be seen.

_~Lucius owes me a great deal. I am... using his hospitality to complete my research on the field of legislation~_ He was silent for a moment, looking as if considering something, then switched to English, his tone growing far more serious than before. ''Lucius hasan impressive collection of magical law books, with several different versions, going ages back. I have, in essence, been drafting up an entirely new legal system. If we ever hope to separate ourselves from Muggles, we need to have laws we can rely on. To my abhorrence, I already came to the conclusion in my first life that magicians largely rely on Muggle laws for everything that does not explicitly involve magic, and then fail to pass proper judgement. The general rule seems to be that the Wizengamot is only there to judge either magical crimes, or severe cases involving witches or wizards. Which Ministry lawyer or judge would bother themselves with lowly Muggle laws after all? Anything not involving magic is supposed to go through Muggle courts, which of course does not work in practise. Any magician can walk into a police station and erase evidence without any Muggle being the wiser.

While unproblematic for us now, this cannot persist if we hope to disconnect ourselves wholly and thus, it is of the utmost importance that we create a stand-alone system. Presently, our laws hang together by the loose thread of magic. From the drafting up of proper contracts to the preservation of nature, magicians are mostly lawless. I have studied the Muggle legislations of several different countries and compared them to each other and to the current law book that holds effect in Wizarding Britain, to see what has to be incorporated in the future. A slight hurdle is that the Muggle legislation of Great Britain is so divided, having three different legal systems in place. I've thus drafted mostly from France and Germany, where the creation of laws is more centralised and accessible to research.''

''So this entire time you've been... drafting up laws?'' Harry had a hard time not gaping at the other. For almost a year, the man had only been spitting through legalisations of different countries to see what could be useful to their community in the long run?

''I told you before, we cannot survive without a moral code, as horrifying as that code may look to others. The same goes, perhaps on an even grander scale, for a legal code. Did you know that the Civil Code of France, a single law, contains 2534 articles regarding private law? And they have **hundreds** of such laws. In comparison, the entire current set of rules in magical Britain stands at 3126. Single rules, articles or paragraphs if you will. It is laughable, really. Naturally, many Muggle acts are indeed obsolete. We have no need for regulation of public transport or inshore fishing acts. Some of those laws also became overly complicated: in Germany there are fourteen laws, several hundreds of paragraphs about how to manage medicine. Since we only have one central place for this, St. Mungo's, and any half-apt witch or wizard can brew their own potions, such rules would serve more headaches than practical use. Still, I have to revise all of this to set up a system that will not collapse the instant we are faced with being on our own. Although it might take several decades, this will be the fundament that we should build upon from the first day I start to engage in politics again.''

''Isn't that.. rather artificial?'' Harry hesitantly asked. ''I was under the impression that these kind of things grow over time, that proposals are put forward when several people think there is an issue that should be fixed. In short, that laws are introduced one by one by the government when many people agree upon something needing to happen.''

''That highly depends on the way of governing,'' the man smirked in an extremely suspicious way. ''I dislike giving others control''

''I hadn't noticed,'' Harry muttered.

''Additionally, it is true that, should I try to introduce my drafts, certainly the first few will be revised heavily by the current government and might see several adaptation before being put through, if they will not be rejected altogether. Thus, I also have to be careful when to put forward which ideas.'' He stilled for a moment from his passionate rant, for the first time really looking at Harry in a way that made the teen feel like he was being regarded as another human instead of an interesting subject . ''You look stressed. I heard from Barty that Dumbledore has been on your heels? He has caught on, then?''

Harry's eyes shot to Draco, who was still watching them in silence. As the conversation had continued, a bit of colour had returned to his previously paled face. ''Not exactly,'' Harry spoke, deciding on English after a moment as Voldemort had made no indication of switching to Parseltongue again. It looked like, for some reason, he wanted Draco to hear their conversation. ''He thinks that I used dark Magic out of recklessness, ignorance and desperation. Dumbledore is also under the impression that my main source is Sirius and the extensive Black library. That is not to say that the headmaster approves, of course, which is why I didn't tell anyone in the castle of me leaving to go to Sirius until it was already all set. Not that I can be sure of Dumbledore trying to stop me. I am... unsure about his current approach.''

''Go on,'' Voldemort said, waving his hand when Harry fell silent.

''So, first of all, he's only tried to talk to me. We briefly discussed types of magic and he basically said that he willingly allows spells of both branches, disguising some dark spells as light so the Ministry doesn't find out. On the other hand, he claims to have 'carefully selected' each piece of magic we are taught at Hogwarts, meaning that he does not wish for anyone to further dabble into new spells themselves. When I countered his argument with that as a fourth year, I cannot** know** which spells are still to come in the next couple of years, he glossed over it. Basically, I was told that anything that differs too much from what we've already been allowed to practise up until now or looks like it could be dark magic, will not be tolerated in the Tournament by him.''

''That is... peculiar. I know for a fact that the majority of tomes dealing in dark arts have been removed from the Hogwarts library by Dumbledore. Why would he then knowingly allow some dark spells? And who is he to decide which dark magic is fine for children to learn and which is not? I always thought that the few spells that are essentially dark in classification and still taught at Hogwarts, were simply still there because few know about their true nature and effects. It is rather disconcerting that he claims to know about it, especially when seeing just how many spells were removed from Hogwarts as soon as he was appointed Headmaster.''

''I thought it was a lie at first but he seemed to be genuine. Which also confused me, you warned me for Veritaserum, Legilimency and other manipulations. He didn't try any of them. The only strange thing that he tried was... well, I'm not even sure what his aim was, but he showed me memories.''

''Of what?''

''Your family, and I guess that he plans to also have me see some of you later.''

_~Parseltongue,~_ the man resolutely hissed.

_~Sure. My friend Hermione and I speculated over why he would show me something like that. She is of the opinion that Dumbledore wants me to know my enemy, to teach me more about you so I can use it against you, and at the same time to prevent me from going down the same path. I saw a memory of a Ministry employee who came to your mother's house because her brother cursed a Muggle.~_

_~I would have understood that tactic if it had been actual information about me. To show you my family... was my mother there?~ _Harry nodded. The other propped a hand under his chin, eyes drifting off to a blank space of wall in thought. So unmoving and white, he looked like a statue._ ~I wish for you to show me.~ _

Harry raised an eyebrow at the tone, which sounded more like a request than an order for once. He then recalled the few unfortunate times that he'd ended up in Voldemort's mind. It made sense that the man would now extent a certain courtesy of asking first, considering Harry technically still had the ability to break in again. _~Of course.. how?~_

In one fluid movement, which had Voldemort's long silky robes swishing, he'd crossed the distance between them and carefully pressed both hands to Harry's temples. Red eyes bore into his as a painful sensation ripped through Harry's mind. He screamed, tried to escape, caught in clawed hands. The memory he'd wanted to show flashed through his mind briefly, but he could not concentrate on it through the pain. Crying out, Harry tried to defend himself somehow, only half-aware of his own magic lashing out. Fists collided with something hard and unmoving. Clarity returned to him with a shock, as if he awoke from a too-real nightmare. Robes clung to his back in a sweaty mess. It was disconcerting just how often Voldemort's presence made him feel like throwing up. Harry pressed his eyes close, attempting to only focus on breathing while the other loudly cursed Dumbledore and his meddling in Parseltongue, then fell into an icy silence that betrayed the depth of his rage more than anything, even if Harry had no clue as to why the memory had been so significant.

''You could have... warned me,'' he rasped, noticing how hoarse he sounded. It took a long time before he finally received an answer, time during which Harry struggled to get a hold on himself again, enough to focus on having another conversation.

''That would not have changed how it felt.'' the other responded. It once more showed just how unnatural empathy was to this man.

''That is irrelevant,'' Harry huffed, struggling to sit upright, which was pretty difficult, considering that he found himself caught in the arms of the Dark Lord. ''Could you release me?'' he asked, slightly embarrassed for having to be held up.

''You are restless,'' Voldemort concluded, not moving an inch. ''And irritated.''

_No shit_, Harry thought, wondering how he could explain his feelings without either sounding desperate or self-absorbent. Voldemort's talk before had been very enlightening, and the previous sensation absolutely unpleasant, but neither had diverted his attention from the fact that everything was so **wrong**. Moreover, he didn't even know why it bothered him so much that the link they'd shared over summer had apparently diluted so much, and felt pretty pathetic for wanting to have it back. Would Voldemort think him weak for that also? Then again, this was the same man who had been unfazed by that Harry had seen that he'd liked being held and protected. Surely, this couldn't be worse?

_~Harry~_ Voldemort hissed warningly, making the teen realise that he'd been silent for too long and that he probably should have answered sooner.

He scowled and said: ''I thought you claimed to be patient. I told you before that I can't feel you for some reason and it bothers me that... well, that nothing is there,'' he admitted, frustrated. ''Before, even at the very start, there was something besides this dull... nothing'' he groaned in frustration, not able to form coherent words about it. _~It is as if you are empty and it's stressing me out,~_ he finally admitted, slipping in Parseltongue since he didn't want Malfoy to laugh at him later. He tried to calm himself down, unsure as to why he got so panicky over this in the first place. It wasn't as if it was** normal** to feel other people this way. He also couldn't sense the magic or emotions of anyone else. ''It's not funny,'' he snapped when the other actually chuckled at that.

''Oh, I digress, I find it **very** entertaining,'' the Dark Lord all but purred. '' Harry tried to shrink back out of habit when spidery fingers reached out, the back of the man's hand brushing his cheek. _~Despite our… unique bond, you are not the only one who can feel my presence. At times like these, where I am surrounded by enemies, I have to keep my power suppressed. Ah, Harry,~_ the Dark Lord whispered, still with that damn smug smile on his face. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw something glowing up. Upon looking more closely, he deduced that a sort of barrier had been erected, looking like floating panes of crystal, hued a sunset orange. Before he could say anything more, the world exploded again. The pain he had expected didn't come. The hunger that he hadn't wanted to admit to before was being sated as sharp daggers of power pierced his skin, as tendrils of fiery magic burned his arms, creeping upwards and closing around his throat. Harry let himself be swept away by the current. It was so hard to breathe that he ceased it altogether, lost in bliss, trying desperately to hang onto only the source of that tempting, overwhelming euphoria.

_~Can you feel me now?~_ Voldemort whispered against his ear, cold breath pulling him back to reality. Exhausted, he slumped further into the man's arms, not able to care much anymore. ''I meant your emotions,'' he finally spoke, his voice breaking. ''Not a full-fledged... **Merlin**,'' he groaned. ''You know very well what I meant.''

''True, but it is amusing to give into your addiction.''

''I'm not fucking **addicted** to you,'' Harry snarled, finally finding the strength to push away, taking a shaky step back. The temperature in the room dropped and Harry swallowed hard as he was suddenly faced with a murderous look. He should have kept the habit of walking on eggshells around Voldemort. In a way, it had been easier before, when he had still played the part of captive and a certain liberty of disobedience had been expected. After the warning in the last dream they'd shared, he could have known that it would be harder to get away with something like shoving the man. It was a wonder that he wasn't writhing on the floor right now.

''I'm... sorry,'' he reluctantly spoke. Reluctant, for as much as he'd come to see the Dark Lord in a different perspective, he could still be a right bastard and shoving him had felt** good**.

''I do think,'' came a dangerous whisper as the other inched closer again and gripped Harry's chin -why did he do that so often?-, forcing him to meet a furious gaze. ''That I know yourself better than you do..._ ~my soul.~_ Be glad that you aided me enough today to get away with your permissiveness. **Draco.**''

The blond shot up, his voice shooting two octaves upwards as he answered: ''Yes, my Lord?'' No doubt had it made him nervous to see how much pain had just been inflicted on Harry to get information.

The light of the strange crystal wards shifted, and Harry breathed in deeply when he realised that the link was indeed open again as it used to be, feelings that weren't his own dominating his mind: tinges of worry and defensiveness mixing together. ''What are your thoughts on the Tournament happening at Hogwarts right now?'' Harry blinked, wondering what had brought that on. Voldemort's thought patterns were sometimes hard to follow, especially now it still felt as if the axe-bearer that McGonagall had joked about following his first disastrous Divination hour, had actually shown up to split his skull.

Draco seemed to be of the same opinion, sounding confused when answering: ''It's a change of pace that has many people excited. Despite that, it doesn't actually influence life at Hogwarts all that much, considering it is only a three-day event spread out over the year.'' Voldemort nodded and finally released Harry in favour of sitting down on his chair again, listening attentively as the Slytherin described the past two Tasks and compared the Champions and their performances. Amusingly, he was rather careful about critiquing Harry.

''Does the Headmaster behave differently in any way?''

''Not in the way I had expected. I thought that during such a large event, all of the headmasters would show their utmost devotion to their school. If anything, he's even more absent than before, which caused quite a few rumours among our foreign guests. It sounds like, no matter what that man does, he manages to undermine his own authority. Two years ago as well, he just-''

''Yes Draco, I know,'' Voldemort snapped impatiently, which Harry was very grateful for, since Malfoy had started the last sentence in the typical voice he always had when a long complaining rant was about to start. ''Would you say that he uses the Tournament as a distraction?''

''If so, he's not doing a good job at it, much attention has been focused on his glaring absence... Then again, that might be an attempt to distract others from something else entirely. Students of both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are heavily speculating about that Dumbledore doesn't care about Hogwarts, or his Champions. Would he have disappeared during a normal school year, none would have cared as much. I cannot imagine what he'd want to distract from however, the Tournament itself is already mostly over, with only the last Task remaining and nothing is known about that yet.''

Voldemort leaned back in thought_. ~He is not foolish enough to attract unwanted attention for no reason,_~ the man hissed, soft enough that it could have been meant for only his own ears._ ~That reason eludes me for now.~_

''Maybe,...'' Harry spoke up. ''He is just willing to take the risk? I don't think Dumbledore** cares** about his reputation among strangers as long as those close to him keep believing in him. It was already in shambles before when he was suspended from Hogwarts during the Basilisk attacks, yet he bounced back easily after due to the loyalty of his staff and the desperation of the Board Members. If he thinks that what he is doing while away is too important to postpone, he wouldn't care less about a couple of students whispering behind his back.''

''That's preposterous Potter,'' Draco scoffed. ''A man of his status would never 'not care' about the way he is viewed.''

''Not everyone is a Slytherin,'' Harry shot back. ''And not everyone puts themselves as utmost priority.'' That may not have been the smartest thing to say, being in one room with the Heir of Slytherin, but Harry thought they should both realise that their way of thinking was not generally accepted as the only way.

''I suppose you'd have experience,'' the Dark Lord spoke. ~_I'll still have Barty keep an eye out for ulterior motives. For now, it is more important to find out where exactly he's been in the first place. If he is digging into my past, there are a number of individuals he shouldn't get his hands on~_ He tapped his fingers restlessly on the armrest. ''The both of you should return. I have... things to take care of and a few people to do away with.'' Harry shivered lightly at the casual tone with which Voldemort spoke of bloodshed, combined with the fact that there was barely any emotion that came from Voldemort at the thought apart from a slight eagerness at the prospect of having a reason to still the gnawing hunger. He could only hope that no innocents would be killed. With a bad conscience, he bowed and went towards the door, a turmoil in his head that wasn't easy to calm down. _~I'll be looking forward to the third Task~_ the man hissed as Harry slipped back out to the corridor, followed quickly by Malfoy.

''You look as if you regret it,'' the blond commented on their way downstairs. Harry closed his eyes briefly. Malfoy was the** last** person he wanted to discuss his uncertainties with. Then again, he was also the only person around with whom he could. Furthermore, it spoke for Malfoy's self-preservative qualities that he didn't push the fact that Harry had practically lain in the Dark Lord's arms for a far too long time there, nor mentioned Harry's supposed addiction, so he could trust the Slytherin to keep his mouth shut about some things at least.

''I wouldn't call it regret,'' he started. ''Worry and frustration fits better. To put it this way: I have seen how much he cares for the fate of this country, for our kind. I agree that the Ministry is corrupt and something has to be done. And who better, then, than the one appointed for bringing back balance?'' As Malfoy did not express surprise, Harry supposed that the boy had heard from his family how Dark Lords were picked. ''He is also intelligent and powerful, a combination that is sure to bring results in some form... and that is where the worry kicks in, because some of his ideas, from Muggles being little more than hostile animals, to his tendency to solve problems by murdering them, do not exactly resonate well with my own sense of right and wrong. Then again, what other option is there? A rotten Ministry where Fudge sucks up to whoever is popular at the time? Dumbledore, who has no qualms about being secretive about his plans to even his own allies and against whom I have several personal grudges right now?''

''So you choose him because there is no-one else? That doesn't sound like you will last long here.''

''If he wanted unquestioning loyalty, he should have targeted Hufflepuffs,'' Harry snorted. ''Not that I would betray him at this point,'' he hastened to say. ''He... finally gave me a place where I feel as if I am treated like more than a mere child: expected to manage impossible feats that adults shy away from, and at the same time too young to be told why. Not to mention that, after meeting the Dark Lord, I would be insane to choose not to side with him, if only for self-preservation. From what I gathered, Dumbledore and his people fully expect me to face the Dark Lord one-on-one in the end, completely ignoring the fact that the only realistic outcome there is me dying within two seconds.''

''Are you prepared to leave everyone on that side behind then?''

Harry glowered. ''Of course not, I'll try my hardest to protect them.''

A startled laugh made his glower deepen. ''You're still so naive Potter. Keep your illusions then. The light is doomed now that their 'hero' is siding with their greatest foe.'' He sounded so smug that Harry for a moment wished that he hadn't sided with Voldemort, just so he could personally hex Malfoy to the afterlife. Maybe Hermione would get in another punch this year...

''You should stop running off,'' Sirius complained when they finally returned to the ballroom. ''Or that is what I would say, if I weren't proud of you for trying to get into dangerous trouble. We should be leaving, I may have had an argument about the uselessness of blood purity with Lucius that caused the both of us to be officially thrown out of the house now. Make sure you have your wand.''

''How... how did you even...'' Harry sighed.

''Oh, I'm an expert,'' Sirius said, flashing sharp teeth, not elaborating further in it. ''Let's go pup, we cannot have Kreacher hoping that we'll never return.''


	30. Splitting Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I start this chapter, I wish to go a bit deeper into Harry's family lines how I see it, because unfortunately, canon is Not Helpful. For example, it was assumed for a very, very long time that Harry's grandparents were Dorea Black and Charlus Potter. This was also posted on all the HP wikis in various languages. Then, Rowling suddenly revealed on Pottermore that Harry's grandparents are called Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, completely confusing me. Additionally, I absolutely LOVE the headcanon that has been circulating on Tumblr for years now about the Potter line being of Indian descent. (for references behind reasoning, please Google it or go to the user desiharrypotterblog on Tumblr, posting links in stories here is not allowed according to FFN guidelines). Since I adore the thought of Harry actually being related to the Blacks, I will go with the original theory of Dorea Black and Charlus Potter as his grandparents, but with the Potter family before that being -mostly, never know where love goes- of Indian descent, making Harry roughly a quarter desi

Waking up to the smell of breakfast was probably one of Harry's favourite experiences in the world. Cherishing the moment, he stayed in bed for a while as the odour of bacon and eggs wafted into his room. He didn't think he'd ever had this, truth be told. At the Dursley's place, it had been **his **job, and he'd also taken care of food at Riddle manor. At Hogwarts and the Burrow, the bedrooms had been too far from the kitchen to smell anything despite Mrs. Weasley's wonderful meals. That the smells of today's breakfast were accompanied by a distinct burning scent did not take away from the experience.

''Thought you'd let Kreacher cook?'' Harry asked when he arrived in the kitchen, dressed in comfortable clothes. If Voldemort was going to erase Muggle influence from the Wizarding world, Harry would wear t-shirts and jeans for as long as he could. Sirius was wearing similar attire, plus a studded black leather jacket that made him look like a rebellious teenager. Seeing the man bounce about, juggling pots and pans, damaged that image only slightly.

''And have him serve you a bowl of dry weetabix? I didn't want to spoil your appetite before the fancy dinner party yesterday, but surely you can dig in on a Sunday. Pancakes,'' he exclaimed proudly, pointing to a stack that looked like it threatened to slide off the plate any minute now.

''Need a hand?'' Harry asked as one of the omelettes caught on fire and was doused by a quick spell. Merlin, he realised more and more how alike Sirius and Barty were.

''Everything under control!'' the man cheerfully spoke while Harry saw another batch of sausages burn to a crisp with his own two eyes. Resigned, he sat down at the kitchen table and waited. Dry weetabix didn't sound so bad either... he'd survived an entire month on watery soup from Aunt Petunia. Miraculously, they ended up with an edible meal in the end. ''I made twice as much as I needed to so I had some to botch up,'' Sirius shrugged. ''Not that the rest will go to waste, a Hippogriff's stomach is sturdy enough to digest this mess.'' He waved to the kitchen counter. ''Provided I can scrape it from the bottom of the pots.''

''How did you survive on the run?'' Harry sighed.

Sirius pulled a face at that. ''Having an animal form has the advantage of also having an animal's senses. Raw mammals didn't taste as bad as Snuffles as it would have had otherwise, though it did cause some physical health problems when turning back.''

''If you give me all the details, Witherwings is going to have twice as much food as before,'' Harry warned, waving a sausage around on a fork.

''Noted.''

The rest of the days after that were of a tense peacefulness that neither was willing to break on their end. Harry was so glad to spend time with his godfather and pretend to have a normal family life for once that he didn't wish to spoil it with uncomfortable topics that could turn Sirius against him. They thus spoke mostly of the past, of Hogwarts, the current Tournament, and lots about Harry's parents instead, mostly James. After the first incident of Sirius suddenly confusing him with his father however, Harry kept a close watch, changing topics whenever it happened again, his concern growing with each time, yet too curious about his parents to completely stop his questioning.

''I'm afraid that I gave his parents more than they bargained for,'' Sirius grinned during one of their talks. They'd cleared out a corner of the living room downstairs together to make it more comfortable. It reminded Harry much of Gryffindor tower, with plush seats and a fireplace that crackled away merrily. ''It helped that Dorea -your grandmother- was my great-aunt. They only got James when they were nearing their fifties so there was quite some age-disparity there. My own parents managed to get me and my brother both in their twenties, continuing the lines fast like good purebloods should,'' Sirius rolled his eyes. ''Bet they'd be rolling in their graves when knowing that I'm still a happy bachelor and likely to stay that way with my status as criminal now. Then again, they probably roll in their graves constantly already with everything I pulled off,'' he smirked.

''Does that mean that we are related somehow?'' Harry asked suddenly, eyes widening.

Sirius frowned. ''I suppose you could say that, yes, very distantly. Then again, which pureblood families aren't? Still quite a cool thought now that I think of it!'' he hurried to say as he noticed Harry's disappointment at the words.

''Please don't try to use teenage slang Sirius,'' Harry snorted, trying to cover up his own feelings. ''It sounds weird.''

Sirius merely wiggled his eyebrows. ''Teenage slang huh? I think you kids forget that you might not be the first to invent words. I'll have you know that 'cool' became popular among teenagers in the fifties already and then made its comeback in the seventies. Not so hard to stamp out a word now just because younger generations want to claim it as theirs.''

''The fifties?'' Harry asked, shocked. Then, he burst out in laughter. ''You know, Voldemort was in his early twenties in the fifties... do you think...''

''Merlin, wouldn't that be a sight,'' his godfather laughed, tears in his eyes. ''Next time I face him, I'll ask? No promise on my survival chances.''

Harry bit back a laugh, thinking that he might beat Sirius with asking that if he was feeling particularly petty. Both chuckling, they dug into the tray of biscuits that was standing on a footstool in between them, topped with different English types of cheese and salads. Harry didn't particularly like the dry biscuits, yet couldn't get enough of eating them anyways. There was something comfortable and homey about sharing a tray of biscuits and toppings, so he happily bit into one with pickles and red Leicester. One fact that he'd learnt about Sirius, was that the man was a surprisingly huge fan of savoury foods, cheese especially, and had enthusiastically introduced Harry to all sorts that he'd never heard of.

''So, how long did you stay at dad's place?''

''Only two summers, but they were the best months of my life. The Potters welcomed me with open arms,'' Sirius smiled nostalgically. ''I wish you could have known them. At least they didn't need to see their children die...''

Frowning, Harry lowered the food that he'd just wanted to stuff in his mouth. ''What happened to them? They weren't **that** old were they? Like what, seventy?''

''The war happened,'' the man replied, sombre. ''They got caught up in the crossfire between the army of the Dark Lord and the Ministry when going shopping in Diagon Alley. A building collapsed and, well, they hadn't seen it coming. That was the year that Lily was pregnant with you.'' Harry didn't know what to say, wrapping his arms around himself.

''Thanks. For not sugar-coating it,'' he whispered.

''I've never thought doing that would bring anything. Having gone through so much already, I can see that you're not your typical kid who needs protection. Besides, you're older than I was when I first got into major trouble with your dad.''

''Anything else you can tell me about my grandparents? How were they?''

''Hmm... welcoming, and a bit old-fashioned in the way most people of that generation were. They didn't really think much of Voldemort's radical ideas, but also thought that Dumbledore was a disruptive force that should be stopped rather than encouraged. They liked the world as it was and preferred peace at all costs. With that, I'm all the more grateful to my aunt, for she risked much by taking me in, a family outcast. I suppose that having already married a pureblood and getting an heir must have stabilised her standing enough, even if he was the 'wrong sort of Pureblood,'' Sirius sighed. Harry felt a familiar burning in his stomach at the words, his hands balling into fists as he was harshly reminded of that racism transcended any type of border, whether physical ones or even those between magicians and Muggles. He'd hoped to escape the snide comments of the Dursleys on his dirtiness; otherness; the constant complaints about his appearance; the instant depiction as a criminal in front of all the neighbours, who were happy to believe it without evidence...

''Be proud of who you are Harry,'' Sirius smiled, seeing his mood darken. ''And live up to your name to be a true Gryffindor. Hari means Lion, did you know that? It's why your dad absolutely insisted on the name.''

''I didn't,'' he said, feeling a small smile forming. ''Way to push a House on me though, thanks dad,'' he chuckled. ''Thank you. Sorry, I just... the Dursleys made sure to flaunt in my face how they thought of all the dirty foreigners 'invading' Britain. I didn't even know that I supposedly was one of those until Uncle Vernon made a few comments about how I must love working in the garden so much because you can't see the difference between me and the mud,'' he sulked. ''To be honest, I still never really felt foreign. I've grown up in a Muggle, suburban part of London and at Hogwarts it was also always a non-issue. It wasn't until I met the Patil twins that I actually found out that many Potters were from India. And even after that, I never really felt a connection with it. I know nothing about the country, the culture, the various languages, and it would somehow feel forced if I tried to learn all of that now.''

''Just because you're partially Indian doesn't mean you can't be English. It hardly ever bothered James either that he was mixed, mostly using it to brag about how tan he was to make all the girls flock towards him. And as the Potter family came to England a few generations ago already, I don't think any of them felt like they didn't belong here. None that I know of at least.''

''Right... can we switch topics?'' he asked, still not feeling very comfortable discussing his heritage. In Harry's own opinion, the fact that he was a wizard because of his family was much more interesting than wherever they came from. The Dursleys may have despised that part about him even more, at least he hadn't heard a word about it during his childhood since they'd tried to hide magic from him.

''Not sure if you'd like everything else I want to discuss with you,'' Sirius sighed, rubbing his neck. ''There's only three days of this week left and.. well...'' Harry's stomach twisted together. ''We've already talked about Dumbledore and about your opinion on Dark Magic... to me it still sounds as if someone has been telling you a rather radical, one-sided version of the story.'' The silences between them tensed up.

''Do we have to talk about this?'' he asked, hands balling into fists.

His godfather let out a long sigh and twisted a hand into his long hair, not looking much more comfortable than Harry was feeling. ''It's important,'' he decided. ''So much in our world is dependent on the views we have, both on magic and on politics. In a society as small as ours, we can't afford to avoid it. You especially, being the one to cause these times of peace for us, have to be aware of the image you put forwards even when you just want to hide away.''

''So you're about to tell me the other side of the story then?'' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

''Someone has to.''

''Fine. What merits did choosing Dumbledore's side in the war bring society?'' Harry asked, deciding he might as well be direct about it.

Sirius frowned in thought. ''Before I tell you why I chose to join the Order, I will need to make one thing clear. 'Dumbledore's side' never existed. There was the Ministry, running like usual, and then there was Voldemort, who wanted to overthrow that government with force. The Order of the Phoenix was only called to life when Dumbledore saw that Voldemort was winning and the Ministry had been infiltrated with spies in such a way that we weren't sure anymore whom to trust. We were, in its essence, a support group, consisting of people of which we were certain that they had no ties to Voldemort. A group where we could discuss our plans openly without fear of a traitor. Not that it worked, in the end, after Peter caved in to the Dark, but we didn't know that then. In my eyes, the war was about defending the current order from a radicalised terror group that wished to legalise all dark magic, slaughter Muggles and oppress Muggleborns and Half-bloods. I then joined the Order to ensure I could do so more effectively. It wasn't much of a choice for me to fight against hatred.''

''Then why did you say that my grandparents thought that Dumbledore should be stopped too, if he only tried to support the Ministry?''

''Many people still believed that the Ministry could win with its own forces. The Order of the Phoenix was created to help, but it wasn't recognised as such. The Minister of Magic back then thought it was demeaning and called for the headmaster to stop. Others were afraid that, should the Ministry only be able to win because it had the backup of an underground organisation, Dumbledore would in the end claim the victory and make other demands. Which was admittedly true, he did have some legislations that he wanted to push through to forbid certain other spells. I don't know much about the details there since in the end, it was** you** who ended the war.''

Harry nodded and thought on it, suppressing his own urge to instantly launch new questions. From Sirius' point of view, it made sense why the dark was seen as undesirable. Voldemort had thrown the country into chaos and spread ideas that Harry also would have stood against, which he** had** stood up against until he found out there were different motivations at play. From his interactions with the Dark Lord, Harry also knew that some of the basics of what Sirius had said were still true: dark magic was to be legalised, and the man didn't think much of Muggles. Even now Voldemort had realised that he couldn't just slaughter them all, he had still tried that the last time.

''If I'd already lived back then,'' Harry started. ''I'd probably have joined the Order too,'' he spoke, clearly startling Sirius.

''But then... why wouldn't you now? Are your personal grudges against Dumbledore that great?''

''No. The ideas the Dark is putting forward now are some that I can agree with more than the ones they did last time.'' He knew that he was putting a lot on the line here, and that he should with no breath mention the Dark Lord as being presently there. Thus, he struggled to formulate words. ''I cannot tell you whom I know this from, and I unfortunately do not have proof it.'' Great start, he mentally sighed as he saw Sirius' face take on a sceptical look. ''But these are the points that I know about: there will not be another war as long as neither the Ministry nor Dumbledore starts one. Muggles won't be slaughtered, they'll be excluded since our societies will be separated from each other completely, and the only reason Purebloods will hold more power is because they have more experience with our culture, laws and magic in general. The only point that didn't change at all is that dark magic will be made legal, yes. When I look at everything I found out about it though, I don't really see why that is such an awful thing. You said yourself, the magic itself isn't evil.''

''I said that not** all** dark magic is inherently evil. Much of it still is. There are spells that can drive you insane, rituals that need human sacrifices, this magic** corrupts** Harry. I agree that maybe we can ease up on the label and actually look at which dark spells can be used for good. Throwing all dark magic out there for every idiot to use on the other hand, is a different, insane extreme! I have seen how families work that embrace dark magic in its entirety. It's** toxic**. You cannot understand, and I don't blame you for that. I only beg of you to listen to me, for I do know how that can be.'' Sirius hands trembled as they gripped Harry's.

''My parents revered magic, so much that the worst sin anyone could commit was being a squib. Well, Squibs happened, and we, **fortunate **children blessed with magic, were tortured to the point that our accidental magic lashed out with such violence that we killed those squibs that had been locked up in a room with us.'' Harry tensed up and looked in the eyes of a haunted, broken man. ''Oh, we were told how amazing we were, how** brave** for ridding the world of filth, how it was so much more humane to let our magic erase their existence.'' Lips twisted and quivered as Sirius relived his past. ''We were taught to be aggressive, exclusive, hating, and then told to be proud of it,'' he whispered, finally releasing the teen, looking away. ''Dark magic isn't always evil... those who practise it are often a different story. And** that** is the world that Voldemort tried to enforce. Dumbledore may be wrong and like pulling strings. The Ministry might be corrupt and in need of change. But neither you nor anyone else on this earth will convince me that** Voldemort** was the** better** option. My parents idealised him, and my parents were** monsters**. Whoever else is now taking it upon themselves to gather the old followers of the Dark Lord is not going to be better, I can't believe it.''

Harry stayed silent at that, not knowing what he could say to make anything better. Defending Voldemort would instantly make him suspicious and he honestly wasn't sure if he** could. **He had no idea what the Dark Lord's opinions were on Squibs, knew very well how the man thought of Muggles, and the reasons why Harry thought that he was the better option in the first place were deeply rooted in selfishness. Then, a thought came to him. ''Does the treatment of Squibs really have anything to do with dark or light magic though? You saw how Squibs were treated by dark families yes, but were they accepted by other magicians?''

''Well... I never... I didn't think to ask.''

''I can tell you instantly that they're not,'' Harry spoke, feeling sad about having to face that truth. ''One of my classmates, Neville Longbottom, took a long time to show his powers. It wasn't until he was eight that he did his first piece of accidental magic... when his uncle held him upside down from a window by his ankles and accidentally let go. Had Neville really been a Squib, he would have been dead. As funny as he thought that story was back then, his uncle did pretty awful things, life-threatening things, to force him to show magic, for the alternative would have been so much worse in the eyes of Neville's family, a known** light** family. Even the Weasleys,'' he continued, suddenly recalling something else. ''I once asked Ron about if his entire family was magical. He told me that they were, apart from one of his mum's cousins. That was instantly, almost automatically, followed by the sentence 'but we don't talk about him'. Prejudice against Squibs, exclusion and expulsion of them, is a common thing for nearly all magicians, not just those of one particular side in politics. So while I of course can't defend your family for what they did, embracing dark magic is not the deciding factor here. It's an ingrained part of our system that has to be changed.'' Harry was rather surprised by himself, not having thought that he would have been able to come up with any good arguments to support his viewpoints. Hermione would be proud.

''That's a very disconcerting thought,'' the other replied, looking sombre. ''Not something easily fixable either then.''

''Seeing as I don't think either side is trying to fix it, no. So did you have any other reasons for fighting in the Order?''

His godfather nodded. ''A couple, some more personal than others. Even several decades after Grindelwald's reign, despite him never conquering Britain, we still felt the after-effects and I personally knew a few people who'd fought in that war on the mainland. Voldemort was... a painful reminder of that time for many adults, also influencing how we as kids thought. My parents had adored him of course, which automatically made me hate everything about it, and consequently about Voldemort. I saw the Dark lord as a bad copy-cat at first since he used similar tactics, then found out that in some points he was even worse. Both Dark Lords had made great offers that could have benefited us all, then quickly turned out to be only useful to a handful of rich, pureblood people who wanted to have a chance to hunt Muggles again. And even if Voldemort would have kept up the charade for longer, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't have chosen the side where I knew most followers were people I despised and who despised me in return. So, if someone on the dark side is now putting forth ideas again that supposedly are for the good of the whole Wizarding World, I'm going to be very sceptical again, for we've had this twice already in the past century, and both times it turned out to be a massive lie.''

Harry bit his lip, feeling torn. ''Hey, at least all of this is hypothetical anyways, right?'' Sirius asked, trying to smile again. ''Hopefully we'll have a couple of peaceful years left before trouble starts brewing and we really need to worry about who to put our hopes in. I have no problem with you exploring your options and dabbling a bit in dark magic during that time. I certainly was no angel at Hogwarts either. Unless the next Dark Lord is waiting around the corner, there's no rush making any decisions that don't focus on your school life. The Death Eaters may be getting more active with their stunt at the World Cup, Voldemort is dead and only a couple of his followers remain. It will take a while before any could organise themselves, no matter what your contact told you.''

''Wait, what are you talking about?'' Harry asked, suddenly confused. Sure, it wasn't known that Voldemort had resurrected fully, but Dumbledore knew of the Dark Lord still being there. Not only had Harry been witness to the shadowy half-life the man had been subjected to and told Dumbledore about it, others had also seen it. The centaurs had known, and Dumbledore himself had even discussed it with Harry. ''Didn't you say that Dumbledore wanted to revive the Order of the Phoenix? Why do you think he does? To stop a potential new threat?''

Sirius merely stared at him, uncomprehending. ''He told me, just in case it is needed... this place will only house the Order once there is need for... Harry? What aren't you telling me?'' A hint of panic entered his voice.

Nervously twisting his fingers, Harry stared in the fire, wondering what to say. ''Voldemort never really died... Dumbledore knows this. He's been... prepping me for facing down the Dark Lord ever since I set foot in Hogwarts: with tasks, with talks, and more recently by showing me memories of Voldemort's past. I thought you** knew** that when moving into this place again. It probably won't be long before the Order is revived, Dumbledore set things into motion when Wormtail was found and inexplicably looks like he thinks it is a sign of Voldemort 't you the one who told us in the Shrieking Shack that's Voldemort's been hiding for years, rumoured to be half dead?''

Sirius jumped up from his chair now and started pacing, an edge to his strained voice that sounded as if he was fighting not to freak out completely. ''I wished to make Peter nervous! I'd only heard rumours in Azkaban, from people who desperately wished for Voldemort's return. I didn't actually believe... Wait, when you said that there will not be another war... that there are plans to separate our society from the Muggle one... you weren't talking about hypothetical ideas from a remnant of the Dark Lord's followers, were you? And your sudden fascination with the Dark Arts...'' Sirius whispered. ''Harry, what did you get into?''

Pressing his lips together, the teen shook his head, not willing to risk being locked up far from the sphere of influence of anyone but the Dark Lord himself. ''I can't say. What I said is true though, there have been many changes in ideas, in goals... I'd **never** do anything that will harm my friends or those I consider family.''

''Then...'' Sirius hesitated, giving him an uncertain look. ''Then I think it is time to speak about this in less theoretical terms. Should Voldemort return, what would you do?''

Frowning, Harry considered his options. He wished to be truthful to Sirius so badly that saying anything else than what he really thought was not something he even wished to consider. He halted, remembering Barty's warnings. How well did he really know Sirius? The man had barged into the Shrieking Shack, ready to commit the murder he'd been imprisoned for to avenge his dead friends, and not told Harry much else than the story of Peter's betrayal. They'd only very briefly touched the topic of Harry moving in with Sirius right before the incident with Lupin and then... The next time they'd really spoken had been at the Weasley's place where Harry had severely underestimated Sirius' feelings at being wrongfully imprisoned and his anger at Dumbledore. Of course, ever since Harry's godfather had snuck into Hogwarts again, they'd spoken a lot more, but could he really judge Sirius' reactions? He didn't think so. ''Don't take this the wrong way... I don't think that what I would do is anything you'd agree with, which is why I'd rather not go into detail.''

Sirius closed his eyes briefly, standing absolutely still. ''Give me a moment to get my thoughts in order and prepare tea. I need... a bit of time to sort whatever I want to say.'' Harry numbly nodded and sank deeper into his chair as the other stalked from the room. Was he making a grave mistake here? Could he really tell the best friend of his parents -his parents who had been murdered by Voldemort for fighting against him- that Harry wished for the dark side to prevail so much that he'd join Voldemort? Was he any better then, than Peter Pettigrew? Biting his knuckles, he tried to figure out what to do or say. His thoughts were a confusing mess as he struggled to walk a line in life where he could be free, and at the same time still able to keep his peace of mind.

He cringed when, a few moments after Sirius had disappeared from the room, a loud crash was to be heard, followed by curses and other loud sounds that made it clear that his words had not come across as well as Harry had hoped. Feeling empty, Harry waited in hope that Sirius' rage would pass. So the reason why the conversation had gone so smooth before was only because Sirius hadn't believed that anything would really change, then. Now, there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to convince his godfather... for how could he, without revealing all that happened last summer? The main part that had changed his opinions had been his trips into Voldemort mind and the talks with and observations of the Dark Lord after that. He'd fully believed the man to be evil until actually speaking to him, listening to his words. -_and feeling, the feel of that power that no other had-_ He drew a shuddering breath at the memory of the first time he'd felt the source magic. The Dark Lord believed him to be addicted... Harry himself didn't think so, as hard as it was to concentrate when being around the man whenever he flaunted his magic. He still had to reluctantly admit that it may have swayed his judgment a little bit.

If that had been everything to it however, he really would be fighting for the Order. Right now, he had a very different perspective on the situation. Voldemort** cared** what happened to his people, striving to create a world in which magicians would not be endangered, where they could live independently without being afraid of Muggles and practise all magic freely. Harry admitted that It was an idealised world that might not work completely in reality, and would need much work and cooperation, but he wished to believe that if anyone could do it, it would be Voldemort. The man had sacrificed his own nature just to be better at working for Magic. If that wasn't dedication, then Harry didn't know what was. Fighting against him would mean living like they had in the past centuries: divided, hidden, shunned by Muggles who did find out like the Dursleys had.

If only there weren't so many drawbacks on supporting Voldemort... Harry wasn't a complete fool: the last war truly had been horrible, and many who had other ideas would suffer under the Dark Lord's rule this time too. Purebloods would also never stand for equal treatment of Muggleborns after having been forced to give into their demands for so long, and who knew how creatures would be treated? Even the fact that Voldemort created each single law on his own was, while admirable, a worrisome sign of a rising dictatorship. The only positive point that he could find there, was that most laws were based on the legislations of France and Germany. From Hermione, who in her spare time liked to do much 'light reading' which involved anything from politics to economics, he'd heard many rants about different European countries, and if he remembered correctly, these were both socialistic, democratic states with a strong enforcement on separation of powers, something the current magical government didn't have at all. The Wizengamot was made up of Ministry workers who acted as politicians, jury and executives alike. Harry could only hope that the right parts had been taken by Voldemort that would improve this situation.

Those were all hopes and fears that he couldn't reveal to Sirius, not when he wished to keep his promise to Barty and Voldemort. It was no wonder that Sirius was so out of it without being able to see the full picture when there was no-one to tell him about it.

At long last, Sirius emerged again, a trembling tray in his hands with two cups of tea. He looked as dishevelled as Harry felt, sitting down and rubbing his arms. ''Sorry kiddo. I lost it a bit there,'' the man admitted, pouring them both a cup. ''I won't lie to you: it's hard to hear these words from you when I know everything that James and Lily did but...'' he halted, placed his palms together and held them against his lips, closing his eyes again. ''I don't want to make you feel guilty either. You're my godson. The godson that I was willing to smuggle in illegal books for just to give you an alibi. I... I am going to do my best not to judge you. I'm a bit late to take up a father-role, so I'll try to be there for you as a... a friend, I guess. It's not my job to tell you what to do or not, I'm here to cover your arse and make sure you have someone there who can maybe talk stupid ideas out of your head before you act on them... or perfect those ideas depending on the situation.'' Grey, unsure eyes met his and Harry had a hard time breathing. In a split second, he made a decision and launched himself into Sirius' arms, clinging to the other in a way that he'd never been able to do with anyone else. The only adult he'd hugged as tightly was Hagrid, and never when he'd been sad, for Hagrid was so sensitive that Harry had always feared the other would cry more than Harry himself.

''You'd make a really awesome dad, did you know that?'' Harry whispered, burying his face in Sirius' robes, fully meaning his words.

''That.. I...'' Sirius took a moment, arms tightening their grip. He then cleared his throat, still failing to produce any coherent sentences for a while. ''I was more going for carefree awesome uncle,'' he weakly chuckled. ''Too much responsibility involved in being a parent.''

''Right.'' Feeling a bit embarrassed, Harry wiped the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, trying to be sneaky about it, then withdrew and returned to his seat. Sirius' arms helplessly reached out for a lingering moment after, as if he hadn't wanted Harry to leave them. The teen covered his eyes with his hands and breathed in deeply to try and clear his thoughts, his heart thudding loud in his chest with nerves. Could he really... should he really reveal to Sirius what his real thoughts were?

When he finally started speaking, it was as if it wasn't really him, like Harry was watching from the side-lines, unable to halt the waterfall of words that came tumbling out of his own mouth. ''I'd stand with Voldemort, for a couple of different reasons. It's not a perfect option, I am well aware of that. In my eyes though, it's the only feasible one. First and foremost, I admit fully that it would benefit me: I wouldn't be forced into any life-or-death situations as Dumbledore would have me do, I wouldn't end up as a teenage soldier like you or my parents, I could protect those I cared for far more efficiently and I wouldn't suffer any negative consequences under Voldemort's reign. Half-bloods are not really an issue as far as I heard, only Muggleborns and Muggles. That being said, I still want to fight for those latter groups to protect those that I love, and I'd be out if I would have the idea that there will be senseless killing of Muggles like was the case in the last war. There won't be though, for apparently Voldemort has updated his policies a bit to fulfil his... his task. And that's where my second major point comes in. You've told me that your family was absolutely dark and traditional... if that was the case, they must have mentioned something about Lords of Magic.''

''Oh please, don't tell me that they made you swallow that crap about chosen Lords,'' Sirius groaned.

''I've seen Magic,'' Harry spoke quietly. Okay, so it had only been a memory of the Dark Lord but still.

''All of us** see** magic,'' the man said, confused.

''Magic. The entity that gives us our powers, I mean. I've seen it... her.. whatever. Our powers don't come from nothing, and it really did** choose** Voldemort as a representative. Nearly all magic currently practised in Europe is light magic. Light magicians only use light magic, and dark magicians are forced to use more light than dark now as well depending on the region. It is incredibly off-balanced. **That** is why people are trying to legalise dark magic again, and why it is important to highlight especially the non-violent parts about it. There's an important branch that.. damn, what's it called again... something to do with disturbance wards and dimensional warping.''

The other looked like he had a million questions, which Harry couldn't blame him for. He'd been exactly the same with Voldemort. ''Dimensional shifting?'' Sirius asked hesitantly at last, apparently deciding to save up his own questions in favour of Harry continuing.

''That. It's not dangerous as far as I'm aware of, and needs to be accepted to enable us to separate the societies... make wizards and witches independent from Muggles. Considering that it is dark magic and thus not legal makes it incredibly difficult to put into practice, especially on the desired scale.''

''Sounds utopian in theory. You're forgetting about that mages **are **dependent on Muggles. Where would our food come from, one of the only things that cannot be created with magic? How do we deal with witches or wizards born in Muggle society when its cut off from our own?''

''Nearly cut off,'' Harry corrected. ''There would still be a few entrances, and Muggleborns would be brought into our world.''

''Without their parents,'' the man flatly replied. ''That will bring a lot of backlash. And even if you could somehow justify taking away kids from their parents, Muggleborns join Hogwarts every year. You cannot buy into the suggestion that each one of those would find a fitting family who'd adopt them, certainly not with the prejudices against those of 'lesser blood'. This is exactly what would create situations like with your own family.''

Harry lowered his eyes and tugged at his hair. ''I know. I haven't found a different suggestion yet that I could put forward. Provided that I would even be listened to. It's still a better alternative than what is happening right now: people with magical parents grow up with it, all the while not being allowed to actually practise, and Muggleborns are thrown into a world they know nothing about. I love having magic, I really do. It still took me months to adapt to the thought of that I was a wizard and even now I discover new things about this society that are obvious to people who've grown up in it. That ignorance is, more than anything, what creates the illusion of superiority in Purebloods.''

Sirius shook his head. ''Squibs grow up in our society and are treated with equal hatred. And if you are really right in that an entity of magic exists -which I've never seen any proof of- then it's one evil being for allowing all of this injustice to happen.''

Harry couldn't really argue that. What were the requirements of receiving magic in the first place? Character appeared to have little to do with it, and once a family was magical, it was incredibly rare for their children to end up as squibs, suggesting that it became a genetic matter. ''It does exist,'' Harry stubbornly said. ''Can't say I know much about how it works though.'' He only received a disbelieving look.

''Harry, no matter what you thought you saw, you're only fourteen and still easily influenced. Like you yourself said, even now you don't know everything about our society, and the same goes for magic. There will be branches that you've never even imagined, and you have no way to defend against illusions, mind-magic or other complicated spells. In this world, proof is very relative.''

It was as if a brick hit him in the stomach. ''So you don't believe me.''

''I think that you are a little bit too willing to believe in these things. From my own experiences, I cannot say that a god-like being who dishes out or takes magic from people is any more believable than the tooth fairy. Even if, I wouldn't root for an entity that chose a ruthless murderer as her champion. Thank you though, for telling me of your motivations. I do wonder what the Ministry did to make you lose faith in the current way things are run.''

Harry pulled a face when thinking of Fudge. His own dislike for the man had only been fuelled by stories that Barty had told him. ''Want a list? Fine. I'll do it Percy Weasley-style with bullet points,'' Harry spoke, getting ready to tick off the points on his hands. ''The press is heavily influenced and censored by the Ministry of Magic; criminality is only prosecuted when it's about magical crimes; the Ministry changes their stance on important topics such as Hogwarts' safety every damn year; Fudge is a two-faced bastard who listens to the one with the most gold or fame; they care more about their image than their people; creatures are still discriminated against legally as we can see with Remus; the regular form of punishment is lifelong mental and physical torture at Azkaban if you're lucky, or condemning your soul for eternity if not; the Ministry had no qualms about trying to use a thirteen-year-old to boost their image; and my last two points: they changed the entire year calendar to fit Muggle religion, and magic itself has been forcefully categorised incorrectly in many cases or banned unnecessarily, creating this whole situation with dark magicians rebelling in the first place. Should I continue or are these ten points enough for now?''

Sirius smiled wryly. ''You really did think on this a lot more than I gave you credit for. As much as you might look like your dad, that stubborn expression is all Lily. I'm not even sure if I dare ask about your reasons why not to choose Dumbledore, with everything that I've already picked up there.'' He rubbed his forehead, which wrinkled up a bit. ''This is a lot to handle Harry. I've got... so many things I want to ask.''

''Then do. We have time right?''

''Time... yeah, I suppose that's something I have plenty of at the moment. Merlin, where to even start...''

Harry suddenly remembered something important, cursing himself. He himself may have protection against mind tricks, Sirius didn't have any fancy amulets as far as Harry knew. ''Before that, do you have any measures against Legilimency and such?'' he nervously asked. ''I've heard that Dumbledore is prone to poke around in the minds of those around him.''

''Don't worry, your secrets are safe with me, I've had plenty of training in Occlumency due to having been an Auror.'' He didn't comment on Harry's accusation of Dumbledore, either because he already knew or because he didn't want to start another argument over the Headmaster.

''Good,'' Harry sighed in relief, almost slapping himself for not thinking of it before. ''Then ask away, though I might not answer everything.''

Sirius did not start instantly, instead waving his wand over to the fire, stoking it higher, the flames casting shadows on his weary face. ''First of all, I feel that I don't know enough about you. I found it no more than normal to be highly involved myself in the whole politics when I was at Hogwarts: it was war, and I was stuck between a dark family I despised and friends on the other side. Now though? In times of peace, no fourteen-year-old should have to consider their options in what side to support, instead enjoying your time exploring the castle, annoying teachers, playing Quidditch.''

''I also do all of those things,'' Harry protested. ''And I don't think it's wrong to try and keep up with politics, especially since people won't seem to leave me alone about it and I always find myself to be in the middle of something. Only last year, **you** dragged me into opposing the Ministry and facing the wrongs of the justice system we have, it's not fair to complain about me being aware of it now.''

''And you think that** Voldemort** will improve that system? The same man who tortured his prisoners to insanity?'' Sirius said with a hard tone. ''The one who had no qualms about killing left and right?''

''I wouldn't say 'no qualms,'' he whispered, looking into the fire and recalling the memory he'd seen, the pain the Dark Lord had felt each time he slaughtered a magician, even if they were on 'the wrong side'. And hadn't the man said something about not torturing anymore only for the pleasure of it? ''To answer your question in more detail: I feel like I** have** to get involved. If I don't, others will force a path on me, one that I maybe agree with even less. As much as I hate it, politics in the Wizarding world aren't exactly easy. Do I want to support a known murderer who started a gruesome war? No, not if I'd have any other good option. But our Ministry doesn't work like that. We don't **have** parties, do not** have** a system like Muggles do where civilians can normally influence who holds the seat of power. Sure, it's democratic most of the time, but the new Minister of Magic will only be chosen if Fudge fucks up too much or if he resigns, and then it's the Wizengamot that elects a new Minister. So it's what we have now or what Voldemort could offer us.''

''A blood status fanatic and possibly a psychopath,'' Sirius said, raising a challenging eyebrow. ''I see it like this: whoever puts a bad person into power cannot claim to be much better.''

''That would work if we actually could choose generally. As stated before, I can't. Yeah, supporting a pureblood ideologist would normally make me a one too, just like electing a racist shows that one apparently doesn't think racism is a problem big enough to vote against. But what do you suggest I do when both options are problematic? We have Voldemort as opposed to the Ministry yes? One supports supremacy of magic, placing magicians above Muggles. The other pushes for supremacy of humans over creatures, rich over poor and light over dark. Before you say anything, it's not as if Voldemort is trying to ban light magic, he's only trying to also make dark magic legal again. So, looking at those ideals, I prefer the guy who is trying to subdue one group instead of three, possibly overlapping ones. Especially since, after talking to... a few people, I have still hope that the entire superiority of magical blood will fall in the background when he concentrates on more important matters such as making sure Muggles don't find us anymore and bringing back balance in magic.''

''You have an interesting line of reasoning that I didn't really think of before,'' Sirius admitted. ''Which brings me to my next point. You keep speaking of what Voldemort would do and said that he isn't dead... How undead exactly? I mean, he's not exactly running around and cursing people like he used to. He can't have survived the Killing curse intact, else he wouldn't have disappeared in the first place.''

Harry considered for a moment how he could explain without outright lying to Sirius and still keeping his promises. ''When the Killing curse backfired, it destroyed only his body. His... spirit, I suppose, lived on and hid far away in a forest. He lived on by possessing animals, and later a human. That was professor Quirrel, my first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Yes, I know, the irony right?'' he laughed at Sirius' expression. ''Quirrel hid Voldemort on the back of his head under a turban, probably not Voldemort's proudest moment, but he survived, and right under Dumbledore's nose at that. That was the year the headmaster hid the Philosopher stone at Hogwarts. I'm honestly still not entirely sure why he did so that year specifically if he suspected all those years that the Dark Lord hadn't died. Only Snape really suspected anything and tried to keep an eye on Quirrel. Me and my friends, already having an intense hatred for Snape, thought that it was** him** trying to steal the stone and went after him at the end of the year. Was quite a surprise when I found Voldemort instead.''

''You spoke to him?''

''Sort of. I mean, I kind of ensured that he didn't get the Philosopher Stone since he murdered my parents and I'd only heard how evil he was. I then rejected his offer to join him, and since I thwarted his plans despite him not doing anything deliberately harmful to me the entire year, he was pretty pissed. Voldemort tried to kill me then and I erhm...'' Harry stilled, trying to force the next words out of his mouth. ''I killed Quirrel while trying to protect myself, leaving Voldemort in his spirit form once more, without the Philosopher stone that would return him to full life. Ever since, I guess he's been trying to find a way to get his body back. It's definitely certain that he can still possess people and even talk to them in that other form, so... he's not completely without influence.''

''Harry,'' Sirius whispered, and he looked up to find his godfather's face full of concern. ''I didn't know that you... that you had to take a life. That somehow explains... so much.''

Harry only grunted. ''How so?'' he asked, a bit more aggressive than he'd meant to. He still wasn't entirely over the revelation himself that it had been him who'd caused Quirrel's demise, never having stopped to think about it before... before what actually? Who** had** told him about Quirrel? Voldemort? Perhaps in one of their dreams? He utterly hated how little he could always recall after he woke up...

''In the way that you consider options,'' Sirius spoke. ''Because you know that your choices can have large impacts on the lives of people, and you know how quickly something can end permanently.''

''I didn't need to kill anyone to figure that out,'' Harry said. For it wasn't the death of professor Quirrel that had changed his attitude so much. After the incident with the stone, he'd been too distracted with a load of other things to even consider that the fate of his first Defence professor had been by his hand instead of Voldemort's. ''It was the Dementors,'' he admitted, trying to keep his breathing even when thinking of the foul creatures. ''Whenever they come close to me and all the happiness is sucked away... I can hear them. Pleading, screaming.''

''Who?''

''My parents. I don't know why or how, I should have been far too young to remember that night.'' he curled up into himself, only looking up when Sirius came over and kneeled down in front of him. It was hard to read the other's expression, especially since Harry was doing his best to avoid any eye-contact. ''I wish I knew what the best path really is,'' Harry whispered, clinging to Sirius' hands. ''They sacrificed themselves for me, so that I could have a chance to live. I don't want to disappoint them, but I** cannot** follow the path that they did. Does that make me a bad person?'' He'd pushed thoughts of his parents in a strange corner of his mind these past months. Talking about them was great, listening to stories of them like Sirius told even better. Thinking of them in any connection to his own decisions however, he'd avoided like the plague. ''Would they hate me for forgiving Voldemort?''

''We don't know what the dead would want,'' Sirius spoke after a while. ''I can only tell you that I am a hundred percent certain of that you are not bad. You wish to believe in the ideals of a man because you think he's standing for something better than what we have now. Those are not the motives of an evil person. Lily and James both fervently fought against Voldemort yes, and I will keep doing so too, in the hopes of that one day I can exact vengeance for them to alleviate my own guilt over their deaths and correct my mistakes. You? You are their son, and as long as you stay the same, wonderfully caring, brave person that you have been until now, your parents as I knew them would be incredibly proud. No matter whom you choose to support in the end.'' A traitorous stinging feeling itched Harry's eyes again. He pressed his lips together and willed himself to hold it in. Crying on Sirius once was really enough for one day.

''Thank you.''

''No need,'' the man grunted, standing up again and stretching. ''That does put me in a dilemma. If you're right and the Order of the Phoenix will be revived right here very soon, I can't in good consciousness have you in the same house if you're so convinced in that Voldemort is right, for both parties involved... Had I known before, I'd have told Dumbledore no but I... kind of already agreed with a magical oath in exchange for his help with the wards here.''

The teen cocked his head, confused. He'd somehow expected Sirius to be more adamant about his own points of view, to try and convince Harry more that Voldemort was the Ultimate Evil or something like that. Yet his godfather's main concern was having Harry in the same house as members of the Order? ''You're not going to stop me?'' he asked.

''I've just explained multiple times that I'll let you make your own choices regarding what you do with your magic and who you'll follow. I've told you my opinion and I now know yours. It's also hard for me to argue against points that I know too little about. Harry, I care for you. My main concern is your safety and your mental wellbeing. From your words, it sounds as if you choose Voldemort especially to protect those you love, not to betray them, leaving me with no doubts as to your morality. Which will be incredibly difficult, I have to warn you. With how close you are to a family of blood-traitors and a Muggleborn, you'll face much opposition and struggle there. Somehow, though, I think you just might pull it off. Being the one to kill Voldemort in the first place is sure to make him wary of you, maybe wary enough that he won't instantly try to off you again. Your hidden abilities could be the leeway necessary to get in some privileges if that's the road you really want to take... though be careful not to become as corrupt as the politicians you just described as despicable.''

''I'll watch out for that. And also for accidentally supporting other points on that list. Somehow I can't imagine Voldemort being a fan of free press either,'' he grimaced.

''Or of more lenient punishment for those he considers criminals,'' Sirius reminded him, biting his lips a few times as he considered what to say next. ''Just like I don't hate all dark magic, I can also see why Voldemort's points are tempting. You're right in that the current situation isn't ideal, and he would certainly bring change, for better or for worse. Thing is, I've seen it go downhill the first time around and don't plan on waiting for that to happen a second time. He's promised golden mountains before that sounded very appealing to large groups of people, then didn't act on it at all. As such, I want you to promise me that you won't do anything so rash as to instantly getting a tattoo, or else I **will** have to give you an earful. Don't end up like my little brother, who was blinded by an ideal and then got so far in that he couldn't run away from it anymore. Until the moment that you become a Death Eater, there is** always** a way back. After that, I can't guarantee anything.''

Harry very much doubted that there ever would be a 'way back' for him, not when being so deeply tied to Voldemort that the man could slip into his head any night. Sirius words were still an immense comfort and he was sure to go rub it in Barty's face that the Death Eater had been wrong about his godfathers' reaction. ''Now that that's out of the way,'' Harry said, fidgeting a bit. ''Could we maybe explore the house a bit? You've told me about it being full of cool dark artefacts, maybe you can show me what they do so I can protect myself against them?''

''Your name might be the only thing Gryffindor about you,'' Sirius sighed, resigned. ''I'll cave, if only to have you help me in making a few more rooms inhabitable. Hey kiddo, good talk. Should do that more often, I've noticed that it works wonders to get things off your chest like this.''


	31. Tempus Fugit

Nine months of work stood neatly bound in the study of Riddle Manor, a feeling of accomplishment filling its creator. Time had flown by frustratingly fast as Voldemort had spent every minute of his time bent over books in various languages, picking out the parts that were useful and either changing or discarding the rest. It had been difficult to not get angry over the slow progress even with a vast source of magic at his disposal. He'd only managed because once he started something, the Dark Lord would bite into it and not let go until he'd accomplished the desired result. Now he had it, after almost a year, and it was only the thought of that Muggles usually needed years to even learn the laws of a single country that made him feel better about the perceived delay of the progress he'd made over the months.

Nothing could be done about that now, he reasoned. It wasn't as if he hadn't had anything else to do either. Pushing back the long, heavy sleeve of his right arm, he once more looked at the black lines that spiralled around the limb. He'd debated for a long time which language to use exactly, considering there were various occult alphabets available that would suit his purposes, from Enochian to the Alphabet of Magi. The latter might have been best regarding precision, but for many reasons, he was reluctant to ink himself with symbols that originated from a language so closely tied to Muggle religion. In the end, the wizard had settled for the most obvious choice of Old Norse Futhark. With the runes being very versatile and him being more than proficient in working with them, it had been easy to craft the spells he'd needed, although this particular alphabet had the obvious drawback of many other magicians also being able to read the incantations. It would force him to conceal the spells if he'd perform rituals with other people that would require being skyclad. Sanguine eyes roamed over the enchantments that lay so close beneath skin, anxious to pick up on any mistakes. After a few minutes of not finding any, the paranoia ceased. Voldemort hadn't spent days on these tattoos to leave room for errors.

Unlike other people he knew... His fingers subconsciously flexed in a motion that could have been very lethal around someone's throat. Why had he thought it a brilliant idea to put so much faith in a fourteen-year-old child to keep his secrets? After the first two slip-ups, with Karkaroff and Draco Malfoy respectively, Harry had apparently let word fall of being far too openly on the dark side to yet again another person. He'd befallen in rage as the news had reached him, and the only reason Voldemort hadn't dragged the boy back here after, was that Barty had assured him of that Harry hadn't technically broken any promises, not mentioning having ties to the Dark Lord personally, nor of that he had gained a new body. Still,** Sirius Black** of all people? If the Dark Lord hadn't invaded Harry's mind so often now in dreams, he wouldn't have thought it too far-fetched to assume that Potter didn't** have** a brain. This was exactly one of the reasons why he only worked with children in very few exceptional cases. Harryhad to be such an exception... unfortunately.

Voldemort gritted his teeth when he thought about the boy whom he had tied himself to so closely, both unknowingly and purposefully. Why was it that this child made him** feel** so much? It seemed as if every emotion was so much more intense than it used to be. At first, he'd imagined this to be a result of being reborn, or a compensation for those years spent as a spirit. The first doubts about that theory had appeared right after Harry had left the house, like small cracks that spread through him and bled dullness. Until his thoughts wandered to Harry again, of course. Be it elation or annoyance, it was tripled when it either regarded his young Horcrux or if Harry simply happened to be near, and Voldemort wasn't quite done coming up with reasons why. Having a piece of soul tied to a living being might explain the latter... yet only the latter.

Breathing in deeply, the Dark Lord tried to gain hold of his unreasonable, unbridled rage that bubbled to the surface each time he thought of Harry prattling to Black. Logically, it should have been expected that a child could not be asked to be burdened with such a secret and not confide in anyone close. **Logically**, Voldemort should have known better than to put Harry in a Tournament that could claim his life and give the additional task of learning unfamiliar, powerful magic at the same time. He cursed when even that thought did not ease the resentment he felt towards Harry using the trust the boy had been given. Vaguely, the Dark Lord wondered if he'd see the boy tomorrow, then dismissed the thought. Even with all the aid received from Barty, himself and -undoubtedly - Potter's friends and godfather, his Horcrux was still up against three much more accomplished mages.

He still was indecisive about what to actually call the boy when thinking of him. During summer, the alias Evan had stuck at Potter's wish, but Voldemort found that it wasn't very appropriate anymore now that the young wizard was back at Hogwarts. In the boy's own words, he had to be Harry Potter again, and since he had not explicitly expressed a desire anymore to be called one over the other, Voldemort had switched his referrals in dreams quite often. Dreams were different from waking life and he'd have to make a decision about it, for names held power. Unless Harry would ask to return to that pseudonym of Evan, Voldemort would keep to referring to the boy by his given name... although he felt himself fall more and more into the habit of using 'Harry', rather than 'Potter'. Perhaps sharing dreams made it natural to also share a certain familiarity... Harry seemed to think so, having become a tad** too **lax with his manners at times, another reason why Voldemort had avoided other dream visits since they had met in person at Malfoy manor. He received reports on Harry's progress in the Tournament and training dark magic by Barty and tried not to think too much of Potter besides that, lest the boy would drive him insane.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't looking forward to seeing his Horcrux again... to hear those never-ending curious questions, to amuse himself with observing Potter fretting over things that didn't matter in the slightest, to share knowledge of magic and have someone around to talk to again who put an interesting new perspective on almost every topic...

Casting all thoughts of the teen out of his mind, he concentrated on his achievements once more. Thousands of pages, put together in five heavy tomes, detailing every single decree he wished for the citizens of his future country to abide by. The first version of it, that was. He knew very well that many of these laws would not see the light of day for decades, and he also still wished to hear the opinions of his closest followers regarding a few that he didn't have particularly strong feelings about. That would mean contacting Yaxley again. The man was one of the few Death Eaters who knew of his return, being an important asset in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. One more thing that was rather ridiculous in the current state of the Ministry of Magic, was that the department that was supposed to centre around enforcing the law was the same that employed judges, the Wizengamot and even legislators. In the Muggle terms he'd gone through so thoroughly now, it combined police forces, justice facilities and lawmakers in one, a breeding ground for corruption.

Voldemort tapped his fingers on the armrests of his chair, finding the topic of corruption always worth a second thought. It would certainly be easy if he could pay off whomever necessary to put his will through as was currently the case with the Minister of Magic. It also meant that there was hardly any instrument of control that could track down his more questionable actions. Looking at it from a long-term perspective however, using corruption would be hazardous. So many governments had fallen once word inevitably got out, and while that may be fine for Ministers or presidents who were only in office for a couple of years, **he **planned to rule for quite a bit longer than the average person. Which meant that the persona he crafted around himself had to be clean, with perhaps only a few minor scandals in a back closet to not seem too suspiciously perfect.

Practising deals beneath the table or using contacts around him to give or gain favours would be detrimental. He had a much larger secret that would need to stay hidden, one that he would have to put all of his strength in without having to worry about additional malpractices to cover up. Plus, he added in afterthought, he couldn't exactly have Barty's faith destroyed. Good followers were hard enough to come by.

More people should try Horcruxes, he decided. It made for great epiphanies. Death had truly been a wake-up call in a great many aspects. His first attempt at reigning had been pursued by using fear, his followers had mostly flocked to him to get a taste of power and a chance to let out their aggression no matter his own intentions. Then, as soon as the Dark Lord himself had been removed from the playing field, all he'd built had crumbled down till nothing was left, a mistake he wouldn't make twice. Other ways to gain respect may be more troublesome, but what he would gain in return was worth the endeavour. The only ones who still held true devotion were those Death Eaters he'd given something in return for their service and of whom he'd fulfilled their deepest wishes. There was Barty, who wanted a family who cared for more than mere politics and was straightforward with their methods. Then Bellatrix, who'd wished to display and honour her heritage while also breaking down the traditional ideas of a woman only being there to sit pretty and raise a bunch of children. He'd provided that by training her and matching her with Rodolphus, whom he'd known to seek for a marriage that wouldn't be restrictive and still give the illusion of upholding family values.

These wishes had not been easy to fulfil. Back then, he'd wondered if he couldn't have used the time and effort it had cost better. The answer became clear now, now that these three people were the only ones of whom he could with absolute certainty say that they'd gladly die in his stead if he'd command them to do so. At long last, Slughorn's method of gathering people and aiding them made complete sense now. Shame that he'd had to kill the man that he finally begrudgingly looked up to. If only his old potions professor hadn't known too much about his Horcruxes. Oh, Voldemort was no fool, from Harry's report of the 'lessons' with Dumbledore, he knew that it would only be a matter of time until the old goat would find the right track, if he hadn't already. That didn't mean that the Dark Lord had to make it any easier, and the information about the exact number of his Horcruxes was a fact that Dumbledore didn't need to know. Even his own human Horcrux wasn't aware of that particular detail.

Ah, and there his thoughts went back to Harry after all. Voldemort sighed and gave up pretending not to want to pay attention to the musings about his latest obsession. Such a fascinating being the boy had turned out to be, which he most definitely had not expected after the disastrous talk they'd had when Voldemort had still played parasite. Back then, he'd gotten the impression of a stubborn, headstrong nuisance with far more curiosity and luck than an eleven-year-old should possess. That impression had had to be reconsidered last year. Underneath all the foolish bravery, there was distrust, anger, and a hopeless longing for acceptance that resonated unpleasantly with Voldemort's own personality. Had things been slightly different, he could fully imagine Harry to have gone down the same path as he himself had. Thus, he'd humoured the teen, for acceptance was one thing he had to offer in abundance.

Well, in certain aspects, that was. As long as a person had magic and was not too brainwashed by Muggle ideas, he could accept people from all walks of life. That did narrow his generosity down to less than a percent of the general world population, but he deliberately ignored that insignificant fact. When the right conditions were fulfilled, he would give almost anything to take in those people he felt were wronged, including Potter.

This was, he felt, in complete opposite to Dumbledore, who clung to secrets as if they gave life itself, which made it very easy to convince Harry whose side was superior. The Dark Lord had no qualms about telling Potter the truth about what the boy was and why he was so essential. And no matter how annoyingly loose-lipped Harry turned out to be about some of that information, he couldn't regret the decision when seeing how effortless it had been after to make Harry see what he truly wanted. The boy had been a mess when he showed up at Riddle manor. Voldemort sincerely hoped that, after finally finding a place to vent about his woes without being judged one way or the other, Harry had come out of it for the better.

''Who is evil now,'' he whispered into the empty room with a wry smile, mustering up as much hate for his old transfiguration professor as possible. Which wasn't especially hard to do.

Letting Harry go had been harder than imagined, especially considering that upon becoming aware of the boy's presence in the house, he'd had half a mind to kill the brat. Good that even in his feverish state, he'd been able to recognise that doing so without further investigation would be unwise. It had been an eventful and amusing few weeks during which he'd housed his Horcrux. Eventful, because of all the insight he'd gained through the rituals and the talks he and Barty had had with the teen, which had revealed the many layers of Harry's character. Amusing, due to the revelation that the boy was much more attuned to Voldemort's magic than anyone, practically craving it, especially after the protection of Lily Potter wasn't fighting the wishes of his soul anymore. It had left Harry being awkward and embarrassed in a way that was highly entertaining.

Getting up, he finally noticed that he hadn't been so alone as he'd thought, Nagini lying curled up in a corner. With a twinge of affection, Voldemort approached his pet and kneeled down next to her to stroke the scales atop of her head. He really was fortunate for having found such a fine creature. In what he now referred to as his first life, he'd held a few snakes around for company, but most of them had been simply creatures with not much to say. Nagini had been a different story, and Voldemort was certain that she could not be an ordinary animal, although he was not aware of her origin, and neither did she have much of a recollection of her youth herself. She'd only told a vague tale of flashing lights and grabbing hands before fleeing into the forest where they'd met. It could also explain why she did not behave much like a regular snake, instead often being awake during the day and tending to follow him around, not to mention that she was an impossible combination of a constrictor and a venomous species, wielding both lethal weapons at once.

Despite the charms he'd put upon her, she was still rather heavy when he picked her up and carried her over to the bedroom he'd de-cluttered after gaining his new body, the one that had belonged to his grandparents. After considering the one of his father for a while to spite the bastard, the Dark Lord had decided against it. It wasn't that he had anything against sleeping in the bed of someone he'd killed -else his current choice would also make little sense-, he merely did not feel comfortable in a room where his father may have bed other women than his mother while Voldemort was stuck and miserable in the orphanage.

For a while, Voldemort had seriously considered leaving this place behind. When first arriving here, he'd planned for it to be a temporary hide-out and make use of the homes of followers who had remained loyal. That was an impossibility now he had made Barty gather his Horcruxes, realising the danger they were in after one had been destroyed. -There was that anger again, when thinking of Potter, raising the Basilisk fang. Potter, saving the Weasley girl because his heart was so large that it could fit the world in it-

His snarl shook Nagini. Why did he always have to think of Harry?

_~Will Harrison be here again tomorrow?~_ Nagini hissed quietly as if reading his thoughts, wagging the tip of her tail as he put her down on the bed. (For a while, she'd slept near the fireplace until one night where the fire had burnt too bright and even with the charms that protected her she'd received burns to her side during the night. After that, he'd found it safer to keep her warm with blankets so she curled up at his feet every night. It was more pleasant to have someone there than he'd ever admit) The question surprised him, for there had been no mention of his plans to Nagini. Had he talked to himself in Parseltongue while working? He did wonder why she kept calling the boy Harrison, he'd explained to her a couple of months ago who Harry really was so they would not need to be careful around Nagini anymore when talking. It had taken her a while of being angry and sulking to forgive the boy for lying to her, but she'd thankfully come around by now.

_~Perhaps, if he is clever enough,~_ he hissed back, undressing and slipping under the covers himself. Then again, while having had insightful thoughts to add to discussions, showing a certain level of intelligence, Harry still had more brawn and heart than brain. One couldn't have all three... even Voldemort admitted so, knowing that physically he was weaker than most, compensating for that with potions and spells. Not that any magician would think of assaulting him physically. Or well, any other than Harry bloody Potter who had tried to throttle him once.

''Potter'' he spat, getting frustrated once more. For now he would try to keep watch. If Harry kept running around and telling too much to those near him, Voldemort could always still decide to just remove him from society for a while. Yes, that was a plan, he finally decided before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

'How had time gone by so fast' was not a sentence that was only on Voldemort's mind. Harry was busy with the same thought buzzing through his head. It felt like only yesterday that he'd returned to Hogwarts after the Easter Holidays... and it was as if everything and nothing had happened at all during those months: together with his friends he'd snuck down to the kitchens a couple of times, checking on Dobby and Winky. Besides that, he'd just attended classes, did less extra learning than planned, tried to keep in shape by flying around the grounds despite Quidditch having been cancelled, trained with Barty whenever he could and, most surprisingly, stayed out of trouble. Due to Skeeter's mysterious disappearance, there had been no more mortifying articles in the Prophet either to shake up his life. It didn't look like the paper had found a new staff member yet with as much experience in tearing down people's lives.

There were of course those strange, irregular visits with Dumbledore too, but it looked like the headmaster was less worried than Harry had expected for someone who was supposedly getting his forces back together. He'd only been shown three further memories. Perhaps the Headmaster simply hadn't had the time to gather more, for he hadn't left the castle again. Instead, Harry had delved into Dumbledore's own past, first seeing the trial of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch and then a memory of when Voldemort returned to Hogwarts to apply for a job once more.

And then there had been **that** memory: the first meeting with a young Tom Riddle at that creepy Muggle Orphanage. Harry finally knew now when Voldemort's birthday was, since Dumbledore had spoken to Mrs Cole first, and Harry had realised that he'd missed the Dark Lord's last one. Harry's heart had clenched when recognising the distrust and hostility Riddle had shown, followed by an eagerness to believe Dumbledore when being told he was different... A hope that was crushed when he turned out to be** too** special as soon as the revelation was out that he was a Parselmouth. No wonder that Voldemort had turned out so twisted; Muggles had feared him for his powers when he'd been too young to even understand them himself and then the first wizard he'd met was openly disapproving too, telling Tom off for stealing trinkets and 'misusing' the powers he held so dear. What kind of scar must it have left when Dumbledore pretended to burn Riddle's only treasures, what kind of message had that been supposed to give? Tom's cries of rage and fear etched deep in Harry's soul... Perhaps Voldemort had not been able to feel more complex emotions during his childhood as he'd said, the primal instincts had all been there.

_''Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?'' _Dumbledore had asked him afterwards, having watched Harry's wet eyes almost curiously, a question that still made Harry laugh bitterly.

''Yes,'' he whispered into the wind, the same answer as he'd given then. ''No matter what he became after, what kind of monster would I be not to feel sorry for a lost and broken child?''

He hadn't been shown any further memories after that, which suited Harry just fine.

''Did you say something?'' Bagman asked, frowning. ''Don't worry Harry, you'll be great!'' Harry only gave the man a sideway glance, still not trusting someone who apparently had trouble with goblins and was far too eager to give advice. Bagman didn't seem to care, grinning and giving a thumbs up at the slightest hint of recognition, then rubbing his arms. ''Cold here isn't it? I hope Dumbledore will hurry up. Man, if only Crouch were here, he was always good with warming charms.''

''Have you heard anything about him?'' Harry asked, finally taking the bait, also not wanting to only stand there in silence, stewing on his nerves. A few more minutes before they'd have to take their places and go into the gigantic labyrinth that had utterly transformed the Quidditch pitch. The thought of never getting the pitch back to its old state however, worried Harry more than the labyrinth itself, maybe because he knew there was nothing that he could really have prepared much better for. With the dragons he'd had a specific tactic. In the lake, his main focus was to keep breathing. This? Anmaze with unknown creatures and enchantments? This was like getting to the philosopher stone all over again with a new challenge behind each door and hey, he'd also made it through there right? His friends may not be with him in the maze to give aid, but Hermione and Ron had helped him practise so many spells that he still felt as if they were with him in spirit.

''About who, Crouch? Not really but I'm sure it's nothing serious,'' Bagman shrugged. ''Just like old Bertha who surely got lost on holiday, Crouch maybe decided he'd rather hunt down some dark wizards on his own without the rest of the department to hold him back.'' Harry sceptically raised his eyebrows, knowing very well that both those people had been murdered by Voldemort. How could one person be** this** delusional?

Even Dumbledore saw these disappearances as a sign that the Dark Lord was growing stronger. He'd told Harry so right after showing the Death Eater trial, diverting the teen's attention from Barty's pale face as the then-teen's own father sentenced him to Azkaban. Harry was clearly not the only one who wasn't careful enough, the Dark Lord had underestimated Dumbledore's deductive abilities as well. Somehow, someway, the Headmaster had even found out about the murder on Frank Bryce, getting dangerously close to Voldemort's hiding place. Too close to Harry's liking, an opinion shared by Barty who had instantly warned Voldemort to up the defences around Riddle house or move someplace else. Whether or not the man had followed that advice, Harry had no idea, not having spoken to Voldemort anymore since Easter, not even in dreams.

He still wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved about that. The dreams had been confusing and he'd usually not been able to recall much from them in the first place but... they'd somehow made him feel secure, taken care of. Harry felt like he usually was the last person who craved attention from other people and still... Voldemort's attention had been nice. It was difficult to describe why it was so different. It wasn't as if Harry didn't feel loved: he had amazing friends, a wonderful godfather who was even willing to take Harry in, Hagrid was always there to talk to and he even had his personal guardian angel/devil in the form of Dobby. His heart jumped a bit in his chest when recalling this morning, when Mrs. Weasley and Bill had stood in for his biological family and who were now beaming at him from the stands. Friends, family... still, talking to Voldemort was unlike anything else and not only because of the wizard's power. No, Harry felt **understood** by the man, now more than ever since he'd seen just how similar their upbringings had been. Added to that the fact that he carried a piece of Voldemort's soul and they'd shared blood twice now... if it wouldn't sound so uncomfortably sappy, Harry would almost call the feeling intimacy.

Which he didn't. Absolutely not.

''Finally!'' Ludo Bagman exclaimed, shocking Harry out of his own weird musings, which he could only feel relieved about. He had better things to concentrate on than whatever insanity the Dark Lord awoke. Harry looked behind him and saw that the last people took their places, Dumbledore having lingered a bit longer than absolutely necessary, which made Harry slightly suspicious. ''Well then, let's get this show started,'' Bagman enthusiastically said. ''_**Sonorus**_.'' He spread his free arm and reminded the crowd of the current points of the Champions and thus the order in which they'd enter the maze - first Cedric, then Harry, Viktor and lastly Fleur. ''To make this task slightly more entertaining to watch,'' he spoke with blinking teeth, ''and to address the complaints we got after the underwater one, we'll have monitoring spells set up all through the labyrinth!''

Harry froze. Monitoring spells? That was one thing he hadn't counted on. If he judged Barty's expression correctly, neither had the Death Eater. They'd practised many darker spells that he was hesitant to show with teachers watching now that Dumbledore had warned him yet again. Also, Harry had hoped that if he was in a real pinch, he would still be able to fall back on Voldemort's protection as a last resort. He could forget about that now unless he wished to have a massive explanation at hand. ''Naturally, the centre is shrouded in mystery,'' Bagman continued, winking. ''So we'll only know who the real winner is when they appear back right here.'' He pointed at a golden circle that was painted on the grass in front of the entrance. ''So let's see how our Champions behave when all alone. Cedric, if you would?''

Viktor glowered a bit at Bagman using Cedric's first name as if he was familiar with all of them. That the Champions had formed bonds between each other did not mean that members of the jury could include themselves in that group. Harry felt the same, just tried not to show it as much. Cedric turned to the other three of them, looking a bit nervous. ''Good luck,'' Harry said, being the first to speak. A small, anxious smile formed on Cedric's lips and he nodded back, then took the hand Viktor offered him and accepted the awkward pat on the arm from Fleur. ''So, the last Task huh,'' the Hufflepuff softly spoke, his eyes a bit sad. ''It really was great to do all these things with you. No matter the outcome today...'' he drifted off.

''We'll still be a team,'' Krum commented, giving a curt nod. ''Let's all play Quidditch together sometime after. Now go.''

With that, Cedric ran into the maze, not waiting for a further sign, perhaps due to nerves. Harry watched the older boy's back as he disappeared into the shadows of the towering hedges. Squinting his eyes, he could make out the figure still. If he was correct, Cedric had gone to the right.

A few minutes later, a shrill whistle sounded and Harry walked forwards, encouraged by the remaining two Champions. It was time to face his last deadly task.


	32. Unexpected surprises

Running forwards, Harry quickly left the bright lights behind, the hedges oddly muting all sounds as soon as he entered. Since Cedric had gone right, he turned to the left, not feeling like constantly running behind the other. Who knew, perhaps this way was a shortcut.

Making use of the locator spell that he'd already learnt to find the mermaid village for the second task, he tried to deduce where the centre of the maze was. He combined it with the Four-Point spell Hermione had shown him to use in the dragon task to know where north was. Knowing that he was supposed to go northwest, he kept combining the spells to find a quick way to come closer to his goal. That was, until he came across the first obstacle. He'd been so concentrated on the two spells that he didn't notice the chill until it was nearly too late. Harry screamed in surprise as crusted, slimy hands appeared in his vision, and jumped back just in time, staring at the hooded face of a Dementor.

''_**Expecto... Expecto-**_'' he coughed, but the dread had already set in. Harry had let it come too close, too sudden, and now was unable to fire the protective charm instantaneously. Stumbling back to create distance between him and the creature, Harry clutched his wand tightly while trying to come up with a suitable memory. He was a bit more hesitant about doing so now he knew that the happiness related to those memories would have to be given up to dispel the foul being. In that moment of hesitation, Harry suddenly realised something else when the Dementor was suspiciously slow and looked almost indecisive. With renewed strength, Harry pointed his wand again, shouting: ''_**Riddikulus!**_''

Of course they wouldn't have let an actual Dementor in here, he berated himself afterwards. Any other creature that would leave physical damage could probably be expected, but not one that could potentially suck out the soul of one of the Champions when left unsupervised, certainly not with how disapproving Dumbledore had been about the Dementors being in Hogwarts last year. For a fleeting moment, Harry actually wished that it** had** been a real Dementor: at least the Patronus Charm was a dark spell that he could safely cast without anyone thinking worse of him for it, whilst still fulfilling Voldemort's conditions for this Tournament. Now he would have to come up with something else... preferably nothing too obvious.

Harry continued down the long, dark path, getting lost a few times in the unpredictable twists and turns that convinced him that the towering hedges were actually moving whenever he wasn't looking. In the corner of his eyes, he saw rustling leaves, shadows of whipping branches… Even with both locator spells at hand, he too often got stuck in dead-ends. On the way, he encountered a strange fog that turned his world upside down and one of Hagrid's last blast-ended Skrewts. Although he could have used a slew of dark curses on this thing, Harry really tried to only stun the creature, for he knew that Hagrid would be absolutely devastated if one of his babies died in here. Thus, he sprinted away as soon as he landed a good hit and hoped it wouldn't throw the spell off too soon. For all his supposed bravery, the Gryffindor wasn't looking forward to having a mad scorpion-like creature pursuing him.

As night fell, the shadows grew longer and the air turned chilly even for June. Leaves rustled aggressively all around, making it hard to concentrate on possible enemies lurking around corners, or on his locator spells. Somehow, Harry still had the feeling that he was running around in circles. He was absolutely certain of that something was wrong when he suddenly found himself surrounded by hedges on all four sides with no opening in sight that he had come from. Trying to slash through the walls of green only made thorny vines appear and snap at his ankles.

''Don't panic,'' he whispered. ''Anything is possible.'' That was one thing he'd certainly learned at Riddle manor: with magic, anything could happen. Fortunately meaning that anything could be fixed too. Trying to keep a cool head, Harry tried to come up with explanations. Was the hedge really sentient somehow and had it closed him in? In that case, there should be a method of getting through the shrubbery, which didn't make sense. On one hand, it wouldn't be much of a labyrinth if they could blast their way through walls and on the other, the maze being literally allowed to trap the Champions inside would also be very odd since it was supposed to be more of a puzzle to solve, so there had to be a different explanation. Herbology was probably out then. Transfiguration? Perhaps one of these walls had only been conjured and was not part of the actual labyrinth? Harry studied the leaves, tried a few more attacks, but did not notice any difference in behaviour so that was probably out. A spell came to mind that he perhaps could use to find out if the plants were all part of the same organism... he could only hope that there was no place for a monitoring spell in this square yard he was trapped in.

Risking a couple of scratches, Harry seized a few of the struggling, thorny vines, wincing as they tried to rip his palm open. ''_**Adiuvantibus mors voluntaria**_!'' he panted, pointing his wand at the wriggling plants clasped between his fingers, repeating the spell a few times until finally, the vines started to blacken, a stain which spread through the branches of the walls around him. Or three of the walls, one part of hedge remained suspiciously unaffected by his suicide spell. Releasing the crumbling twigs, he looked at it once more, trying to study what was so different. Then, a shimmer revealed it: it had been a highly advanced illusion this entire time, his own mind tricking him into believing the path before him was blocked. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped through it, not feeling a thing and finding himself in another long corridor.

The teen cursed about the time he must have lost when trying to figure out that trap and ran as fast as possible after figuring out which way to go, slipping on the muddy grass a couple of times. He only slowed down when hearing noises that sounded like a fight was happening around the next corner. Wary, he approached the end and looked to the right, retreating when a spell whizzed past his head. ''Go the other vay!'' he heard Krum shout.

''And be forced to make a detour?'' Cedric answered. ''Never. _**Stupefy**_!'' Harry seriously wished he had his invisibility cloak now so he could have snuck past the others who were obviously caught in a duel. From the exchange, the teen gathered that Cedric must have caught up with Krum here at one point but could not get past the Bulgarian. It was logical that Krum would try to stop Cedric from entering this path when knowing it was the fastest way to their goal from here. Harry debated on what to do. His first instinct was to join the duel, possibly teaming up with Cedric for a bit for Hogwarts, then he discarded the idea. Two against one would not be an honourable fight, and neither could he just barge into someone else's duel. So that left either trying to get past or taking another way. While it would be too time-consuming for Cedric to head back now and let Krum go on, it was a viable option for Harry if the other two Champions were stuck here for a while, fighting each other. Then again, he would also feel bad for using such an underhanded tactic, acting as the third dog that ran off with the bone... More spells lit up the narrow, foggy way while Harry tried to make up his mind.

So sneaking around was out, and so was interfering in the duel of other people. That only left one thing he could do that would not hurt his pride: being clever enough to find a way through, either unnoticed or not. He was no match for either of them, so if they saw him and had time to react, Harry knew he would be out of the running. Considering that he would need to run nearly twenty yards before even reaching the two of them, there was no way that he would be out of the viewing range of both unless they were turned with their backs to him. He wished he were an Animagus... preferably something small or flying. Or that he could turn himself invisible like Dumbledore. Wracking his brain, he wondered if there was any spell that he'd been taught, either in class or by Barty, that could help him in this situation. Surely, he knew of many possibilities: from becoming one with the shadows, to completely disguising himself, yet none that he himself could perform.

Shadows... a thought suddenly came to him. He'd been so startled by the Dementor-Boggart, so why would the others not be? Nervously, Harry rolled his wand between his hands. In Voldemort's book, the one that classified spells, he'd read about this one and found it rather interesting. The sacrifice was also not too high in his opinion either. The only problem he had was with the possibility of people watching. Hopefully they would be concentrated more on looking at the duel between Viktor and Cedric if any monitoring spells were around. Crouching down, Harry tried to recall the spell. It hadn't been a very difficult one, using only words that he had already known from other spells, he only hoped that he placed them in the correct order. According to Voldemort's detailed description, casting it felt much like a couple of other spells that Barty had taught him before, so he concentrated on that and on his urge to get through. _**'' Umbra Vicem Hominum**_,'' he whispered, pointing the wand at the ground, stabbing it into his own shadow, which rippled and darkened. Before Harry's eyes, a black blur shot over the ground in the direction he wanted it to, then rose up from the ground at the other end of the pathway, a gigantic black mass that stretched out its hand.

The two fighting Champions ceased their duel to stare at the thing, an opportunity which Harry used to cross the distance to their backs. With a wave of his wand, the shadow creature moved forwards, temporarily blinding the others, which Harry used to charge through as fast as he could before his spell would disappear. As he rounded another corner, he skidded to a halt to catch his breath, hoping that Krum and Cedric would be too busy trying to keep each other from continuing to go on ahead together to figure out what that had been about. If he was lucky, they'd think that the apparition was another trick of the maze. He turned out to be correct when the spellfire continued, this time behind him. Releasing a breath and smiling, Harry continued, for the first time feeling like he could actually** win** this thing. It hadn't even been his intention. The Gryffindor had been too busy trying to find spells to show that would help him stay alive and keep Voldemort happy at the same time. Actually reaching the end? And as the first person? He hadn't even dreamt about that, yet now here he was, leaving behind two other Champions who didn't even know he'd gotten past them.

''Halt!''

Harry froze, looking up with fear as a thunderous voice sounded, his heart stuttering. Lost in thoughts, he'd almost ran head-first into a gigantic being. Casting a lumos, hoping that having been spoken to meant that he was safe for now, Harry rose up his wand to illuminate the person in front of him. Or rather, the** being**, for while it was a woman's face with beautiful almond eyes and wavy hair looking down on him, the body was that of a massive lion with razor-sharp claws and all. A Sphinx. Just when he thought they were done with big monsters after Dragons, the Giant Squid and Skrewts.

''So...'' Harry started. ''You won't let me pass will you? It's rather important to me.''

Lips revealed long fangs as she smiled deviously. ''It is not that simple, though you need not fight me. Answer my riddle and I will let you through.''

''And if I can't?''

''Then you can either turn back without answering or be eaten alive when you get it wrong,'' she commented, lifting a paw to inspect her own claws nonchalantly. Harry blinked, never having met a being that acted this** human**. -Especially considering that he could recall from his textbooks that Sphinxes were even classified as Beasts due to their violent nature- She sounded almost reasonable.

''I guess I can try,'' he commented, feeling a tad nervous. ''So if I don't answer you will not attack me at all?'' he asked to be sure. If that was the case, there was no harm in listening to it.

''That's the idea, although the shortest way to your goal lies past me,'' she spoke, confirming Harry's fears. If he turned back, Cedric and Viktor would also be waiting there still... and if Cedric would reach the Sphinx it was over. Harry knew for a fact that the Ravenclaw common room had a new riddle every day and Cho Chang often discussed them with her boyfriend for fun. She'd even kept doing so at the parties... if only Harry had listened a bit more closely.

''Okay,'' he finally spoke, not wanting to lose more time. ''What is the riddle?''

She stretched herself, yawned and got in position to recite. After a last clearing of her throat, the Sphinx spoke: ''It ate everything that came, everything that will and still it will never get its fill.''

Harry blinked. ''That's it?''

''That's it,'' she shrugged, rolling her shoulders. ''I did have a much longer one alluding to the next challenge behind me, but it would be boring to give each of you humans the same one to solve. Besides, where would the drama be if you all got stuck here for fifteen minutes?''

''Wait, what do you mean, you had another one?'' Harry exclaimed. ''Someone already passed you?''

''A few minutes ago. Now, answer it or retreat.''

Harry grasped at his hair. Damn it, Fleur had already been here? Did he even stand a chance then? Since he hadn't seen her, she must have come from a different direction... the path split off to the other side too. That also meant that even from there, the quickest way to the centre was through here. Retreating would be the same as giving up. Even if Harry didn't answer correctly, fighting the Sphinx might be easier than finding a different way in. ''Fine,'' he said, rubbing his forehead. Why did his scar not have an useful magical power like knowing the answer to every question instead of binding him to a certain Dark Lord? ''Can I hear it once more?'' Raising an amused eyebrow, the Sphinx repeated the line and Harry muttered it to himself. Even if Fleur had already gotten past, the Sphinx had said something about another challenge ahead, so hopefully that would keep her longer than it took him to solve this. Giving up was not an option: not because he wanted to win so badly, but because if there was one thing he'd learnt from Quidditch, it was that people who gave up when they thought they were defeated always brought down the entire team. It killed both their own fun and lessened the feel of victory for the winners, because who wanted to say they won by the other team just leaving? No, Harry would give it his all and keep pushing forward.

At least it was only a single sentence he had to decipher. Surely, this couldn't be this hard, considering it was one of her backup riddles? ''It ate everything that came...'' he muttered. ''So I am searching for the answer what 'it' is.'' He glanced up quickly to the Sphinx, who looked bored and sat down. An image flittered through his mind of a children book he'd sometimes read at elementary school of a caterpillar that kept eating more and more and was never filled. No, surely a magical creature wouldn't be referring to some Muggle children book. Maybe he was thinking too literally of eating. ''Everything that will... so it ate everything in history and will eat everything in the future and still keeps eating?''

''Hurry a bit will you?'' she sighed, peering past Harry. ''It looks like a third human is coming and I do not want to have a queue here.''

''Damn. Fine. Erhm, history... future. Present? No, the present doesn't eat anything itself. Time! The answer is time!'' he exclaimed, finally finding an answer that fit.

''Actually, both those answers would have been right,'' she mused, holding her head to the side in a way that reminded Harry of a curious cat. ''While time eats everything that was and will be without getting full, you are also correct in that the present ate the past to become it and will eat the future too to become it without ever stopping to do so.'' She sprang up. ''For not only solving my riddle but giving me new insight in it, I shall give you five minutes before letting the next one through even if he solves my next riddle sooner. Use it wisely.''

''Thanks!'' Harry said in relief. ''What's your name?''

The Sphinx blinked at him, taken aback. ''Neith, though I fail to see how that is relevant, wizard. Go.''

''Right. I'm Harry. Bye!'' he shouted, running past as she moved out of the way. It couldn't be much further now, right? So where was Fleur?

A shriek pierced the night and Harry halted at the sight before him when he arrived at the centre. There, the Triwizard cup was glowing on a pedestal in the very middle of the labyrinth. The only problem was that in front of it, Fleur was struggling to keep one of the largest Acromantulas at bay that Harry had seen since his encounter with Aragog, even larger than the one that had been blasted apart by Voldemort's defences. The girl was half-buried under it, barely managing to keep a shield intact to avoid the jaws from snapping her neck. Blood dripped from one of her legs. Driven by instinct, Harry acted before thinking. He could easily have ran around the fighting witch and grabbed the trophy, instead dropping to his belly and pointing his wand at the soft underside of the spider. ''_**Arania Exomai**_!'' he shouted, blasting the spider off, allowing Fleur to scramble to her feet. She gave him a quick, thankful nod and pointed her trembling hand at the spider, which got to its feet again and bent its legs to leap.

It froze midway and relaxed its posture again, which left Harry both wary and confused. A series of quick clicks followed and the gigantic spider began to... pace back and forth at the other side of the round enclosure? The two Champions exchanged wary looks, both fully aware of the cup being right in front of them, yet neither wanting to go forwards due to the spider getting closer then too.

'''ow about we first deal with zis zing togezer?'' Fleur asked with a slightly shrill voice. ''What was zat spell you used?''

''Arania Exomai,'' Harry repeated. ''It's supposed to repel spiders. This cannot really be the result of my spell anymore however, it only lasts a couple of seconds. And fine. I go left, you go right and we fire it from both sides?'' he suggested.

''It's a plan,'' Fleur replied, bravely starting to move around the sides of the clearing, shuffling towards the Acromantula. From her face though, it was clear that she wasn't looking forward to having to get anywhere near the creature.

Then, as Harry approached it too, something incredible and strange happened. The spider turned towards him and hissed _''Killer,'' _before jumping up on the hedge and climbing over it, quickly disappearing from sight. Harry's heart thudded loudly and he looked at the spot where the spider had vanished with wide eyes. Was he going crazy? Or was he suddenly not only a Parselmouth, but an Arachnimouth too or what?

''It... it spoke,'' Fleur whispered, looking a bit green, thankfully destroying that theory. ''What did it mean wiz 'killer'?''

''How could I forget,'' Harry groaned, more to himself than Fleur. Of course Acromantula had the ability to speak: had he and Ron not had a conversation with Aragog? No matter how revolting Acromantulas were in his eyes, they were intelligent creatures and fully capable of human speech as Hagrid had shown by teaching it to his pet spider. So either Aragog must have passed that knowledge onto some of his children, or Hagrid had made this spider into his literal new pet project. ''These animals live in the Forbidden forest,'' he explained to Fleur. ''And they are mostly sentient no matter how they look. The Keeper of Hogwarts, Hagrid, personally taught English to at least one that I know of, it's possible that he did that for multiple spiders.'' From Fleur's face, Harry deduced that she shared his unspoken opinion that giant spiders had no business speaking like humans. ''And I think it called me killer because... well, I've been in the Forbidden Forest once to ask help from the spiders. It didn't turn out great and they tried to eat me and my friend Ron instead. During our escape, we must have killed quite a few of them.'' That wasn't exactly the full explanation, but it would have to do. They'd only been saved by the Ford Anglia and the spiders had clearly not considered him personally much of a threat before, considering that they'd still attacked him en masse earlier this school year. If anything, the fact that his mysterious protective barriers had blasted all that had seriously attacked him into smithereens or made them feel excruciating pain was a more likely explanation. Not that he would bother Fleur with those particular details.

''Anyways,'' he started awkwardly. ''We should... probably figure out what to do with.. well, that.'' he pointed at the cup. ''The Sphinx said that I was being closely followed, so if either Krum or Cedric solves the riddle too, we will be with three soon.''

''Right...'' Exchanging glances, the both of them walked up to the cup a lot calmer than either of them felt. Right in front of them was the prize of this entire blasted Tournament.

''You take it,'' Harry finally said, biting his lip. ''You were here first.'' It was only fair with all the help he'd received to get where he was. It wasn't as if he needed either more fame nor gold either.

''I would've had to give up, had you not helped me with ze spider,'' Fleur protested. ''Also, I still 'aven't forgotten about Gabriele.''

''You helped Hogwarts too,'' Harry shot back. ''Even if not me personally, you gave Cedric information about the second Task right? Besides, I'm not even supposed to be here, we all know that. I was tricked into participating in this thing and am happy enough that I didn't die.''

''You were not ze one disqualified for one of ze Tasks. I should not 'ave been allowed to be 'ere.''

''Yet you're the one who made it here fastest despite being the last to enter. You didn't break any rules by being here. Come on, just take it!''

Fleur grew silent and stretched out her hand, then turned it into a fist before she could grasp the handle of the cup. ''I owe you too much 'Arry. If you insist, zen I do too,'' she spoke, determined. ''Zis is a Tournament for cooperation iz it not? Let us claim victory togezer to fortify ze bond between Beauxbatons and 'ogwarts.'' She glanced at the path that led back to the Sphinx. ''I would wait for Viktor and Cedric too but... it looks like neizer is coming.'' She was correct in that assumption, Harry concluded. It had been far over the five minutes that Neith had promised him and still no sign of either Cedric or Viktor.

''Then together,'' he smiled, giving in. ''One. Two. **Three**!''

A now-familiar feeling of a hook behind his navel told him that the cup was a Portkey. He'd expected that since Bagman had explained they would appear in front of the maze again. What he hadn't seen coming, was that they landed somewhere else entirely. Right in front of a very familiar building in fact.

Towering over them was Riddle House.

The sight of the ivy-clad walls was at once familiar and strange. Only less than a year ago this place had been barely more than a ruin. Now, the damage to the outer walls had been repaired pristinely, the windows were whole and even the paint of the front door was not peeling off anymore. Looking around, Harry noticed that they stood in a garden that hadn't been there before, the sweet smell of June flowers thick in the air. it looked like Voldemort was here to stay and Harry couldn't help the twinge of worry that constricted his chest, considering how close Dumbledore already was at grasping the truth, having discovered the death of Frank Bryce in this very village, linking it to Voldemort instantly.

Fleur recovered quickly, having her wand out before Harry's head even stopped spinning. ''Iz zis part of ze Tournamen'?'' she muttered, lighting up her wand and looking around. ''Zey did not mention anozer challenge.''

''I.. I don't think it is,'' Harry stuttered, wondering how much he could say. Had Voldemort been so certain of Harry's victory that he wished to invite him? Surely not, the man had made it clear that he only believed Harry to have a **chance**, nothing more. They both jumped when the door clicked and silently swung open. Far more silent than Harry could recall it being, the blasted thing had always giving him a heart attack by creaking loudly whenever Nagini pushed it open with her heavy body to go hunting. One more change that made this place more liveable... Stepping forwards, the teen went for the door, figuring that keeping the Dark Lord waiting was not the smartest idea. Before he could reach it, a hand grabbed his upper arm firmly and dragged him back with a jerk. ''What the-!'' he yelped, turning around and meeting Fleur's furious gaze.

''Are you **mad**?'' she snapped at him. ''You do not walk into an unfamiliar 'ouse! And** if** we are going in, I have a duty to protect you, not ze ozer way around.'' With a sniff that covered up her worry, she released him in favour of raising her wand. _**''Protego Maxima. Protego Horribilis, Fianto Duri, Homenum Revelio.**_'' she spoke in rapid succession, strands of various colours being woven around them, forming a net of spells. Harry wanted to protest against her doing all the work and forming the vanguard, then realised how stupid that might sound. He couldn't exactly say: 'Y'know, this is Voldemort's house and I happen to get along with him enough to not be killed', nor would any 'chivalry' be appreciated in Fleur's case, she looked as headstrong as Hermione, if not more so. And if she even had one shred of fierceness as Harry's friend, he would land in an early grave for suggesting to her to let a younger and more inexperienced guy take the lead just because he felt uncomfortable not protecting her instead. Thus, he remained silent and watched as she checked the shields. ''Zere is one occupant 'ere,'' she informed him, which hardly surprised the teen. Barty was at Hogwarts and the Dark Lord didn't seem all that thrilled about any of his other followers, who had bailed their way out of Azkaban by renouncing the Dark Lord's name. Whoever he needed enough to get into contact with again like Lucius Malfoy, would need to prove their loyalty again.

Fleur tried the Portkey once again, apparently hoping that it would take them back when touching it anew. The cup remained as it was and Harry suspected that if it could take them back at all, it was most likely timed or would only activate again when Voldemort allowed it to do so. It did make him wonder about how something like this had been able to pull them from beyond the Hogwarts wards. The Dark Lord may be powerful beyond Harry's imagination, he was still only one wizard and surely would still be staggered by the protection around the ancient castle which had supposedly been created by the four most powerful magicians in Britain at the time. Not to mention all the new wards that had been added by the many Headmasters of Hogwarts...

Having no other choice, Fleur at long last stepped over the threshold and tentatively went into the house. Encountering no traps, the girl relaxed a bit after a couple of steps, standing still to look around. He himself had not really taken the time to stop and look at the décor before, already having been here long enough to get used to the house. For another person though, he could imagine that the style of the house might be off. It reeked of waned glory and riches, a manor built in Muggle Victorian-style architecture -which Harry only knew of because Aunt Petunia used to brag about some of her friends having similar mansions- and stuffed full with unnecessarily posh furniture from what looked like the thirties. While Fleur picked up an item that Harry recognised as an old candle damper, an object so utterly Muggle that no pure-blooded magician would be able to even figure out what it was for, Harry tried his best to hide the fond grin that threatened to creep onto his face. It was even widened by the pleasant shivers he had felt since passing the door, a reaction to the magic that hung low in the air, thrumming around him and drenching everything in the house.

Strange that only positive feelings rose within him now, even though he'd had many painful memories too. Harry had hated this place at the start, yet everything that remained was a happy, almost fuzzy feel lingering in his belly. Glancing past the open kitchen door, the Gryffindor looked at the chair on which he'd sat, giving Barty instructions with cooking. In the living room, the nest of blankets had been put away. Only the table was still turned to its side, leaving a vague impression of the comfortable seating that Barty and he had created to talk about all sorts of topics. Inhaling deeply, Harry shivered. ''Upstairs,'' he whispered, Voldemort's magic being stronger there. Fleur gave a curt nod and ascended the steps, which were finally entirely cleared of all dust. She halted only when the door to Voldemort's room opened -which Harry had finally learned, through dreams, was actually meant to be the drawing room, quite oddly placed since it was upstairs and there was a large dining room downstairs that Harry had originally thought to be the living room.

''Slightly faster than expected,'' he heard, and Harry was instantly shaken from his musings, recognising Voldemort's voice after a second of confusion. He'd only heard the man speak in his new body for less than twenty-four hours and it sounded decidedly different than either the previous form or how Voldemort sounded in dreams. ''So it was Miss Delacour who won the Tournament then... Come in,'' the Dark Lord continued. Harry craned his neck to see past Fleur's shoulder, failing since she already was a couple of steps ahead. Before Harry could say a word - a loud voice in his head making protesting sounds at the lack of Voldemort's recognition, a voice he quickly squashed - the other had already retreated back into the room. Harry followed Fleur nonetheless, exhaling a shaky breath as he took in the space where so much had happened. This was where he'd first found Voldemort, where he had decided to heal him, then to kill him, commit suicide, play along and finally join the Dark all in rapid succession.

''Potter.'' The man sounded surprised. ''I already wondered why it felt so... never mind, how did** two** Champions end up here?'' Harry blinked owlishly, noticing that the layout of the room had changed since last time. The old couch had been replaced with a coffee table, a smaller, velvet sofa and two armchairs. In one of those sat the Dark Lord, looking utterly different. Gone was the tall, looming figure and blood-red eyes, replaced by a man in his mid-forties with wavy dark hair that showed a couple of silver streaks. After feeling in the graveyard how pleased the Dark Lord had been with a body that showed off his magical prowess, it was hard to imagine the wizard to have really altered his appearance so drastically, so Harry's best guess was that Voldemort was wearing some sort of elaborate disguise.

''I'm still trying to figure out 'ow we ended up 'ere **at all**,'' the Beauxbatons Champion spoke, clearly still on guard. ''Per'aps if you'd be so** kind** to clear zat up first, we can speak.''

''Naturally, do take a seat.''

Fleur remained where she was, her spine rigid and arms folded over her chest, wand still tightly enclosed in her fist. Harry, knowing they were hardly in any danger here, took the offer and made himself comfortable on the sofa, pleased by the softness of its material, giving the Dark Lord another, curious look. He could almost have passed for an older version of the Tom Riddle Harry had come to know through the diary. Almost, were it not for a few out-of-place details such as the eyes being a dark brown instead of the green they used to be. Harry figured it was due to practicality, knowing that Voldemort's eyes tended to flash up red with magic when he was particularly fervent about something. On a second look, Harry also noted that the man dressed far more** Muggle** than he'd ever done according to Harry's -albeit limited- knowledge, perhaps to throw off any who might see the resemblance. Whether it would fool Dumbledore was another story altogether.

''Let me introduce myself first. David Noctua, chief editor of both the Daily Prophet and Nouvelles du Monde Magique. Well, the latter only very recently I admit.''

''Press,'' Fleur stated flatly. ''You brought us here to have a story.''

''Not exactly,'' Voldemort smiled. ''What good would it do me to know who the Champions are a few minutes before the rest knows? I can hardly have it printed right now and no-one likes spoilers like this. No, I wish to start by offering an apology. One of my subordinates was... ah, out of line in her style of interviewing and I really should have looked her piece over myself before letting it be printed. Rita Skeeter has been fired for exploitation and libel of minors. Last I heard, she was trying her luck over in the States instead.''

''And this apology had to involve teleporting us here?'' Harry asked, genuinely curious about the reasoning behind their coming here. Knowing that Voldemort's cover was just that, he couldn't imagine what the Dark Lord actually wanted to accomplish.

''No. In all truth, I am trying to take the press in a different direction than it has been in for the past... centuries really. The Prophet has bowed to the whims of the Ministry of Magic ever since the beginning and these past decades, 'Monde Magique' has too. Freedom of press is reserved only for small companies that are then even often boycotted when 'going too far'. I wish to change this and ensure that censorship will be a thing of the past. To do so, I had hoped for the support of engaged, young witches and wizards who are not yet too stuck in the old ways to care about this topic. As all the eyes and ears of both countries are right now pointed at the Triwizard Tournament, I saw a great opportunity. After all, the Goblet of Fire has chosen four Champions who are perfect to not only face challenges of wit and skill, but also to pave the way for further international cooperation. Especially the both of you, as victors of this Tournament, will be asked to get yourself involved into a great deal of issues regarding politics, charity or otherwise. I merely wished to be the first to do so since I** know** that I have a goal worth fighting for.''

Harry was impressed by the speech. Had he not known who they were really speaking to, he would honestly have believed to be faced with an enthusiastic idealist. On second thought, that label could really apply to Voldemort, only the man was usually enthusiastic about other topics such as forgotten magic and teaching rather than rights or freedom. He could see how the wizard would profit from an uncensored press though. Normally that might have been an extra obstacle, but if the man really wasn't bluffing and had managed to take hold of the position he claimed to have, he controlled that obstacle now and made it into a major asset. Harry was the first to admit to the influence press could have, having been submitted to the whimsical beliefs of people around him more than once.

''And what would zis bring us?'' Fleur asked coolly. ''As I see it, you are trying to recruit naive young people to do free work for you so you can ease restrictions on yourself. I do agree zat freedom of press and opinion are important values, yet I am also aware of zat it can be detrimental to a country for the media to try and deconstruct ze established order. Zis is why ze French journalists decided it was better to cooperate wizze government.'' Hatty gave her an impressed look, both for the points she was making and for the fact that, regardless of her accent, she was incredibly eloquent in English for a foreigner when she wanted to be.

''You certainly know your politics well.''

''One does not need to be a genius to pick up ze news,'' Fleur commented.

''Oh, I do wonder about that sometimes,'' Voldemort muttered. ''In either case, I am** aware** of the risks that come with reaching my goal and that absolute freedom of press can lead to chaos and oftentimes also a warped view on happenings. However, in the current state, it can only go forwards. What the Ministry wishes us to print now is largely articles that cover up their mistakes or that will influence the people's opinions in a way that is favourable for the government. These articles are riddled with falsities that we **have** to print and I am sick of it. Their control has even gone so far that occasionally, the Ministry will 'recommend' me to employ certain people, with no real choice being given about the matter. Skeeter was one of these and I could only fire her after several scandals regarding that woman came to light and the Ministry did not protect her anymore.''

Harry could see that Fleur's cold demeanour was wavering as Voldemort continued to play into her sense of righteousness.

''So, I came up with a solution,'' the man continued, a slight smirk on his face. ''Surely, I could not pass up on the opportunity to print articles on themes that were asked of me personally by the current stars of the Wizarding World? Even the Ministry would have to agree to that not doing so would be rather... suspicious.''

''And naturally, zese topics are some zat you 'ave already chosen?'' Fleur questioned, finally sitting down. As soon as she did so, a tray with various drinks appeared, which she only gave a suspicious look. Harry hesitated. He was rather thirsty after all the time in the maze and knew that Voldemort was not likely to poison them. On the other hand, Fleur might think him stupid again for trusting a stranger too much. Sighing, he resigned himself to not accepting anything until she did.

''Yes, though I am certain that you will agree to these... and Mr Potter too.'' Harry gave a sceptical look, not being incredibly interested in many things that could be covered by press. Two envelopes appeared, one for each of them. With a muttered word and a flick of her wand, Fleur opened hers, shock colouring her face as she took out the contents, a few sheets of papers and pictures that Harry could not see very well from this angle. He had a harder time opening the thing, not able to recall any spells for opening letters easily, usually just tearing into them. To come across as slightly more civilised, Harry tried to carefully pry it open, which did take a lot longer and made him only more frustrated, certainly when Fleur already spoke up, almost choking on her words.

''Zis is... Zis is 'orrible.'' Harry's head shot up at her tone, putting his own half-opened envelope aside. Tears were streaming down her face and she had a hand pressed to her mouth.

''It is. And that is exactly why it should come to light. I have been told not to publish anything about it, for it would 'damage the Ministry's reputation' if it came out that some of their higher-ranked employees are profiting from this trade. Besides, the lessened rights of creatures have been used for ages to elevate magicians.''

Harry tried to reach out for the papers in Fleur's hand, but she slapped it away. ''You're too young to see zis,'' she bit, shaking her head. Taken aback and a tad offended, he instead took his own envelope, slightly more hesitant about seeing the contents now. When he finally held it in his hands, he felt dizzy.

Pictures of blood. Broken and starved bodies with hollow eyes. It was a cut-out from a newspaper of sorts, although Harry could not read the letters, not even recognising the script. There was very little text in general, mostly pictures that all showed the same horrors. It looked like Voldemort did not think that he was too young for any of it. ''What... is this?'' he asked, trying to keep his voice under control. This was supposed to be an issue that he cared about? Unless Voldemort was trying to appeal to his supposed saviour-complex...

''Muggleborns. Those are all underage Muggleborns, the way they were found at their families' place by teachers of various magical schools.'' Harry swallowed thickly, the tortured eyes staring back at him from the pictures. At first he'd thought them to be Muggle since the people did not move. Now he saw that this was not the case. There were movements: slight jerks of muscles, tears flowing from grimy faces... it was just that these children were most likely frozen by fear, much like Harry had felt so often when curled up beneath the stairs and hearing his uncle raging outside. ''Muggles can be great parents, I've heard,'' Voldemort continued, sounding strained. ''Unfortunately, many are not, certainly not for magical children. These cases were all brought to light by three different journalists who banded together to try and document child abuse. After one small article in a Russian newspaper, they lost their jobs because there was too much international backlash. They kept travelling and making pictures, cooperating with various magical schools. About a year ago, all three were heavily fined for causing an unnecessary uproar and 'gathering false information'. They also found two children in Britain, to which our Ministry replied by denying that this ever happened.''

''Where did those children go?'' Harry asked, frowning.

''Hogwarts. They are three years above you, although you will not be able to speak to them about it. They had all their memories wiped as part of the cover-up. I am uncertain as to what those were replaced by.''

''But a memory-wipe won't take away everything they went through!'' Harry exclaimed, getting angry. ''Nor would it give any justice! What happened to the parents?''

''A partial-memory wipe to erase all involvement of magicians in the uncovering of these atrocities. Afterwards, they were left to the Muggle authorities. Considering that the children were taken away by the Obliviators and there were no other witnesses, you can imagine how well that went.''

''No!'' Fleur said, finally taking her eyes off her own pictures, shaking her head, eyes wide. ''Zat is... is...'' she broke off, breathing harsh and angry. Harry blinked, wondering if he was seeing correctly that Fleur's skin colour seemed to change. It was not exactly comparable to Uncle Vernon's reddening, looking far more drastic and going more in the opposite direction, becoming as unnaturally white as Voldemort's usual look. A few seconds later, it was gone again and Fleur looked rather embarrassed. ''My apologies. I... zis is all a bit much. Could I...'' she gestured to the door. ''A bit of fresh air would...''

''Naturally,'' the Dark Lord spoke, not looking concerned in the slightest about Fleur wandering around in his house. Harry hoped that she wouldn't run into Nagini. The instant that the door closed behind her, Voldemort's demeanour changed completely, wiping off the strange half-smile that was part of his act and looking far more... vicious. He raised a hand towards the door, a shimmering film coating the opposite walls. ''Now we can talk freely. Congratulations, it looks like my trust in you paid off. Although I did not get an answer to my question of why** two** Champions are here.''

The demanding tone made clear that the Dark Lord expected an instant answer, one Harry found difficult to give, considering he still held the pictures of tortured children. Children that could have been him, had the Dursleys been a tad more sadistic than they were. Not that that justified their actions, he reprimanded himself, recalling what Barty had said. It was too easy to try and brush off the damage they had done to him when confronted with worse things that others went through. Finally, he looked up, relaxing slightly when seeing that, as he'd expected, Voldemort's disguise could not hold in all of his magic, the eyes now a bright red again. ''Fleur reached the centre first, then was confronted with an Acromantula that kept her from grabbing the cup. We fought it off together and were just as far then. Since I fulfilled my real task by learning and using dark magic, I figured that it wouldn't really matter whether I won or not and insisted for her to take it. She really was the fastest after all so I thought that fair. Fleur refused, claiming that the spider might have defeated her had I not been there, plus she owed me for saving her sister. In the end, we agreed to take the cup together. So, why are we really here? And how did you manage to Portkey us out of the wards anyways?''

''You are here for the reason I explained... with some background information that I did not yet reveal. I do indeed wish to expose those things the Ministries rather pretend never existed, so I can use it to draw the masses to my side. I have told you before that I found that a rule of fear did not work in my favour. Instead, I'll uncover the faults of others using this disguise, then ensure that all of those problems are seen to properly by my followers or other dark sympathisers, who can then use their reputation of being benevolent to see to it that my laws are supported. That it will help many people is for me personally more of a side-effect, but a very useful one nonetheless.''

''You certainly thought this through very far-ahead,'' Harry commented.

''Naturally, what would the point be of starting a plan when not having an end-goal in sight? As for your second question, Portkeys normally indeed cannot go past the wards. The cup however, was already intended to be a Portkey for transporting people within Hogwarts so the Champions would appear in front of the maze upon obtaining it. For that, the anti-Portkey restriction was lifted for this particular one. Whether it actually goes through the wards then does not matter anymore since the wards disregard this object altogether. I merely had Barty change it a bit so that instead of a normal Portkey, a chain was built in, to first bring you here before reaching its original destination.''

''I see...'' Harry said, wondering what to say, staring down at the pictures in his hands again. ''What did you give Fleur?'' he asked, noting that she had taken her own envelope with her.

''Information about the underground slave trade in mainland Europe. Rare 'creatures' are sold in various places to rich people for all sorts of purposes. That these creatures involve beings of human intelligence or sometimes even humans like werewolves, does not seem to bother the clients. It is a lucrative trade and hushed up since the best buyers are often politicians, from Britain as well. I doubt that Fudge is involved himself, but I do know a few Wizengamot members who keep their exotic 'pets' at home. One of the main beings targeted are Veela, who are then drugged to keep them in their non-lethal state. Miss Delacour's own grandmother used to sit in those cages before she was freed by a group not unlike the Order of the Phoenix: light magicians who tried to form a vigilante group to battle the injustices of this world. It is one reason why her family is so light even when much of France is rather neutral. However, that group is long gone and no-one else is combating the slave trade now. I thought it would be time for her to find a new side to rely on.''

''I had no idea that something so... so** vile** was going on in the Wizarding World. Although Hermione was right in that House elves are also an accepted form of slavery.''

The Dark Lord hummed. ''House-elves as slaves? An interesting way of describing them. One could debate about that status since their ancestors bound themselves to magicians in exchange for protection and power. For individual elves, they could be seen as such if mistreated, although even then the magic that binds magicians and elves together is so strong that few elves will not gladly sacrifice their lives for their masters.''

Though surprised by the new information, Harry remained sceptical. ''I have personally met only a few house-elves. One of them regarded himself as a slave and did everything possible to get free, disregarding his master's orders to push through his own will. He works at Hogwarts now, has clothes and gets paid. Another elf I have met recently hates his master and does everything in his power to follow the orders so that the least amount of effort is put in to fulfil the direct demands. I'm pretty sure that he'll stab his master in the back as soon as he can.''

Voldemort frowned at that. ''This is highly disconcerting news... it would make for another interesting and controversial article though. While this job is merely a cover for me, I do need to perform well in it to not arouse suspicion. The one I took over this position from was highly motivated and put in much work himself. That imagine needs to be kept alive.''

Something about the way he said it made Harry wary. ''That person did not merely retire, did he?''

''Not voluntarily, no. Before you say anything, he** is** still alive, if slightly confused and mutilated.''

''Mutilated?'' Harry choked.

''We'll discuss all of that soon. You have larger problems to worry about,'' the Dark Lord spoke, frowning at the floor. Confused, Harry looked down, seeing nothing there. Only then did it click that there **should **be something. His shadow was still missing after the spell he'd used in the maze. ''Shadow transformations are advanced magic and while I commend you for using it, do take care. If it does not return to you within a few days, there will be reason for concern.''

''Why?'' Harry asked. ''It's just a shadow.''

''These things are far more than a mere natural phenomenon,'' Voldemort explained. ''Without it, you may lose yourself. Well, we shall see how it develops, it won't bring any immediate danger. Now, Miss Delacour is returning and the both of you should head back soon.''

''About that!'' Harry suddenly said. ''What excuse should we give for being gone for so long? There were supposedly monitoring spells all through the maze. While they told us that for surprise effects, there would be none in the centre, surely it would be strange for us to remain in there for so long.''

''Do not worry about that. One of the reasons why I am not concerned about keeping this house as my base of operations is that I started experimenting with dimensional shifting on it. Apart from direct keyed-in Portkeys such as the one here, there is only one entrance to it. That also made it easier to distort the time here for a while. You've been gone for... exactly one minute and forty-three seconds since taking the cup, not enough extra time for anyone to be concerned, not with an Acromantula in the maze.''

''Either Viktor or Cedric were behind us though. We were not certain if they'd still make it past the Sphinx or not but if so, they might arrive in the centre and find no-one there.''

Voldemort tapped his chin, thinking. In that moment, the door opened again and Fleur walked in, confidently striding towards the table and slamming the pictures down on it. ''When you make zis public, will zey burn?'' she whispered, fire in her eyes as she looked at Voldemort.

''Oh yes,'' he answered, a wicked grin on his face that didn't quite look as if it should have belonged on the face of David Noctua, even with his eyes shifting back to brown again. ''I'll make sure of that.'' The girl straightened her back and nodded.

''Good. Use my name however you wish to get zis all out. 'Arry, we should return.''

''Before that, I wish to give you this,'' the man spoke, producing two more envelopes and handing them to Fleur. ''While they were not victorious, I do think that Mr Krum and Mr Diggory might be interested in this as well, although I cannot promise that I can trample my restrictions as much for them. It also might make them less inclined to tell anyone of any mysterious disappearance they might have witnessed. Oh, and a last word of advice to Mr Potter: you may have to go back to those who treat you with fear in their hearts, but rejoice in the knowledge of that this time, it will not be long before the opposite happens.'' Harry frowned, a flutter of hope in his heart at the promising tone. They had not discussed his summer plans further. It looked like Voldemort had not forgotten his request.

When Fleur asked him about it after they exited the house again, Harry merely shook his head and smiled. He wouldn't need to face the Dursleys for very long then. Good, otherwise he would definitely have run to Sirius far sooner than planned. Both of them grabbed the cup again while standing in the well-kept garden. As Harry had already suspected before, it would only activate again when the Dark Lord wished for it. A few seconds after they had grabbed it tightly and stood in silence, he felt the pull on his navel again. Just as he felt like he'd black out from the experience, he crashed on wet grass, roars all around them from the masses of cheering people, although they went silenct rather fast.

''What an unexpected twist!'' Harry heard Ludo Bagman shout through his magical megaphone. ''Not only an extra Champion to join this Tournament, but to win it as well! Two final Champions! This is unprecedented in the history of the Triwizard Tournament ladies and gentlemen!'' A wand was pushed in Harry's face in a way that reminded him far too much of a microphone.

''No comment,'' he spoke, pushing it away, feeling incredibly tired all of a sudden. ''Fleur needs a Healer,'' he then added. Through all the commotion, he'd entirely forgotten that the girl had been wounded by the Acromantula. She hadn't shown it in the least and Harry had to commend her for that. She was already standing, reaching out a hand to help him to his feet as well. He accepted her aid, standing a bit wobbly, wishing to just get away from the crowd and the commotion. Not only was he tired, cold, and hurting everywhere, the images he'd been shown also kept swimming in his mind. It looked like his mood was not shared by the Beauxbatons Champion, who drew her own wand and pointed it at her throat.

''Today, we uncovered ze true purpose of ze Triwizard Tournament,'' she spoke, head held up high and entwining her fingers with Harry's, holding up their hands in the air. '''ogwarts won. Beauxbatons won. And, while Viktor does not stand here at ze moment, Durmstrang won too. For zrough all our 'ardships, it were our bonds zat kept us alive and going. Ze first to recognise zat was Cedric Diggory and we all followed 'is example. We were told zat ze victor would go down in 'istory wiz glory and fame. Well, 'arry and I were boz ready to refuse any money or glory in favour of ze ozer. Now, I still refuse it if it does not go to all four of us.'' Harry looked up to her with amazement, a smile spreading on his face.

''Me too,'' he croaked. ''None of us would have gotten as far without each other. When Viktor and Cedric are here, I demand that they share this circle with us. This Tournament is not a Quidditch game with winners and losers. It is an opportunity to cooperate, and thus we did, and we will.'' Even through his fatigue, it felt** good**, standing there with Fleur and telling the jury to stuff their ideas of pitting children against each other in a game that had led to deaths before. It felt even better when the other Champions did come over and hesitantly stood with them until Harry hugged Cedric and Fleur slung an arm around Viktor's shoulder, beaming at him.

Their audience started clapping uncertainly, the applause growing louder as time passed and it became clear that they were all dead serious about the idea. Harry sought out Barty, who stuck up a thumb. He also tried to find Ron and Hermione, disappointed when he could not recognise them among the crowds. That was a few seconds before he was being tackled by his best friends, Ron cheering loudly in his ear: ''You did it mate, **you did it**! HA!'' Laughing, Harry shook Ron off his back and accepted Hermione's tight embrace. The other Champions also left the circle in favour of being congratulated by friends and families. The only one to put up a large fuss was Diggory's father, storming away after a couple of harsh words, leaving a resigned Cedric and shocked Cho Chang behind.

''He's just very competitive,'' Harry heard the Hufflepuff say, who looked dejected. ''He just doesn't understand that not everything has to be about winning.'' He wanted to go to Cedric again and talk to him, but was pulled away by his friends. Harry could only hope that he'd be able to meet up with the other three Champions later, so Fleur and he could tell the others about their meeting. Fleur still had the two envelopes they'd been given, hidden under her robes.

''The award ceremony shall be tomorrow, where the jury will.. eh.. take today's happenings into account!'' Bagman shouted. ''Now, it is time to celebrate!''

Fireworks went off above the maze, and the hedges all burst into colourful flames. It looked like they'd have their Quidditch field back in no time. Harry wondered who the Captain would be next year. How odd that the Tournament was over now...


	33. Escape

A familiar hand landed on his shoulder once again amidst the celebrating crowd and Harry looked up at Barty. For some reason, there was no twinkle in his eyes now, only a grimly-set mouth on a grave face. ''We have something to discuss,'' he said. Confused, Harry managed to loosen himself from the group of celebrating Gryffindors and followed Barty.

''Where are we going?''

''Back to the castle,'' the curt tone cut off all of Harry's further questions. Was anything wrong? Had he not done everything as he should have? He shivered as all his adrenaline left and he fully felt how cold the night air really was, especially when within the stone walls of Hogwarts. For that, he was glad when they reached Barty's office, the fireplace already crackling. ''I received word about two weeks ago from our Lord,'' the man said. ''Didn't want to worry you then so I'll have to tell you now. The curse on this position was stronger than I anticipated. It looks like it grew stronger over time, considering the extreme ways all teachers left in the past years. I fear that announcing my stay only for a single year was not enough. So, since I do not feel like dying and I only have a six days left before the school year officially ends, I needed to devise a more extreme exit before something happens to me that I didn't plan for. That time has come today. I've been slipping up, making stupid mistakes and no matter what I do to counter it or be careful, it keeps happening. Just a few minutes ago, I found out that my flask of Polyjuice was almost empty despite me being sure that I put enough in to still last another two hours. So, it's almost certain that I will do something to reveal myself no matter how much I fight it. Even now, my current disguise should last another twenty minutes at best.''

''So what do** I** do?'' Harry spoke, distressed.

''You already did enough following me here. Look.'' Barty pointed at his Foe-glass, the figures in it becoming larger and brighter every second. ''As your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, it was not odd for us to meet up occasionally during the school year, certainly not with the tasks you had to face. Now, me stealing you away from your victory has finally alarmed the old man of something being wrong. He may not know that any time passed or that you met the Dark Lord -you **have** to tell me everything about your meeting next time we see each other-, but he'll know something is amiss with me for certain. I apologise in advance for pulling you into this, for I will have to be convincing.''

Harry didn't like the sound of that at all, yet agreed that anything was better than having Barty end up dead because of some stupid curse. ''And what is with the real Moody? He's been in the trunk all the times I visited.''

''As soon as I put your name in the cup and knew that we'd be discussing some troublesome things, I added some security measures. It is sound-proofed now, so when the lid wasn't open, he didn't notice a damned thing of what is going on around him.'' Harry took note of the use of past time and wondered where Moody was now. Reassured about their cover, Harry nodded and together they waited in silence, until Barty determined that it was time for whatever he was about to do and sprung up. ''Take out your wand.'' Harry didn't get much of a warning after that, not even able to cast a shield spell before Barty had slammed him in the wall, just in time for the door to open. Crying out convincingly, Harry shot out a stunner, making sure to aim it a bit too much to the right, shattering one of the instruments on the desk.

''You ruined** everything!** Oh, but how I will be rewarded when you end up** dead** instead!'' Barty roared, a crazed grin on his face that actually shocked Harry into silence by how real it looked. Now Harry did cry out in real pain, for the Death Eater completely ignored the group of people who stood frozen in the doorway and made a wide sweep with his wand, sending furniture tumbling through the air, the chair slamming into the teen. It was a clever way to get around Voldemort's defences, but had that really been necessary? Then, Dumbledore strode forwards, a look on his face unlike any Harry had seen before. For the very first time, he could understand why people imagined Dumbledore to be the only wizard that Voldemort ever feared: he was both determined and furious, no hesitation at all in his movements as he struck Barty down. It felt like Harry's heart had moved to his head, blood pumping fast as Dumbledore carelessly kicked against Barty's arm, sending the wand flying. It took all of his willpower not to rush forward to see if Barty was unhurt.

''Potter, are you okay?'' McGonagall's voice, Harry registered, turning to see her concerned face. ''I'll bring you to Madam Pomfrey.''

''I... I don't understand,'' Harry managed to bring out. ''What happened? Professor Moody... he just went crazy all of a sudden, spouting words about plans and...'' he trailed off, not entirely sure how much he could say. Barty's words had been pretty obvious in telling that he was acting on orders from Voldemort, in Harry's opinion. Still, he didn't wish to mess up anything by revealing too much himself. ''How could it have been Moody?'' he thus only said, upon which Dumbledore stepped forward again.

''I am afraid that you never met the real Alastor Moody. I have found his behaviour somewhat suspicious before, each time playing it off as the quirks of a paranoid man who has seen too much. Only this evening, I saw him for what he really was. Severus, bring me your strongest bottle of Veritaserum.'' Snape nodded and strode from the room again. Harry knew that they only had minutes now, for surely Barty would not be able to do anything about truth serum in his current state?''

''Albus, he really should go to the Hospital wing, the boy just fought off Acromantulas and was subjected to many unfamiliar spells!''

''No,'' the Headmaster commanded. ''Harry has a right to know who did this to him and why.''

Oh, so** now** Dumbledore was all for telling the truth? How convenient. His concern grew as time passed, certainly since Barty had said something about his Polyjuice running out. How much of those twenty minutes was left? Harry could imagine Barty to have underestimated Dumbledore. He must have had a plan... however, being unconscious sounded like it didn't fit into any good one. And Harry was helpless to watch, both Barty and Voldemort could be in even more danger if he'd carelessly tried to help them and got caught. Especially upon seeing just how easily Dumbledore had overwhelmed the Death Eater with a couple of quick spells as if he'd been a naughty child, Harry didn't think there was much that he really** could** do apart from crossing his fingers and hoping that Barty had prepared a good escape.

It took less than ten minutes for Barty's appearance to change, before even Snape was back with the truth serum. McGonagall gasped, a hand in front of her mouth. ''No, that... that cannot be. Albus, look!''

Dumbledore kneeled at Barty's side, his mouth a grim line as he turned the Death Eater's face to the light. ''Barty Crouch Junior,'' he breathed. ''No wonder that Bartemius has been missing. Most likely, we will not find him again. That does mean that he was right for convicting his son however...'' carefully, the Headmaster drew back Barty's sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, even if it was still faded since Voldemort suppressed it. ''He really was a faithful Death Eater then. How he escaped Azkaban is a mystery that needs to be cleared up once Severus returns. Harry, this man is the one that I showed you the trial of, the boy who was convicted together with the Lestranges. He is responsible for many gruesome deeds indeed, it does not surprise me that he went after you. To think that even at such a young age he was already taken in with the Dark...

Not entirely sure if that was supposed to be a hint or not, Harry kept looking at Barty and stayed quiet as Dumbledore levitated the man onto a chair and bound him with ropes before casting an Ennervate.

''What an unpleasant expression to wake up to,'' Barty rasped, grinning madly. Harry hadn't even realised how much he'd missed seeing the man's real face. It was as if suddenly having his older brother back. ''I feel sorry for whoever ever shared your bed,'' he continued, cackling slightly.

Dumbledore did not take the bait, merely looking down upon the blond with a blank face. ''Soon, Severus will be here and we shall find out every single detail of your plans,'' he merely spoke. ''To think that you've been in this castle all along sickens me. No wonder you were so eager to teach the Unforgivables.''

''Come now, you thought it was a brilliant idea, don't play the saint now, Dumbledore!'' Now, anger did colour the other's features and he strode to Barty, towering over him.

''Save your twisted mind for your master,'' Dumbledore hissed. ''For one year, I wished for my students to be entirely safe, to let my old friend in this castle so he could protect all that I hold dear. And you, you ripped that away! Where is Alastor?'' Harry found it rather ironic that this was also the year where the Headmaster was apparently fine with reviving an ancient dangerous Tournament in which several students would most definitely not be safe.

''Headmaster,'' came Snape's voice from the doorway. ''There is no Veritaserum left. He must have destroyed it all prior to today. I did report him sneaking about my potion stocks before, I do hope that these complaints will be taken more seriously in the future. He must have anticipated being caught.''

''Severus, how are you friend?'' Barty spoke, grin showing far too many teeth. ''Hiding behind the robes of better magicians I see? I must wonder how you did not end up in Azkaban together with me after all that** you** have on your consciousness. Or do those you tortured not count because you showed** remorse**?''

''Silence!'' Dumbledore thundered. ''Then we'll have to find out the truth differently. Why did you put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire?''

''That's everything?'' Barty asked, struggling against his ropes. ''So** He** can rise again of course! But no, Potter had to screw up everything by surviving yet again! He was supposed to be the ultimate sacrifice today and now... now...'' the man cried out in convincing rage. ''We will find a way! He'll be as glorious as before! You cannot protect Potter forever! _**Germinare**_.'' The room exploded with colour as the word rolled through the air. Barty kept laughing as the ground rose and fell, large fleshy plants sprouting from the floor and ceiling. The ropes burst and Barty sprung to his feet, using several conveniently placed objects to avoid sinking into the floor, which had turned into a swampy mud in which they were all sinking now. Then, with another shouted spell, he crashed through the window. Dumbledore freed himself a bit too late, wading to the window only half a minute after.

''He is gone... gone. The wards of Hogwarts should have stopped him from leaving. Minerva! Inform all teachers, we're combing every inch of the castle and the grounds! Severus, try to keep all our guests calm and tell Cornelius of what happened. He won't like it, but we will need added security for tomorrow. Harry, I'm truly sorry for not being able to let you process what you heard for long, but we need to act now. There is a crazed Death Eater on the loose trying to revive his master.'' Too elated about Barty's sudden escape to protest, Harry didn't even mind Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder as he was guided outside as the other teachers each went a different way. ''Sirius is waiting for you in my office,'' the man murmured. ''Perhaps you will feel safer there, the password is Honeycomb Harpies. I will join you there as soon as I have sorted out organising a search party.''

Nodding, Harry wordlessly turned and ran, figuring that he wouldn't be expected to say much more about the whole ordeal. He was just happy about Barty having gotten away for now. He wished he could have given the man the Marauder's map, that certainly would have helped. Not able to do much else and really looking forward to seeing Sirius again, he went straight for the Headmaster's office, hoping that Dumbledore or another teacher would alert Ron and Hermione of why he was absent so they wouldn't worry.

The instant he walked through the door of Dumbledore's office, he was met with a crushing hug from Sirius. ''Harry,'' he man muttered. ''Thank Merlin you're here. Come, sit down. Dumbledore just informed me of what happened through one of the portraits. Death Eaters in Hogwarts again, unbelievable, this place needs to increase its security. And to think that it was Moody! Or well, an impostor Moody! Where do you think he is now? And the real Moody?''

''Sirius, not so fast,'' Harry groaned to stop the waterfall of words. He once more briefly hugged his godfather, then looked up to the portraits and at Fawkes. This wasn't exactly the ideal place to discuss anything. Following his gaze, Sirius caught on, for he raised a wand and cast several spells that Harry had come to recognise as silencing barriers and other privacy wards.

The man gave him a penetrating look, sitting down as well and positioning the chair so that they sat directly opposite each other. ''You don't seem as shocked as you ought to be with the news of a Death Eater being at Hogwarts to kill you.''

''Not as if it's the first time,'' Harry shrugged, making the other narrow his eyes.

''You knew.''

Running a hand through his messy hair, Harry sighed. ''If it makes you feel better, I wasn't in any real danger. He just wanted to divert any suspicion from me and thus said something about killing me in front of Dumbledore. I'm sorry for worrying you, I had no idea that he was even planning on leaving in the first place, it looks like he didn't want to risk anything worse happening because of the curse on the position of DADA teacher. There are only a couple of days left in the year and apparently, he noticed himself slipping up in ways that weren't normal.''

''But** Barty Crouch Junior**?'' Sirius hissed. ''He tortured the Longbottoms to insanity together with the Lestranges!''

''If anything, he tried to stop the others from going too far because he knew that Voldemort wouldn't agree,'' Harry defended the man. ''But as a relatively new Death Eater they didn't listen to him at all.''

''Because** Voldemort** wouldn't agree?'' Sirius repeated disbelievingly. ''Harry, Voldemort is the one they got the idea from in the first place! He thrives on pain of others!''

Frustrated because he knew that he'd never be able to get his points across, Harry merely shook his head, not wanting to fight Sirius. Certainly not here and now. ''Look, we're not going to agree on this, but Barty helped me a great deal. And before you ask, yes he did put me in the Tournament so we do not have to search for any other culprit who wants me dead. He also taught me everything I needed to survive it, so there's that. He wanted to make me stronger with it.'' Which wasn't even a lie at all.

''Dumbledore said something about Crouch saying there was a plan for you to die tonight to revive Voldemort.''

''Obviously there wasn't otherwise I would be dead. Surely the Dark Lord wouldn't be dependent on a teenager to revive if he really wants to.''

''The Dark Lord... only Death Eaters call him that,'' Sirius spoke a tad sour. It looked like his worry had turned to irritation after finding out it hadn't been necessary.

''He** is** a Dark Lord,'' Harry pointed out.

''Fine! Fine... So if I understand you correctly, Barty Crouch Junior was your source all along and you are in no danger at all. If he has been acting as Moody all year though, he's a damned good actor. During my last visit he was more than happy to take the moral high ground and rub my crimes and failures in my face. Which also doesn't exactly make sense, for he was quite adamant about me not giving you those illegal books.''

''Well, he captured you since he didn't know of your intentions or the influence you have on me. Barty can be... pretty protective. It would then have been very suspicious if a paranoid ex-Auror would have had no problems with you trying to smuggle in illegal stuff to me. He **is** a good actor. Had to be, otherwise Dumbledore would have caught on far earlier.''

''What was he doing in Hogwarts in the first place?''

''Mainly making sure that the Tournament went as he intended, training me and figuring out what Dumbledore is up to,'' Harry shrugged. None of that was extraordinary or useful information so he didn't care about telling Sirius about it. The next question was harder to answer:

''Surely he didn't act on his own. You've told me before that Voldemort isn't exactly dead, and Crouch does seem to think it is feasible for Voldemort to revive in some way. Considering that that evil bastard has ways of communicating with people, I highly doubt that Crouch was** not** here on Voldemort's orders. How much do you know of that? And how can you be so sure that this really wasn't set up as a trap for you? If Dumbledore hadn't followed you...''

''Barty and I were sitting in his office, chatting and waiting for the teachers to arrive,'' Harry said, rolling his eyes, not giving an answer to any of the other questions. ''If they hadn't come, nothing at all would have happened. And anything more I cannot say,'' he added, earning him another groan.

''You're making it damned difficult for me to cover for you Harry. There is no way that Dumbledore will not use this incident to fully revive the Order this summer as you said he would soon. I'll have to come up with a good excuse to not have you at Grimmauld place, for I am still a member of the Order and do not wish to put their plans in jeopardy. On the other hand, I also wish to protect you and would hate **not** to have you close. Plus, even if I manage to convince Dumbledore that you shouldn't be in my home somehow, he'll just send you to the Dursleys which is** also** a bad idea with how they treat you.'' Desperation grew on Sirius' face.

''Convincing Dumbledore won't be difficult, he'll insist on me going to the Dursleys in the first place,'' Harry predicted. After all, the Headmaster still believed in those wards. ''And I already have a backup plan of how to escape from there. Still need to work out the... rough details, but my cover is that I'm going out of the country. My only problem is that up until now, Dumbledore made it seem as if he has legal say in where I go during summer... I'm not entirely sure how much influence he actually has. He couldn't force me back last year since he couldn't find me but...''

Sirius frowned. ''I'd need to look that up. Since you stay with Muggles, you are supposed to have a magical guardian too. That would normally be me as your godfather, but since I was imprisoned, my guardianship must have been transferred to someone else. If Dumbledore says that he can determine where you stay during your holidays, I assume that it transferred to him.''

''What exactly does this guardianship entail?'' Harry asked, not having heard of this before, sitting at the edge of his seat.''

''Not much. Basically, a magical guardian is responsible for you whenever you are not in the care of your Muggle guardians. Since you stay at Hogwarts whenever not at the Dursleys, that would give Dumbledore the exact same responsibilities as he has with other students if he truly has been appointed as your guardian after me. The only exceptions are that both he and the Dursleys can decide legal actions for you and he would indeed be responsible for your transfer from the magical to the Muggle world, allowing him to deny you to spend your summer somewhere else than where he wants. Other than that, he only manages your finances, keeping your vault key or precious possessions safe for example.''

''That would make sense,'' Harry spoke, ''Hagrid gave me my key when I turned eleven, and Dumbledore sent me dad's invisibility cloak. Hey, technically speaking, could he use my money?''

''Technically, yes. You might want to check with the goblins. They could also give you more information about the whole legal processes in general, for while we're assuming now that Dumbledore took up your guardianship and he acts like it, we cannot be completely sure. Even when you're at the Dursleys, no-one can forbid you trips to Diagon as long as you do not spend the night somewhere else than at their home. The bank is of course not the only place where something like that is recorded, but in my opinion it is better to deal with grumpy, discreet goblins, than with gossiping Ministry employees.''

''Hold on, would this mean that** Dumbledore** would have been able to sign my Hogsmeade permission slip himself?'' Harry asked.

Sirius gave him a disbelieving look, then threw his head back and laughed. ''**That** is one of your main concerns here? Oh kiddo, your priorities...'' he wiped away a few stray tears, still a slight smirk on his face as he continued. ''Probably not due to conflicting interests with him being Headmaster. That would have had to be signed by the Dursleys. Well, and it also looks like he still does recognise my position as your godfather since he did accept my signature for it right?''

Before Harry could answer, the doors opened again and a very annoyed Dumbledore strode in with brisk paces. ''That fool!'' he cursed, then halted, looking almost surprised to find Sirius and Harry sitting in his office. His eyes drifted through the air afterwards. ''Privacy wards?'' he questioned though it did not sound judging.

Sirius quickly lifted them and grinned apologetically, pointing at himself. ''Still a wanted man, Albus. With the Minister prowling the grounds here personally...''

''Oh, not anymore,'' the man sighed. ''Cornelius is being... difficult. He does not wish to have his precious world destroyed by the mere thought of another Death Eater appearing, not after barely managing to cover up the incident at the World Cup. He's left Hogwarts for now, seething in anger since **I** am apparently 'seeing things' and 'growing senile'.'' the Headmaster shook his head, his long silvery beard shimmering as he did so. ''If Cornelius doesn't face the facts soon, we will all have a much larger problem on our hands.''

''And what are those facts exactly?'' Sirius asked, shifting in his seat to face the other. Dumbledore took a moment to answer, sitting down in his chair and folding his hands.

''Voldemort will return soon, I am certain of it,'' the man spoke softly. ''The Dark Mark appeared last summer, multiple people have been missing and found murdered throughout the year, and we've had a Death Eater under our noses all this time, one who manipulated the Triwizard tournament. That he did not succeed in his plan is a miracle that I am unbelievably thankful for, yet we cannot hope to rest. With the Ministry being this in denial, they will also not react to the threat, meaning that tomorrow I will have to start pulling the old group together. I apologise for infringing on your privacy already, Sirius, but we will need the protection of your house.''

''I already told you before that you can use it,'' Harry's godfather shrugged. ''I only, perhaps selfishly, ask that you do not involve Harry in all of this yet. He's had a rough enough year and doesn't need the additional stress during his holidays. I know that we could protect him there of course but-''

''Naturally, Harry will stay with his family,'' Dumbledore decided before Sirius even had a chance to finish his argumentation. ''I must say that it is rather a mature decision of you, I'm glad to hear that you know what is best for Harry. Privet Drive is the safest place Harry can be if Voldemort becomes a threat again.''

''But...'' Harry threw in, knowing it would be strange not to protest. ''I'm not safe from** them**! I wish to fight too! I also haven't spent nearly enough time with Sirius!''

Dumbledore pursed his lips while Harry could see from the corner of his eyes that Sirius was struggling not to look confused. ''Harry, I thought we talked about this,'' his godfather said, looking at him with a questioning gaze.

''I suppose,'' the Headmaster spoke up, ''That after a few weeks at the Dursleys, when things have settled down a bit with our organisation, you could come too, although I am not going to let you fight. Say, the last two weeks of August? Then you have enough time to get your school supplies with the Weasleys as well.'' Harry gave Dumbledore an almost shocked look, not having expected the man to actually agree to his plea, and so quickly too. This would throw Voldemort's plans possibly into array, but Harry couldn't feel anything apart from happiness. No matter what, he** did** love spending time with Sirius and seeing all of the Weasleys again was great too. Also, if he annoyed Voldemort too much and was thrown out, he still wouldn't be stuck with the Dursleys.

''Thank you!'' he thus exclaimed, smiling brightly. As much as he disliked Dumbledore, the wizard had just redeemed himself a tiny bit in Harry's opinion.

He received a wavering smile in return. ''I realise that too much has been demanded of you already and I... I made mistakes too in judging both you and Sirius,'' he admitted, causing Harry to stare at him. Who was this man and what had he done to Dumbledore? ''To think that I judged you for learning magic that ensured your survival while I failed to properly look at my own staff is... unforgivable. I must ask however... I have seen and heard that Crouch tried to become close to you during the school year, checking up on you after the previous tasks and giving you extra lessons and talks. Has he let anything slip, anything at all that could be useful? Did he try to influence you in any way?''

Harry frowned. The Sorting Hat might think that he belonged in Slytherin, Harry himself found it rather hard to use his supposed Slytherin traits, having difficulty coming up with the right things to say. ''Not that I know of. Well, whatever he taught us in class was a lot **darker** than anything previous teachers did in retrospect. He also was always pretty interested in whatever I was doing for the Tournament. I mean,'' Harry stuttered when seeing Dumbledore's frown, ''He told me that it was unfair to **not** help, even as a teacher, since the Champions of the other school also got aid from their Headmasters. He didn't outright tell me anything though, not sure what his aim was... I have no idea how the real Moody would have acted.''

''Alastor... Crouch played the part very convincingly, I can imagine that the real one also would have found a way to aid you, so it could have been part of his cover,'' Dumbledore mused. ''We still have to find him, but I suspect Alastor is in the castle. Such a convincing disguise could only have been achieved with Polyjuice potion, very clever since Alastor is known for always only drinking from his own flask in fear of being poisoned. Polyjuice means that a fresh supply of the real person needed to have been readily available.''

''Why?'' Harry asked. It was actually something he hadn't thought of before, but having used Polyjuice himself once before and knowing the brewing process, it seemed rather strange. ''Couldn't he have just killed Moody and shaven off his hair? Or have him imprisoned somewhere else and do the same? Polyjuice just needs a piece of a person, but not necessarily fresh right? Wouldn't a year-old hair work just as well? It's not as if hair is alive in the first place.''

''While not alive, all parts of a person are still connected to their magic,'' Dumbledore explained. ''Hair just as much as anything else. Should Moody have died, his hair would not have worked anymore. And since it looks, until now, that Crouch was mainly working alone, it would have been too risky for him to not take Alastor with him. Therefore, I am positive that my theory has some merit. I'll prioritise finding him as soon as we have more news on Crouch.''

''No sign of him yet?'' Sirius asked, all tense. Whether he wanted for Barty to be caught or not, Harry wasn't certain. Was it odd to trust someone so much who was actually fighting for the other side and not planning to change that?

''None at all. Hogwarts is large, who knows where he might be hiding,'' Dumbledore sighed. ''I fear that he may just slip through the cracks. Even my own searching spells didn't show anything.'' Sirius cursed under his breath, giving Harry a weird coiling feel of worry in his stomach. He was longing to be somewhere else right now and not in a room with two people who wanted to put one of his best friends in Azkaban. ''For the time being, we have sent all students to their dorms. Harry, you should go there as well now you have put Sirius' worries about you to rest. Being around your friends may grant you some rest. No matter the outcome of today's search, with Cornelius not wanting to face the facts, the award ceremony will most likely still take place tomorrow. Since Miss Delacour's passionate speech, all of Hogwarts is looking forward to how that will turn out so you'll have to be at least awake for it.'' Harry gave a nod and stood, only taking the time to give Sirius another hug and bid the Headmaster goodnight before leaving. His head swam with thoughts as he descended the spiral staircase and, being on the seventh floor already, there was not nearly enough time to get all of his thoughts in order before reaching the Gryffindor common room.

What** would** happen tomorrow indeed with the declared shared victory? What were Viktor's and Cedric's thoughts on all of it? Had Fleur been able to deliver the envelopes to them and if so, had they kept it to themselves? None of those answers came to him that evening, being confined in Gryffindor tower with his worried friends, who grew even more anxious when he told them a shortened version of what had happened. He did try to downplay Barty's 'attack' since there had been no danger. Still, the fact that there had been a Death Eater in Hogwarts sent all of those he told in a state of panic once he confirmed their worst fears. In addition to Ron and Hermione, he also included both Neville and Ginny, considering that they'd helped him so much during the year, even both times that Ron had been... a less than ideal friend. Afterwards, he didn't know whether that had been a good idea since Ginny, quite unexpectedly, instantly told her two favourite brothers. Considering that she was usually rather good with secrets, he felt rather betrayed.

''Ginny!'' he hissed, pulling her aside in the common room. He'd told them all before in the empty boy's dorms, but they'd since headed back down again where Hermione had informed him of Ginny's words to the Twins. ''What the hell, this is not information that should get out everywhere, you know how they can gossip!'' he said, looking around to ensure no-one was watching them. Thankfully, most people had already headed to bed by now or were huddled in groups, scared after the message they'd received from their teachers.

The girl pressed her lips together, looking rather pale. ''Look Harry, I'm sorry,'' she finally said. ''I should have asked you but there were some... some details in your story that I felt they had to know. I cannot... really tell you.''

''Like how you actually couldn't tell anyone else about death eaters being after me?'' he countered.

Ginny looked away, though her stance was still stubborn. ''It's... difficult. You should maybe talk to them yourself,'' she whispered. ''I'm sure that Fred and George aren't asleep right now. Please believe me when I say that I didn't mean any harm and this is** definitely** not something they will spread.''

Exhaling slowly, Harry tried to calm down. This whole Tournament was weighing on him, he found, for it was getting harder to control his own emotions, anger especially. Whether it was because he used more dark magic or because he was reaching full puberty, he could only speculate about. ''Fine,'' he muttered, taking a step back. ''Just be careful with such sensitive topics, I don't want to have the whole school up in arms again blaming me for this like in second year... or hell, the start of this one with the Goblet of Fire spitting out my name.'' Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went to search out the Twins. Odd, somehow he'd never really visited one of the boy's dorms of other years than his own. Even the few times he'd hung out with people from different years, they either met in the common room or came to his dorms. Hesitantly, he stood in front of the sixth year's dorms and knocked. The only answer he got was a dull thud of something being thrown against the other side of the door. Taking that as a positive sign of life, considering who slept here, he opened the door and stuck his head through the gap, ready to pull it back in case he was pelted with Gobstones.

The first notable thing was the smell: his own room certainly wasn't all roses and daisies and yet Harry hadn't thought it possible for the pungent smells of sweaty laundry, mouldy food and failed experiments to mix together into an almost tangible smog. ''Merlin,'' he coughed, almost feeling for withdrawing. ''Can't you guys open a window at one point?''

''Something might escape,'' a voice said, and Harry looked at the rightmost of the six beds, where Lee Jordan lay, a giant tarantula resting on his chest. ''Hey Potter. Don't tell me that I got stuck with the wrong Weasleys, does ickle Ronniekins smell any better than these two stink bombs?''

''Nah, but at least we have one person who regularly airs the room and sprays perfume because his house plants would die otherwise,'' Harry answered, shrugging. ''And I'm sorry Lee, could you maybe let me speak to Fred and George for a bit?'' He looked over to the Twins, who hadn't said a word until now, being uncharacteristically quiet. The teens sat on one bed, looking as pale as Ginny had. It looked like even they were affected by a Death Eater's presence then. Lee sat up, raising his eyebrows in question, then nodding as it became clear that Harry wasn't going to give a more thorough explanation. Grateful about not having it made a big deal of, Harry walked towards the Twins and greeted them carefully, growing a bit worried as they mumbled their answers. Only when Lee had put his pet away and closed the door behind him, did they speak up.

''We're so sorry, that was incredibly stupid,'' one of the twins started, making a face.  
''Yeah, but how could we have known that he was yet another lunatic out for your life?'' the other grimaced, leaving Harry utterly confused. As he was at a loss of words, they continued:  
''When Ginny told us that he'd used a swamp-''  
''-when Moody asked for a prototype we didn't think it would even fully function!''  
''Must have improved it somehow.''  
''We didn't** want** our genius to be used for evil!''

''Hold on, wait a minute,'' Harry finally interrupted. ''The room turning into a swamp was **your** doing?'' The silence that followed was deafening.

''You... didn't know,'' they concluded.

''Not until now.''

''Damn... I thought Ginny had told you.''

''So that's why she went to you,'' he mused, feeling relieved. If Barty's escape route had been made possibly by an invention of the Twins, they definitely wouldn't want that getting out, it could destroy their business. The rest of the information would be safe too then.

One of the Twins -Harry was just going to assume the left one was Fred for now to make it easier for himself- cleared his throat: ''We've been working on these portable swamps for a while and Ginny has helped us occasionally. We asked Moody about advice with spellwork a couple of times since he's so good with practical magic and he asked for a few samples about two weeks ago. Never in our lives would we have wanted it to hurt you!''

Harry had a hard time to keep from smiling to be honest. So he had the twins to thank for Barty's safe exit. They might not know how much he owed them, he'd find a way to repay them back double at least. ''It's okay,'' he quickly said. ''Really, it's fine. It's not the swamp itself that hurt me in the first place and Moody was very crafty, I'm sure that he'd have found something else to escape otherwise.'' Which was true, this product might have been the easiest method, Barty was always full of ideas.

''Still...'' George said, looking unconvinced.

''You know what,'' Harry started. ''Don't let this deter you in any way. I mean, yes maybe you should do thorough background checks on whoever you share unfinished merchandise with or sell it to in the future,** but **your stuff is absolutely amazing, and it can seriously help a lot of people who need a laugh. I can only dream of all the possibilities a portable swamp has in Snape's classroom alone. In fact, if it makes you feel better I'll place an order for ten of them once you've finished it. You can't even really say that Moody used it for** evil, **it was only meant as a distraction and to slow the teachers down.''

''Which still means that a murderer got away,'' Fred pointed out.

''Since when are either of you so negative? I thought that was supposed to be** my** specialty!'' Harry sighed dramatically. He'd had no idea that the risk-loving twins could even **be** this responsible. ''I've loved your products ever since I heard what you'd done to Dudley, don't let me down now. We'll need more laughs in the coming years, I'm sure. I won't tell anyone of the swamp and none of the teachers know that you had something like that in development. Hopefully by the time it's complete, they'll have forgotten too. Maybe change it to a jungle or something, I don't know. You're the creative minds here.''

''We could maybe tweak it a bit,'' George muttered, raising a questioning eyebrow at his brother, who got a thoughtful expression. ''How about a desert, complete with quicksand? Twenty percent chance that the caster themselves gets stuck in it and becomes the butt of their own joke? That'd be hilarious, especially when we add that in tiny print.''

''Sellable enough,'' the other replied, already a wicked grin spreading on his face.

''I'd invest in that,'' Harry smirked, glad to have them back to their usual selves. ''You know, maybe you can discuss it with another pranker I know... You might remember Padfoot from the Marauder's map?''

Both of them whipped their heads around to stare at Harry.  
''Please do not tell me that you are trying to fool us now,''  
''-Our heroes are nothing to joke about.''

Harry threw his hands up. ''I'm just saying that you might meet him this summer. And if I'm not too mistaken, Moony as well.

''We'd do anything!'' George exclaimed, excited.

''Good to hear. Then I demand that the both of you take whatever prize money I get out of this stupid Tournament and use it to improve your product line, get more ingredients or whatever and maybe rent a place. No clue of course how much I'll actually receive, considering that it was a shared win, but even 2500 galleons should buy you a bit.''

''Harry, we cannot!'' They both protested at once, at which Harry threw them a deadly glare.

''The both of you have helped me more than you might ever know,'' he stated, dead serious. ''And you'll help loads of others by following your dream and really opening a joke-shop. Just... don't tell your mother that I invested into it or she'll have my head.''

''Never yours!'' Fred scoffed. ''It's all Harry this, Harry that, Harry must be fed and get some sleep when you're there.''  
''Harry is a **guest** here and doesn't need to clean!'' the other imitated his mother's voice, a twinkle in his eyes.  
''Harry's far too thin to take up his own suitcase, go and help him!''

They continued their teasing until Harry jumped on the bed and started to stomp them, ending in them all being a cackling tangle of limbs. During the exchange, it looked like they'd all managed to hex each other too, George sporting a braided beard from Sirius' spell that Harry had learned over Easter, Fred having grown an extra pair of ears and Harry's hair being a neon green. When he finally had to give up, not knowing nearly as many good spells as they did, he bolted from the room and ran straight to Hermione, the only person who might be able to fix his hair up again. No matter what, he didn't wish to sport Slytherin colours during the award ceremony tomorrow


	34. Awards and Promises

The atmosphere in the castle the following day was strange to say the least. It vaguely reminded Harry of when everyone had thought Sirius to be on the loose in Hogwarts, except this time, the story of a murderer running around was not accepted, let alone spread, by the Ministry. Dumbledore's request for extra security had been denied and despite Moody's glaring absence -the real one still had not been found, leading Harry to believe that Barty must have moved the man upon knowing he would be discovered soon-, part of the student body didn't buy their teacher's story. Even the other disappearance in the castle raised hardly any additional concerns, Karkaroff having fled since Dumbledore announced Barty's plot. Harry recalled that the Headmaster of Durmstrang had voiced the possibility of leaving before to Snape, right after the Yule Ball. It was surprising that he'd even stayed that long after.

On top of the general lack of belief in the story of their DADA professor having been a Death Eater in disguise, came the fact that both Ludo Bagman and Percy tried everything they could to focus attention on the ceremony that would take place in the evening, plus everyone knew that they would be returning home soon, minimising the feel of a real threat. Ironically, only those around Harry were genuinely worried enough to be afraid, everyone else that believed Dumbledore merely felt uneasy. As much as Hermione got mad at their House-mates for their lax attitude, Harry could fully understand. In a school in which something horrible happened every year, it was hard to remain wary at all times. Apart from the first years, all students had had at least one horrible event take place here, be it the Basilisk petrifying people left and right or a supposed Death Eater breaking out of Azkaban and into Hogwarts. Barty also had made a solid case for himself by having taught them all year without a single incident. He had tied with Lupin as most popular Defence teacher of the past decade according to a couple of seventh-years. Without even knowing any past Quirrel, Harry full heartedly agreed with that statement.

That he could not find it within himself to muster up any convincing negative feelings towards Barty, of course did not sit well with Hermione, and he got the full brunt of her anger when she found out that even he didn't take the danger he was in seriously enough.

''Look Mione,'' Ron finally threw in as she paused to breathe. ''This entire Tournament has been a worse threat than one single person could ever be, and he's also survived that right?''

This, of course, led to another unfortunate squabble between his best friends, one he didn't know how to break without being insincere one way or the other. By dinner, the girl was ignoring the both of them. To distract himself from the argument, he sat next to Neville instead, the boy telling him enthusiastically about a plant named 'Gillyweed' and how it was a shame that he hadn't heard of it in time for the second task. Chewing down some leaves indeed sounded a lot better than what Harry had done himself, though he could imagine Voldemort would not have been happy with such an easy way out, so it was better that he'd been helped by Malfoy instead.

Speaking of whom, even after their 'hand of friendship', Draco had been ignoring him again, which suited Harry just fine in general, but which might turn out problematic in the future. Next year, when hopefully there was less danger on his mind, Harry would start some solid efforts to try and be more civil, and get Malfoy to do the same. -How was that for impossible goals.-

''Ladies and gentlemen!' Bagman rose from his seat, his characteristic beaming smile on his face. In all those months, Harry had never found out what made him so wary of the man and he felt that perhaps Bagman hadn't deserved his quick judgement. Had this actually been a person who really had tried to genuinely help him? Harry couldn't tell anymore. If anything, he was glad for not getting involved with a Ministry employee who clearly followed their policies despite appearing not to. For example, Bagman was rather good at ignoring Moody's empty seat to his right. ''Tonight is a time for thrill, for celebration and** rewards**! You are witness to the first Triwizard Tournament in history to have **two** Champions reach the end of the third Task. After yesterday's events, the members of the jury have discussed possibilities, from a final duel to settle the score to a public vote. In the end,** most** of us found it fairest to split the winnings between the two victors. We set three fixed Tasks after all, for which the Goblet of Fire chose its Champions. Not recognising one of the victories would defeat its purpose. Erhm... yes, Miss Delacour?'' he stuttered as Fleur rose from her seat, chin lifted and looking none too happy.

''So zis split does not mean between all four of us? I zink we made quite clear yesterday zat only a win for all schools will be accepted by us.'' She gave Harry a pointed look, so he gulped and awkwardly stood as well. How he hated to have all those eyes on him...

''Fleur's right,'' he said. ''That was made** more** than clear.''

''The** rules** are clear!'' Percy now interrupted, looking pissed. ''There are those who win and those who lose, we will not be handing out any consolidation prizes!'' Harry almost felt pity for Percy. Someone who lifted his own achievements by talking down the work of others, including his own family, surely couldn't understand. Before Fleur could protest further or others could fuel the arguments on either side, Dumbledore cleared his throat, silencing any protest.

''I understand and commend your feelings on this, Miss Delacour. However, the jury has decided. If we were to acknowledge a victory for all schools, there would have been no point in your hardships. That does not mean,'' he spoke, raising his voice as murmurs came from the crowd, ''That anyone can tell you what to spend your fully deserved prize money on once you have received it, be it charities, a golden castle or your co-Champions.'' His eyes twinkled, and as Percy Weasley looked positively murderous towards Dumbledore, Harry found it harder than ever to muster up any dislike for the Headmaster.

''I zank you for zat enlig'tning detail,'' Fleur diplomatically spoke, knowing that anything more than this 'compromise' was unrealistic.

''Now then,'' Bagman continued, a tad nervous as if he was waiting for others to interrupt him. ''If you will all follow me, the committee is waiting. Unfortunately, the Minister of Magic cannot be present today, but I am certain that his Senior Under-Secretary will do a splendid job of honouring our young heroes as well.'' Harry noticed that the smile that accompanied those words looked rather strained. ''All in rows of two please. Miss Delacour, Mr Potter,'' he waved them forwards, so Harry groaned and stumbled away from his seat as students left and right of him were already standing and trying to get their things together.

''Sorry I wasn't more helpful,'' he apologised to Fleur when he approached her.

''It's okay 'arry, I 'ad not expected ozerwise.'' Unsure of how to interpret that, Harry remained silent. Had she thought he would be unhelpful, or did she mean that she didn't try to put expectations on him? The thought kept him busy as they went out towards the entrance hall, then was wiped from his mind as the massive oak doors opened towards the outside.

This time, there was no arena or large stands. Instead, the landscape around Hogwarts had been changed completely. The entrance to the castle usually led through a courtyard and then the vast, hilly grounds started, going downhill on the right side to Hagrid's hut and the forest, and up to the left, giving a perfect position for the Quidditch pitch.

Now, large parts of the rising and falling terrain had been flattened, and the straight road towards Hogsmeade had somehow vanished. In its stead stood a rather overdone dome on pillars, large enough to easily hold the entirety of Hogwarts students in only three rows all around. In the middle was a podium, where the least witch-y witch stood that Harry had ever seen. Her robes could barely count as such, being bright pink and fluffy at parts, with an equally pink, crocheted short cape draped around her shoulders that reminded him of strange garments that he'd only seen till now on either rich, old or artsy Muggles. The rest of her appearance didn't improve his impression, from the velvety black bow on top of her styled hair to the heavy rings on each on her stubby fingers. Harry knew that one shouldn't judge people by the cover, but he couldn't help having an instant dislike for this person. Perhaps it was the way she greeted Fleur and him with a painfully fake smile.

Ludo Bagman led them up the podium and then left again to delegate the crowd that followed. The noise around made it hard to understand anyone well, so they unfortunately needed to go very close to the woman, who looked a lot like a toad from close-up.

''Ah, children, you look so lovely,'' she spoke in a completely unexpected high-pitched, girly voice. Harry noticed Fleur instantly stiffen beside him. ''Who would have thought that such a pretty girl could get so far? Are you sure that you should stand here?'' she continued, coming closer and grabbing Fleur's immobile hands with a giggle. Harry glanced to his right and almost laughed at seeing Fleur's murderous expression, which caused the woman's smile to falter for a moment.

''Are you implying zat I am too beautiful to be powerful? If so, I must wonder what you zink of your own abilities,'' the girl said, giving an equally sweet smile while her eyes spit fire.

The woman ignored her words completely, releasing Fleur's hands and turning towards Harry. It didn't elude him that she quickly wiped her hands on her robes. ''Ah, and of course, our national hero. First youngest Seeker, now youngest Champion. You sure do like breaking rules, don't you, Mr. Potter?'' she gave a short giggle again that sounded more like a nervous tick than anything.

''I didn't break the rules to get here, Mrs...?''

''Dolores Umbridge, Under-Secretary of the Minister of Magic. Although with recent happenings, I cannot imagine that will remain my only title. Now... Mr. Potter.'' She pursed her lips. ''If there is one thing that you should not try with me, it is lying. You may be a winner here, you are only truly a winner if you embrace the truth, a very important lesson that any child should learn. And we all know that you put your name in that cup.'' Harry narrowed his eyes. It wasn't as if it was very important what some bint from the Ministry thought, it still rubbed him the wrong way to be branded a liar again.

''Professor Dumbly-dore said zat someone else put 'Arry's name in ze cup,'' Fleur spoke, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. ''Zere was zis man, a Deaz Eater-'' Harry sharply looked at her, wondering when and why Dumbledore had told her this, when he had told Harry that it should be kept under covers among the students for now. Sure, the news about Barty had spread like a wildfire, but there had not been any official statements about the Death Eater having been there because of** Harry**.

''There was no Death Eater!'' the woman suddenly hissed, baring her teeth, grabbing his arm and giving him a penetrating look. ''Was there, Mr Potter?''

He tried to stand as upright as possible as he looked down on her -she really was short-. ''There was,'' he stated, wincing as he felt nails trying to dig through his robes. A moment later, she released him and took a hasty step back.

''You will learn the lessons that you deserve Mr. Potter,'' she breathlessly stated, honey dripping from each syllable as a self-satisfied smile appeared on her face. ''I will make sure of that. Now, to your places, hop hop.''

''We're not pets,'' Fleur bristled.

Umbridge turned towards her now and gave her a long look, eyes boring into each other. ''Here I wished to be nice to you,'' she finally whispered, a sad note audible. ''Most pets are good creatures. Loyal. **Pure**. Not a seducing half-breed like you.** On your spot**.''

A few moments after, Harry wasn't entirely sure what had happened anymore. He was only aware of the deafening silence around him and the throbbing of his right hand. A hand that had connected rather violently with Umbridge's face. '''Arry!'' Fleur spoke, shocked. The woman lay on the ground, touching her bruised face and looking up at him with wide eyes.

''Do you know who I **am**?'' she exclaimed, all girlishness gone from her voice all of a sudden, turning rather into a shriek of rage.

''No-one insults my friends,'' he spoke, loud enough for anyone to hear. ''I don't care whether you're a maid or an empress. And for an Under-Secretary, you are rather undiplomatic, throwing around slurs and accusations at the ones you are supposed to give tribute to.'' Other people rushed in now, including Percy, whom Harry hardly recognised anymore beneath his furious expression.

''Anarchy!'' someone shouted from the back row, and Harry saw a tuft of red hair that equalled Percy's. ''Revolution!'' an identical voice sounded from the opposite direction. Harry relaxed, grateful for the Twins' incredibly ability to pull attention towards themselves. Next thing he knew, the flowering plants that curled around the white pillars exploded, showering everyone in colourful petals. Birds appeared out of thin air and dove into the now panicking crowd, pecking at everyone they could find. Poor Neville became the brunt of the chaos again, a spell hitting him that made him swell up, not unlike Harry's own incident with Aunt Marge.

The moment was short-lived, as could have been expected with so many teachers around. McGonagall vanished the birds, Flitwick returned Neville to normal, and Dumbledore swept up the podium, bowing down and gallantly offering a hand to Umbridge. ''My apologies madam,'' he spoke. ''Some of my students can be a bit... hot-headed. Surely, Harry had no intention to react so extremely.'' Harry threw Dumbledore a look that he hoped conveyed how sincere he had been in smashing her face in. ''Perhaps it is better if Poppy takes care of you and a different representative takes over, maybe Mr Bagman?''

''Yes... yes, that would be... preferable.'' She threw Harry and Fleur a dirty look as she straightened her clothes and walked down the podium with as much dignity as she could muster.

''Harry,'' Dumbledore gravely said in a low voice. ''That was unwise.''

''She called Fleur a half-breed,'' he explained through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore's wrinkles deepened. ''Dolores Umbridge is a dangerous woman. You already have enough enemies, my boy. Do try not to anger her again if you can.''

''I hope I won't be seeing any more of her, then I cannot anger her either.''

''It might not be that simple,'' the man sighed without further explanation. ''Miss Delacour, I apologise for the harassment you have had to endure during your stay here. I can promise you that not all the English are so impolite as some experiences might have made you believe.''

''I know zat,'' Fleur answered curtly. '''Arry showed me zat. Cedric too.''

''Good... good.'' The old man gave Harry an approving look. ''Glad to hear. So, now that the school has recovered from the Weasley Twins and natural order has been restored: Mr. Bagman, if you will?''

Looking joyous about the turn of events, the man almost ran up the platform, taking out his wand with a broad gesture and putting it against his throat. ''It looks like I have been given the honour of honouring you!'' he said, laughing at his own joke. ''Man, is it long ago that I could share any spotlights, I can tell you that. My uniform fit a lot better back then. Has everyone found their way back to their seats? Yes? Good! I didn't prepare a speech so please forgive me for winging this.'' A few students laughed and Harry instantly saw that the crowd was looking far more excited now Bagman had taken the stage. Charisma certainly made a lot of difference, even before they knew what he would say. The bored looks many had had when sitting down, before the incident with Umbridge, were gone.

''We've all been witness to three amazing days this years where we saw our Champions here give their all to face dangers which hardly any witch or wizard will ever have to see. Three days in which we could enjoy the fruits of months of hard work, to see how varied the styles of different schools can be.'' He waved his wand and several see-through rectangles appeared in the air around them, looking almost like muggle screens. On it, Harry saw Fleur running around, shooting spells. ''Miss Delacour used famous hypnosis charms from Beauxbatons to conquer her dragon; dove into the lake with a Bubble-head charm, and sleekening spells to swim faster; and finally found her way through the maze quickest of any with a mixture of spells. She has utilised a great many Beauxbatons favourites, from enthralling charms to the deadly beauty of poison nebulas.'' He pointed to one of the screens, where it looked like a colourful star system erupted from her wand, wrapping itself around a Skrewt. From the back, Harry heard a pained noise and he quickly looked at Hagrid, who was seated on a large chair, a dotted towel in his hand which was used as handkerchief. ''Miss Delacour combined the grace, speed and power that Beauxbatons has always portrayed, reaching the centre of the maze first. Although the ending was shrouded in mystery for all of us, Miss Delacour informed us that she could not run for the cup straight away as a massive Acromantula was blocking her path, which she fought off together with Mr. Potter.

And with that, we come to our youngest Champion, one of two Hogwarts received this year due to an error in the charm cast on the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet has been thoroughly checked now to ensure that mistakes like this do not happen in future Tournaments. While Mr. Potter did not sign up for the Triwizard Tournament, he fared miraculously well, using skills far beyond the level that he's been taught at. From all the Champions, he certainly was the most versatile, using a combination of skills taught at Hogwarts in the first four years as well as many extra-curricular material. While the judges have been very split in their decisions of how to rate the acceptability of Mr. Potter's spellwork, his stunts were spectacular to see.'' Bagman paused for a moment and pointed at one of the screens which showed Harry as he ripped a scale off the Swedish Short-snout. Harry hadn't realised that they also had utilised monitoring spells back then. It seemed that only with the Second Task, they'd relied solely on the information of the Merfolk. Perhaps those spells didn't work well under water.

''It looks like Mr. Potter dove not only into the Black lake, but also into his history books. I've been informed of that this brilliant piece of work was a bardic spell used long ago to calm dragons, and the ritual Mr Potter found to breathe underwater has been invented by Merfolk themselves several thousands of years ago to communicate with magicians. So while diverting from the current curriculum of Hogwarts at times, he stayed true to using spells originating in Britain. He finally conquered the Acromantula together with Ms Delacour, after which the cup was within reach for both. We can debate whether or not they made the right decision in sharing, I personally approve of their sportsmanlike choice of admitting each other's worthiness. On that note, I am joyful about being allowed to give these two great individuals their deserved prizes.''

The screens disappeared in puffs of coloured smoke which then turned into ribbons that twirled in the air above the heads of the students. The polished wooden boards of the podium rippled at a wave of Bagman's wand and a structure rose from it, making Harry and Fleur take a step back. Harry could feel a vague hum in the air, a sign of powerful magic. Only when it fully formed and gold coins started flowing from several directions, did Harry realise that it was a sort of fountain, spewing forth the prize money. Perched atop two platforms left and right stood a pair of Triwizard cups -this time hopefully free of any Portkey charms-. Harry barely heard the cheers from the crowds, his eyes searching for his friends with worry. His relationship with both Ron and Hermione had been rocky at best this year, first with Ron being jealous of him, then of Hermione, and now Hermione being angry at the both of them. Harry had the feeling that any small thing could spiral into a new argument. Knowing Ron, seeing his best friend receive a literal fountain of gold was probably not easy for the boy. And indeed, when Harry finally found the lanky figure in the crowd, Ron's face did not exactly exude happiness, making Harry's stomach sink. Fleur took his arm and Harry realised that he'd apparently missed a cue, stumbling a bit as he was dragged forwards.

''On zree 'Arry,'' the girl smiled. ''Like in ze maze.'' Relieved that he at least wasn't standing up here alone -how mortifying would** that** be!- he reached out for the cup and raised it up over his head. As much as he hadn't really wanted to participate in this Tournament, a sense of accomplishment filled him nonetheless, combined with a strange flip of his stomach when realising that both Voldemort and Barty would be damned proud of him. He looked at Viktor and Cedric, who had at the very least received seats of honour in front. He balled his fists, thinking it was unfair that he an Fleur were forced to play by rules they didn't agree with. Harry certainly didn't deserve to stand here anymore than either of the other Champions did, with all the help he'd had. Cedric was possibly the one who had had it most difficult all through the Tournament, having to hear all the hints from one of the other Champions just because Dumbledore didn't tell them anything like the Headmasters of the other schools did. That, and because the boy was not stupid enough to run straight into the Forbidden Forest like Harry had.

Harry made sure to return to Ron and Hermione soon after he was allowed to leave -thankfully without having to deliver any sudden speeches, for he didn't think he'd have survived that-, only staying up there long enough to hear Fleur's whispered invitation to a last Champion party, this time with only the four of them. Harry had a slight suspicion what it would be about, neither Cedric nor Viktor had looked as if they'd received any grave news, so Fleur must not have handed them the envelopes yet.

He retreated together with his friends, as quietly as he could, trying not to show too obviously that he was carrying a heavy bag with his prize money of 5000 galleons. By the glances Ron threw at it, he didn't entirely succeed. ''So…'' he finally spoke when they returned to the common room, finding it empty. ''Are we all talking again?''

Hermione bit her lip, then nodded slightly. ''I… I'm sorry. I know that I cannot** force** either of you to watch out for yourselves.''

''Mione, we are perfectly capable of-'' Ron started, groaning slightly.

''Harry nearly got killed several times this year!'' she hissed back instantly.

''Guys, **please**,'' Harry begged them. ''It's the last week of school, we have no tests anymore, the weather is gorgeous… I honestly do not want to go into the summer holidays knowing that we're not on the same page. So either we forget about it, or we try to speak it out now, but then with no further arguments.''

''Harry,'' the girl spoke with a rather surprised tone. ''That's… rather mature of you.''

He only raised an eyebrow. ''It's barely more than two years before we're of age. I may do stupid things some of the time- okay, a lot of the time,'' he added at her unimpressed look. ''I still went through a lot these past years and I really have gotten sick of constant arguing.'' He wondered if part of his change in mindset was because he'd interacted much more with people who were older than him this year. He'd seen how a diplomatic solution had been much better at the end of this Tournament, and strategic friendships had helped all of the Champions along.

''Fine,'' Ron said, throwing his hands in the air and plopping down on one of the armchairs by the unlit fireplace. ''So to sum things up: Harry was put in the Tournament, we finally know who did it, and the culprit has fled. I do not see why he is in more danger** now**, now the Tournament is over, and the danger is trying to get away from this castle rather than in it. That's exactly why I am not worried, and I don't think Harry should be getting all panicky either. Moody… or Crouch, was here all year and his stupid plan apparently failed. He's gone now, so what is the problem?''

''The problem, Ronald,'' Hermione started, putting her hands at her hips, ''Is that apparently Crouch** had** some elaborate plan and purpose for putting Harry through this ordeal. As long as Harry was partaking as a Champion and Crouch undiscovered, he was safe until some chosen moment at the very end. It's a type of ancient magic that large-scale spells are enhanced immensely when the subject of the spell is put through a series of hardships, so Crouch plotted this moment all year. Now his plan failed and he escaped, he'll surely brew up a new plot to off Harry.** That's** why I am worried.''

''And why at Hogwarts then?'' Ron countered. ''As I said, he fled. He should have stayed if he wanted to get Harry in the castle. All teachers are now on alert. It's more likely that they'll snatch him away from his muggle home and his violent death will happen during the holiday - sorry Harry, just a possibility.''

''Thanks, maybe Crouch will off me before I have to start weeding the garden, that would be neat,'' Harry shrugged, finally sitting down too.

''Harry!'' Hermione cried.

''What? I'm only trying to be optimistic here. Look, none of this is going to happen. I'm not even going to be in England for most of my holiday, rather spending it in France. From what Dixie told me, her house has some impressive security, and even the weeks I am here, it'll be with Sirius who** also** has a great hiding spot. Unless Crouch somehow figured out the Dursleys' address and is waiting for me on one of the very few days I'll actually** be** there,** and** he can slip by whatever security measures will be set in place, I doubt anything can really happen.'' Not that he expected Dumbledore to actually give him extra security, but it was a good way to make his friend relax a bit more.

''You're going to France?'' Ron asked, interested. ''You didn't really tell us about your holiday plans.''

''Don't know anything about yours either,'' he countered. ''It didn't really come up while practising spells and whatnot for the maze. Dixie invited me, saying that, since last year I gave her a tour of England, she is going to guide me around in the area of France she lives in.'' Alright, so Dixie hadn't specifically invited him, but she had been very enthusiastic about him visiting France more than once. He should probably search her out to make sure she actually agreed to his summer plans. ''So, does that satisfy you, Hermione?'' he asked. She was still standing, arms wrapped around her waist and looking very uncertain.

''I… I suppose,'' she answered rather unhappily. ''If you'll excuse me, I still wanted to go see Viktor. He's leaving soon and…'' she tailed off, almost bolting to the portrait when Ron shrugged and Harry gave a nod.

''She's acting strange,'' Ron sighed, frowning. ''Didn't know she was still hanging around with Krum either. Kind of glad that he is leaving soon so things can go back to normal.'' Harry said nothing, pretty sure that Hermione's contact with Krum would not stop only because he was in another country. Ever since Krum had come after her at Yule, Hermione had been spending more and more time with the Bulgarian.

''I also still have some things to do,'' Harry said vaguely. He might as well search Dixie out before trouble would brew up. Over the year, her help had been valuable, even if they hadn't become the closest of friends. It looked like he'd interacted with her enough to make the fading compulsion charms unnoticeable. Under a grumbled protest of Ron, Harry went upstairs and retrieved his invisibility cloak and Marauder's map, spotting Dixie on the Hogwarts grounds where he knew the Beauxbatons carriage to be standing. If only there were pipelines similar to the one leading to the Chamber of Secrets, to easily go to the ground floor from Gryffindor tower... Stuffing the invisibility cloak and the map in his bag for later, Harry climbed through the portrait hole and then began the long, long way down. By the time he was out in the fresh air again, it was shortly after eight o' clock. The party would only start at nine, he recalled, so there was no reason to hurry.

Taking the map again and shooting a quick glance at it, Harry was glad to see that Dixie hadn't moved, still roughly on the spot she'd been before, now with an entire group of students rather than a few. As Harry approached, for a moment he thought that he was back in the first Arena, a gigantic dragon spitting fire spreading its wings making him freeze, until he noticed that it didn't quite look** real**.

''Over here Harry!'' he heard, and a flushed Dixie ran towards him, dragging him to the group before he could say a word. Harry didn't take his eyes off the dragon, which didn't actually just spit fire.. it** was** on fire, which burned its wooden frame and the stuffing inside.

''What is that?'' he asked, fascinated by the view.

''Our bonfire! Liza was a few days ago. Ze celebration was postponed because of ze Zird Task,'' Dixie said. ''It is great to see you again.''

''Liza?'' he asked.

''Liza… Lit-a.. Argh, I cannot pronounce it in English Harry. Le solstice d'été!'' she exclaimed as she dragged him to the gigantic, moving fire, where all the other Durmstrang students had now gathered. ''Muggles have called it ze 'Fête de la Saint-Jean' since ze fifz century because Christians tried to root out paganism and placed zeir feast on ze same day. Unfortunately, zey were zorough and even ze magical community has forgotten its original French name by now.''

''So the name comes from?''

''Anglo-Saxon,'' she shrugged. ''Not zat zat is probably ze original name eizer. Some Muggle called Bede in ze eight century came up wiz names for ze pagan calendar in England in his book 'De Tempore Rationum'. We've kind of adopted zose terms after, as have you.''

''How do you know all this?''

''I like history and languages, is zat a crime?'' she joked. ''Come on, let's not waste more time, ze dance is about to start!''

Harry groaned and complained: ''Dance? Why are there always dances involved in these kinds of things? I really don't want-'' he was saved by the other Beauxbatons students, who started to argue with Dixie in quick French as soon as they entered the group. It looked like not everyone was so happy about inviting every outsider who showed up. Looking around, Harry noticed that he didn't see Fleur anywhere. ''I only came here to talk to you for a bit,'' Harry interjected before the discussion could escalate.

It looked like she listened, for Dixie waved off the other students with a few more comments and they went back to what they'd been doing before. ''For me?'' she asked, flipping her blond curls back, smiling. ''Here I thought you came for Fleur.'' A twinge of guilt twisted Harry's stomach. He **had** been spending a lot more time with Fleur to be honest. ''Is this about our holiday plans?''

_**Our**__ holiday plans?_ Harry thought.

Dixie continued without missing a beat. ''I zought we could first just spend a week at my place, we do have a few guest rooms as you know. Mama will be delighted zat I finally bring someone over and has written that she's looking forward to having you. Ze rest of ze time I have nozing really planned, perhaps searching out magical sites? A day trip to Paris is also an option of course.''

''Erhm, yeah, sounds great!'' Harry spoke, wondering if he'd entirely forgotten about some previous conversations. ''Just for the record… when exactly did we plan all this?''

A vague look crossed her face as if she spaced out for a few seconds, then her eyes became bright once more. ''Don't be silly Harry, we've talked about zis several times the past weeks. Don't tell me you changed your plans!''

''Do you… still have your mother's letter?'' he warily asked. She opened her mouth, before, as he had somehow already expected, the same thing happened where her eyes glazed over for a couple of seconds.

''I… must have misplaced it, I'm sure she wrote zough, could tell you word by word what it said.''

Uncomfortable at her confusion, Harry took her hands and tried his best at a genuine smile to ease the girl. ''No, never mind, I'm glad that she's looking forward to my visiting. Can't wait to see what the French countryside is like. I've never been abroad before.'' It had become much easier for him to lie, Harry noticed, a development that he wasn't very pleased about. Sure, he'd been used to lying before, one had to be when growing up at the Dursleys, having to pretend that everything was normal, but he'd always tried to be honest with people he liked. Not that he could do anything in this situation apart from going along with it. To be honest, the teen was rather impressed with Barty for still thinking of giving Harry an excuse for the summer holidays before fleeing Hogwarts. He doubted that Dixie's mother even knew he existed.

He tried saying his goodbyes quickly and watched with a troubled expression as she joined her peers to dance around the burning dragon. He had to get a grip on himself somehow. Instead of taking a direct trip back to the castle, Harry swerved off and found himself after a while at one of the places where the edges of the forbidden forest met the lake, the lights of Hogwarts shining from above on the rock. It was the first view he'd had of the castle he'd called home for several years now, and it never failed to calm him before. The feeling of being at a loss didn't fade this time. The entire school year had been a rush since his name had flown from that cup, leaving him with different matters on his hands than reflecting on his own actions. In a way, he supposed he should be grateful to Voldemort for giving him the Triwizard Tournament as a distraction. Harry honestly didn't know how he would have managed without something else to put his focus on than his questionable life choices.

Not for the first time, the teen wished that he could have been anyone but who he was. If he'd been a regular kid attending Hogwarts, he wouldn't have had to hide his beliefs so much. Many here didn't, Draco Malfoy for example practically prancing around about knowing and liking Dark Magic. The only reason why being associated with the Dark Lord gave trouble was due to the Death Eaters being known murderers and rebellious to the government. Their actual ideas about freedom of all magic and magicians being superior to Muggles was much wider spread than the mere centre that had been under either Voldemort's or Grindelwald direct influence. It was only because he was Harry-bloody-Potter that it would cause an uproar if anyone would get wind of him agreeing to those ideas. Some of them, that was. Muggles were still a rather sore subject for him. He could see that as a whole, they formed a threat to wizard and witches. On an individual level however, their hatred for the 'abnormal' couldn't be as generalised as Voldemort liked to believe. Sirius had even told him that Harry's own grandparents from his mum's side had been ecstatic about having a witch in the family, to the extent of where they neglected their Muggle child.

Honestly, there were few reasons that Harry could think of not to support Voldemort in his current endeavour. The main problem was that, as Sirius said, promises of it being different now would not convince many who'd been around to see the first attempt at the Dark Lord's rule.

''Why did you have to screw it up so much before!'' Harry angrily said, throwing a stone in the lake with as much force as he could muster, then burying his hands in his hair. If it had been anyone else than Voldemort, things would be going far smoother. It wasn't such a radical idea to move away from Muggles and practice magic as they pleased, was it? The bad reputation that clung to those ideas were all on the way the man had tried to reach it before. Had Voldemort really died that night, Magic might have chosen a new Lord to fix the state they were in now. But no, he just** had** to tie himself to this world and resurrect, preventing anyone else from cleaning up his mess. Harry wasn't certain if he found it admirable or stupid that Voldemort went through with his efforts after already having lost the trust of the majority of their population. Bastard.

Slumping down on the hard clumps of grass and dirt, Harry started up at the twinkling stars with a feel of defeat. It was all good and well that Voldemort attempted it now with disguises and sneaking in laws, Harry sarcastically thought. Due to the mess that had been the last wizarding war, there would be a backlash as soon as anyone figured out who was pulling the strings. And then even the man's promise of not wishing another war would be pointless, for others would start it for him. Even now, the Order of the Phoenix was gathering since there had been notable Death Eater activity and mysterious disappearances. Voldemort wasn't making it any better by killing people either. Harry wished that he could put his conflict in better words. Even to himself, he had to admit that his sense of loyalty to the murderer of his parents was disturbing, especially when said murderer kept at it. There was just something about the man that spoke of so much **more** that Harry couldn't help but admire. Voldemort's drive and passion, the way he cared even when never admitting it in so many words, the humanity that lay beneath the surface which the older wizard had fought so hard to acquire. Closing his eyes, Harry tried to recall all the memories and felt his lips twitch into a smile. All the terror at the start had been worth it to spend those peaceful,** safe** evenings. Harry had been part of something greater then…

He absolutely did not regret joining Voldemort for himself, but whenever he looked at the faces of his friends and the people he'd come to consider as family, Harry realised that he wouldn't be able to go on much longer with lying to them. Not without breaking. Considering the fact that he still had three years left at Hogwarts and no idea when Voldemort would start making his moves rather than sitting holed up in his house, that was going to be complicated at best. He groaned slightly, wondering how he'd come to the point of self-reflection, something he didn't usually do. Ironically, the only place where he had lots of time to think things over normally was in his bedroom of privet Drive number 4, whenever he was forced to stay in his room with nothing else to keep him busy apart from his own mind.

He kept lying there for a good while still, occasionally brushing off some pesky insects or spiders. As long as they didn't grow to Acromantula size, he really didn't care much for arachnids. He'd had enough of the things to keep him company in the cupboard under the stairs to resist developing the same phobia for them that most people tended to have. The night deepened as Harry was lost in vague memories of last summer and of intangible dreams that he could only recall bits and pieces of. No matter his own opinions on it, Harry came to the conclusion that there would always be something connecting Voldemort and him. And when he couldn't run from it in the first place, it was much healthier that he'd stopped resisting the Dark Lord. Who knew, perhaps he might even live past seventeen now, which he hadn't counted on before.

''Oh shit,'' he suddenly spoke, sitting up abruptly. The teen scrambled for his wand and cast a Tempus. Upon realising that he was quite a bit late for the party he'd been invited to, Harry started to run along the edge of the lake best he could in the darkness. Only the lights of the castle above illuminated the traitorous slippery stones. In the meantime, he cursed himself for never learning cleaning charms, for his robes were most definitely not acceptable, covered as they were in dirt and wet grass stains. It turned out that he hadn't need worry, for the other Champions were in a too heated discussion to notice his appearance when he finally entered Broc Abode.

'''e impressed me, not a light feat,'' Fleur spoke, chin held up high.

''Press is press,'' Viktor argued, holding up a familiar brown envelope before throwing it straight in the fireplace.

''Not all journalists have to be bad people.''

Someone else than expected had spoken, and it was then that Harry noticed that there was actually one more person here than should be. Hermione gave Viktor a sharp look as he turned towards her, his head inclined to show that he was listening. ''I admit, a head editor who sounds like he bought up two major newspapers fits the corporate stereotype a tad too much to not be suspicious of him. And yet, we cannot deny that he has gathered and kept evidence on topics that may well cost him his head, evidence produced by other, individual journalists who** were** punished for attempting what this Mr Noctua is doing right now. I realise that reporters have not been your most favourite people since you became a professional Quidditch player, but instantly denying that their influence can also be positive is a bit too short-sighted. How was your impression of his personality, Delacour?'' she asked, then shook her hair out of her face and happened to look to the left, where Harry was still standing awkwardly in the door opening. ''Harry!'' she exclaimed, a smile blooming on her face. ''What did you do this time, you look like you wrestled in the mud!''

''Hello to you too,'' Harry grinned. ''I'd hug you but I'm afraid that it would ruin your robes.''

Hermione merely rolled her eyes and got up to draw him into a tight hug. ''I'm sure my clothes have endured worse. A bit of grass is nothing compared to Cerberus drool.'' Harry struggled to keep his face straight at the mention of Fluffy.

''Right. So, Fleur gave you both those letters too?'' he asked, sitting down and looking at the one that was turning to ashes in the fire. ''May I ask what was in there?''

''Something no-one should have known about,'' Viktor muttered, eyes shooting fire, making Harry all the more curious. Well, perhaps Voldemort would tell him if he asked.

''For me, it's medical records,'' Cedric spoke. He had been leaning against one of the tables, staring at the contents with a frown during the previous talk. ''I had suspected but… to see it black on white is…'' he struggled to form words, then looked at Harry with sadness in his eyes. ''My only aunt, my dad's sister, died of dragon pox. I absolutely adored her and she died far too young. Dad has never been the same after. This…'' he waved the papers around. ''Confirms what I already thought as a small child. Magic can heal anything in time, there are no incurable diseases. A cure for dragon pox has been found decades ago.''

Confused, Harry went towards him and looked at the papers in Cedric's hands, which consisted of lists and lists of medical terms Harry couldn't do much with. ''Then why do they not use it?'' he asked, bewildered. Hermione next to them gave a short, sad laugh.

''Funding,'' she spoke. ''As long as they claim to have something to research, people will spend money on the hospital and their faculties.''

''Can't the Ministry-'' he started, breaking off when she shook her head.

''I've looked much into how this society works when I first became a part of it. Money is a massive problem. Why do you think that everyone in the Ministry is so easily swayed by bags of gold? We are an incredibly small society, and governments usually get their money from taxes and other fees. But what is there in this world that can be taxed other than sold wares? Many wizards build their own homes on land that is often bought or even stolen from Muggles. We are also capable of maintaining it by ourselves using magic, sometimes even for centuries on end. Travel, too, can be accomplished without use of any objects, by apparition. The only thing they can actually tax heavily is the wages of their people… what doesn't help is that the Ministry and its public institutions are the main employers in our world. Whatever money they may keep from the wages, it is a fact that they actually have to** pay** more. As a result, they can hardly afford anything. Taking credits from Gringotts is also not going to work as much as it does in the Muggle world, where major banks sometimes even write off part of the debts when it comes to entire countries. Goblins would never. We don't have public libraries, theatres or museums for this very reason. There's only a handful of people rich enough to build these things privately and few do.

Thus, the few institutions that we do have such as Hogwarts or St. Mungo's, scramble to get enough funding. Hogwarts solves it with high attendance fees, employing few staff and exploiting slave labour. St. Mungo's cannot do the same. The Ministry doesn't have enough to allocate money towards the hospital, and they cannot simply turn poor people away at their doorstep. The Wizarding world may be stuck in the seventeenth century with most things, the good of the people is a value that even here is thankfully still upheld. We may not have a National Health Insurance like in Muggle Britain, the hospital still waives the bills of those who couldn't possibly pay for it. Ron told me that Charlie landed in the hospital a few times due to his early love for dangerous animals, and Fred and George also had a few misfired pranks and accidental magic in their childhood. Since they were too poor to afford medical care, had the hospital denied them entry, Molly and Arthur might have three children less by now. So, since the managers can't in good conscious privatise St. Mungo's, they rely on donations mostly. There is a large fountain in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic in which money can be thrown to support the hospital. One motivation to keep getting support is to pretend that they are close to breakthroughs all the time. This leads to some illnesses and curses still being categorised as 'incurable' when they are not, which is of course not a moral thing to do, but better than the alternative of not having a hospital at all.''

''It is still wrong,'' Cedric softly spoke. ''And entirely unfair to those people who have to pay the price with their life just because the Ministry cannot find other ways to fund them.''

''True, but unless there is another good option, I doubt they'll have a choice.''

Harry cleared his throat. ''So what happens if this comes to light? As you said, the Ministry cannot give money that they don't have. You're saying that, should the people riot against these practises, St. Mungo's might cease to exist altogether?''

''Unless they find a different source of income or are privatised, yes. Another option might be trying to set up secret rooms for magicians in existing Muggle hospitals so only the staff needs to be paid, but that could risk the Statute of Secrecy being broken.''

''Zis is not only a British problem eizer,'' Fleur interjected. ''We must 'ave ze same problems in France, ozerwise we would 'ave zose cures too.''

All of them let that sink in for a while. Fleur made as good point: should the cure to any of these 'incurable illnesses' be discovered anywhere in the world and made public, news would rapidly spread. ''Merlin'' Harry breathed. ''You mean to say that this is an international conspiracy to keep all of our hospitals running? That is… insane!''

''The truth in this world is often insane, I've found,'' Hermione muttered to herself.

Cedric resolutely shoved the lists back in his envelope and put in on the table. ''This cannot continue for much longer, it's a miracle that it didn't blow up long ago. We cannot close our eyes to the injustices of this world for something as stupid as money. If this is really happening in every country, it becomes time that a new solution is found, even if it is risky. I've never met this Noctua fellow, but if I can help in any way, I'll do everything I can. I will not let innocent people die because the Ministry can't get their finances in order. Donations cannot hold the hospital up forever either.''

Viktor made a disgruntled noise. Whatever he'd received, it had soured his mood completely. ''I don't vant to get much involved vith the press,'' he stated. ''Vhich is vhy I am not giving my voice to this person. However, if you three are going to fight for your causes, I'll gladly be a background influencer. I don't hav anything to spend the money on that Harry and Fleur promised me, so I will not accept your offer to receive a share. Perhaps you hav better use spending it to try and keep legal charges off your backs.'' Harry smiled, it looked like Fleur had been very adamant about giving them their share as well. Even though he now returned it, at least Krum had had the choice.

''I'll accept the part you promised me,'' Cedric spoke, looking down. ''As much as donations aren't the answer, perhaps this prize money will keep St. Mungo's running for a bit longer while we're trying to improve it.''

Harry kept silent, not wanting to admit that his money was going to the Weasley twins. He doubted that any of them, bar Hermione perhaps, would understand. Well, if Voldemort would need any financial support for these smear campaigns against the government, Harry still possessed a full vault.

''Zen it is decided. I, 'Arry and Cedric shall contact Mr Noctua again and count on you,'' she addressed Viktor, ''for any support you are willing to give.'' She also gave Hermione a look, frowning a bit, apparently changing her mind and deciding not to say anything at all. Which might be for the better, Hermione was not one to appreciate others deciding what she could or couldn't do. Waving her wand, Fleur summoned a few mugs and bottles. ''As much as I prefer French, strong drinks, zis is our last day at Hogwarts,'' she said, a slight smile tugging at her lips. ''I'll miss Butterbeer.'' Harry, quite relieved to not have anything stronger, filled up the mugs and passed them around.

''You are leaving already then?'' he asked with interest. ''Hogwarts is still open for a couple of days.''

''Yes, but zere are also still some zings to take care of at Beauxbatons. We are only a small delegation, Madame Maxime couldn't possibly leave the staff to their own devices on the very last week of term. Not to mention zat we all still 'ave to take our final exams, alzough Madame Maxime ensured us zat we can do zat in ze first week of ze official 'oliday zis year. And for the Durmstrang students… well.'' She trailed off, raising her eyebrows.

Viktor merely gave a gruff sound, then said: ''Karkaroff.'' They all hummed in sympathy, Harry also unsure what to add to that. It must be difficult for the students to have been basically abandoned by their Headmaster and make the trip back on their own. They might all be adults now, they were also still all at school. Hermione went towards her boyfriend and hugged his side, head pressed against Viktor's shoulder. It must be all the more difficult for the both of them to part, Harry realised. Still, he was certain that their bond had grown strong enough since Yule to survive distance.

The cheer they all gave was a silent promise to hold together even when countries apart, and at the same time Harry could feel the apprehension in the air, for none of them would have an easy path ahead.


	35. A new Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this chapter making a bit less sense date-wise, but Rowling made it very difficult by letting every school year start on Monday, September 1st… In canon, the last task is June 24th. According to hp lexicon calculations, this would fall on a Wednesday. By actual calendars though, this was a Saturday. In this story I am for dates/days staying with actual historical calendars as much as I can because I'll only get confused otherwise. Due to that though, the End of Year Feast in this chapter is on Friday the 30th of June and not the non-existent Friday 2nd of July which Rowling took in her books. These missing days also mean that I could not possibly cram in exams in those few days, so I am assuming that the rest of school did their exams before the last task and any remaining classes are merely already preparation for next year. (according to HP-lexicon, this was also the case in philosopher stone, where the Hogwarts Express only left like a week after the official end of the year and I guess they still had classes then instead of only hanging around the castle?)

The last days at Hogwarts were, after waving off the students from the other schools, relatively uneventful until the very last one. A loud pang startled Harry from his dream and it took him a moment to comprehend that once more, Dobby's face was hanging over his.

''Mr. Harry Potter Sir!'' the elf squeaked excitedly even as Harry groaned and tried to push him away. ''Message for you!'' Rubbing his eyes, the teen only gave the elf an unimpressed look, his vision too blurry to make the face out clearly, accepting the parchment scroll that was put in his hand. With a beaming smile, Dobby disapparated again. Harry put on his glasses and took a few seconds to read the scroll, then groaned and let his head fall back into his pillow. Dumbledore, great. He'd already hoped to not see more of the Headmaster until the next school year. How many more memories was he going to see? There had been a total of four now, one about Voldemort's maternal family, one about Death Eaters, and two about Voldemort himself.

Seeing that Dumbledore had set an absolutely insane time for their meeting, Harry sighed and dressed, trying not to wake any of the others. It was only due to the silencing charms on his bed hangings that had kept them ignorant of Dobby's presence. Literally the only good thing about this meeting was that Harry would likely miss the first hour of class. As that was History of Magic, he didn't mind at all. He unfortunately doubted that he could drag it out long enough to also forego the second hour of it. As he went out of the portrait hole, rumbles already came from his stomach. Skipping breakfast was not something he was very happy about, Dumbledore better have some good reason for calling him to the man's office this early in the morning.

''Harry, come in, come in,'' the wizard spoke as Harry shuffled inside, trying to suppress a yawn. Dumbledore stood at the side of the room, his hands cupped around something small. Noticing a pile of ash on the floor around Fawkes' perch, Harry could imagine what it was. ''You came a few minutes late for another heart attack,'' the man spoke, a smile tugging at his lips, reminding Harry of how he'd reacted the last time the bird had burst into flames in front of his eyes.

''Right. Not to be impolite Sir, but why did you call me at this time? You usually wait for an evening.''

''Very true. Come here Harry.'' The teen moved closer to Dumbledore, who took his hand and carefully put Fawkes in the palm. Harry couldn't help but smile at the little chick and started to scratch the phoenix' head. ''We didn't have much time since the whole ordeal with Crouch. I am saddened to say that we neither caught him nor did we retrieve Alastor. I have heard that Sirius informed you about Mrs. Figgs being one of ours. It would ease me if you'd now and then go to her if your relatives will allow it, to ensure that you are still safe. I do not wish to intrude on your holidays too much and the protection around the Dursleys' home should keep you safe enough, but it's better to be safe than sorry.''

''Sir…'' Harry spoke, biting his lips. Somehow, this summons greatly reminded him of the end of his very first year at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore had answered some of his questions for the first time. That also had been at the last day of term. ''About those protections. You told me after the whole ordeal with the philosopher's stone that my mother's sacrifice left behind a sort of… barrier. Yet you never answered my question of why my parents had to give their lives for me. Why Voldemort was after me.''

''Harry, you were far too young then…''

''I understand that,'' he spoke. ''I was, I'd only just been introduced to the wizarding world and knew hardly anything. Now we are three years further: I've faced Voldemort another time, together with a basilisk; I've met my godfather; I've taken part in an international Tournament… Could you answer that question now?''

Dumbledore hesitated, his wrinkles deepening significantly. ''You're still only fourteen,'' he finally decided. ''You've gone through much more than I ever wanted to ask of you. I couldn't possibly add to that burden even more than I was forced to this year.'' Harry's shoulders slumped. A part of him had, for a moment, truly believed that Dumbledore now had enough faith in him to speak of the prophecy. That he was once more left in the dark was disappointing. A surprisingly strong hand landed on his shoulder and Harry looked up into the blue eyes of the headmaster. They looked sad, lost almost.

''Sir, are you alright?'' he hesitantly asked. It was only when Dumbledore moved away that Harry with a shock realised that looking into Dumbledore's eyes had been something he'd been trying to avoid all year. Direct eye contact was the one thing that Voldemort's amulet didn't protect against. Harry's heart thudded in his chest. There had not been any flashes of memories like when Voldemort had sifted through his mind, nor did Dumbledore show any outward reaction. Did that mean that the Headmaster hadn't used Legilimency? Or had he just not found anything since Harry honestly hadn't been thinking of anything odd that moment, only observing Dumbledore's eyes?

The man sighed and moved behind his desk, sitting down. ''I have had to make many choices in life Harry. They weren't always easy, and I regret many, even the choices which I knew were right for the good of the people. I am sure to make many more, some of which will influence you. It is my deepest wish that I will not have to regret any of those.'' Harry gave him an uneasy look. ''Don't mind my musings,'' Dumbledore smiled. ''When you are older Harry… for now, I wish for you to gain a bit more understanding. I called you here this early since I do not know how much time it will take, and I'd hate to take up much of your last evening at Hogwarts this year.'' He waved his wand and the Pensieve was placed in the middle of the desk again. ''I have three, slightly longer memories this time, all very similar. Your task today is to try and spot the differences.''

Harry sat down too, gently putting Fawkes in front of him. Dumbledore had never actually given him a task before, so he was rather curious about it. Curiosity, Harry noted, was quickly becoming one of his less desirable and constant traits. He'd have to be very careful about that. Ignoring his once again rumbling stomach, he watched as Dumbledore dropped a memory into the bowl and gestured for Harry to go first. As he did so, he found himself in a classroom. The transfiguration classroom, Harry saw, recognising a few items which McGonagall still had, although the room itself was in a different part of the castle than he was used to, having a view on the lake rather than on the grounds and being a bit higher up. The much younger Dumbledore that he'd already seen twice before, with auburn hair and a shorter beard, stood in front of the class. He dressed a lot more stylishly than he did nowadays too, having a short cut of robes, even if aubergine was still a rather out-of-place colour. Instantly, Harry also spotted Riddle, who had a seat at the very front. Had he been put there by Dumbledore to keep an eye on? Or had Riddle, as someone who wished to stand out in all aspects, academics especially, chosen that spot himself? He turned to ask the Headmaster, but Dumbledore had already settled down on one of the empty desks in the back and gestured for Harry to move forwards.

He did so, feeling quite odd as he walked in between rows of students of the past, who neither saw nor heard him. Young Dumbledore was explaining the theory behind the transfiguration of surface materials, demonstrating it with the chalkboard, turning it from slate to a scaly texture, then to feathers, followed by a rippling, fluid material that still clung to the wall. Harry stopped next to Tom's desk, looking at the boy with uncertainty. He seemed to be around the same age as Harry, perhaps a tad younger even, it was rather hard to tell. Riddle didn't quite have that look of arrogance on him that his sixteen-year-old self would later have, perhaps because he hadn't been granted a position as prefect yet. Harry kept observing Riddle, who answered any question with ease, although he never once offered his knowledge voluntarily by raising his hand. A defiant look was in his eyes as Dumbledore challenged him, together with three other students, to attempt the spell, turning a smaller slate board into anything they wanted. The others chose for options demonstrated before by their professor. Tom smirked slightly, then changed the surface into a mass of writhing thorns that had Dumbledore pulling his hands back quickly to avoid getting stung.

''My apologies professor, I hadn't meant for them to move so much,'' Riddle spoke, the glee in his voice a tad too audible for his words to be believable. He received a few snickers from the back of class and a piercing look from Dumbledore.

''Come Harry,'' the older version said, ''Time for the second one.'' The scenery changed without them actually leaving the Pensieve. Harry blinked, suddenly in the classroom that** he** was familiar with as Transfiguration room. ''Ah yes, I forgot that that was the year I relocated. Much more space, plus a few students had managed to turn the tiles of my previous room into a permanent Portkey to Andorra. This was supposed to be a temporary solution until they fixed that particular problem, but I decided to keep it.'' And indeed, Dumbledore this time stood on the same pedestal that McGonagall still used nowadays, giving a lecture on conjuring charms. That must be sixth year then if the curriculum stayed the same. -McGonagall was one of the few teachers who had gone to the length of actually giving them a year-by-year overview of what they would roughly be learning, even if she did revise that sheet at the start of each year for 'those dunderheads' who lost their list or had forgotten it.-

Knowing what was expected, Harry this time instantly beelined for Riddle's seat, which was now, interestingly enough, at the side of the wall and a bit back. ''Is there any reason why he changed seats?'' Harry asked.

''None that he cared to inform me about,'' Dumbledore said, ''though I have my suspicions now.'' It looked that they weren't appointed their seats then, Harry supposed, just like it was now. At the start of each year, they could pick their new spots in all classes. _So, sixth year_, he mused. Voldemort would have already split his soul once by creating the diary then, considering that he'd made that after his birthday in fifth year. Getting closer to Riddle, Harry could notice the changes, small out-of-place details that hadn't been there in the memory of his younger self before, perhaps because of the part of soul that had been broken off. Riddle looked pale, not as snow-white as his current form or as pasty as in his thirties, but pale nonetheless, like he was sick. His eyes were rather blood-shot too, and Harry realised that he'd perhaps chosen a spot at the wall to avoid attention being drawn to his appearance when sunlight would fall on his face. He hadn't really considered before that of course those changes had had to be so gradual that Riddle's appearance had changed with each sliver of soul that left his main body. Riddle was even less approachable now than before, showing his displeasure openly whenever being made to answer Dumbledore's questions. Considering that Harry had gotten the idea of Voldemort being a rather stellar student, he supposed that Riddle only acted this way in Dumbledore's classes, his real nature shining through.

''So, I would like to see the results of your projects,'' the young version of Dumbledore spoke. ''Miss Blythe, Mr. Farley and Mr. Livingstone made a team, correct?'' he said, looking down on a roll of parchment. ''I'd like to see what you came up with, as well as the team of Mr. Norton, Mr. Oakes and Mr. Everly. And then one more… Ah, Mr. Riddle.'' Dumbledore gave a tight smile. ''Since you told me you could invent a conjuring spell on your own, I'd like to see how far you got.'' All teams -six Ravenclaws and Riddle- stood up and moved to the front of the class. Tom drew his wand, gave Dumbledore a mistrusting look, then concentrated on an empty spot in front.

''_**Serpensortia**_!'' he spoke, making the same forward-striking motion with his wand that Harry had seen during his own duel with Malfoy, and for a moment he was flummoxed, ignoring the large snake that slithered past him and had all other students screaming. Voldemort had** invented** this spell? He almost laughed, then. Of course. Who** else** would invent a specific spell to conjure up snakes. Had Snape known that before teaching it to Malfoy?

''You do not fear snakes, do you Harry?'' Dumbledore asked behind him. Harry took a moment to answer, observing Riddle's face, which had darkened even further. There was no triumph in his eyes over creating a spell like this on his own. Rather, there was a slight, sadistic smile on his face as he watched his peers as they fled their seats and tried to hastily cast shield spells until Dumbledore stepped in and vanished the serpent. After that, his expression changed from gleeful into contempt.

Harry turned around and shrugged. ''It is rather hard to fear an animal that most of the time likes to laze around in the sun and sleep. Especially when I can talk to them and make sure they don't harm anyone.'' Sure, snakes could be dangerous, but most species that lived in England were absolutely harmless, and the only one that wasn't didn't actively seek out humans, more likely to hide away from them. Other than with spiders, which often came into the homes of people, he couldn't really understand why so many people developed an active fear of the shy animals. From his aunt Marge, Harry knew that each year several thousands of people were admitted to hospitals from dog bites -she'd bragged about that fact to a couple of tourists who had tried to take a shortcut over her ground as a warning and given her brother a long, proud speech about it during her next visit-. Harry highly doubted that the same could be said for snakes. Even Nagini preferred to prey on much smaller mammals and she was a massive, lethal, magical snake that most definitely didn't belong in Britain.

''It looks like your opinion isn't shared by many, and Tom didn't make it much better with his little stunt,'' Dumbledore sighed. ''Well, one memory left.'' Harry looked once more at the teenage Tom Riddle before turning expectantly to Dumbledore. The scene around them whirled once more, even if they landed in the same room again. Last time it had been a morning class. Now, it was so dark that Dumbledore had lit floating candles not unlike those in the great hall all around the classroom to provide some light. Outside, a snowstorm raged through the dark sky. The shadows made it hard to make out individual students for a few moments. Then, Harry spotted Tom again, made easier by the fact that the Slytherin hadn't changed seats again. For the first time, Harry cared to also look at the other Slytherins, wondering how many of those had become Death Eaters. Form Barty's stories, he had heard that Voldemort had already started building up a circle while at school. However, most of those people, like Abraxas Malfoy or Druella Rosier, hadn't actually been in Tom's year. Some of them had even already graduated from Hogwarts and were introduced to Riddle at parties during Christmas or Easter holidays. It might explain why he didn't work together with any of his class mates for projects…

Riddle's appearance had changed again, Harry saw. His skin was so pale now that it couldn't be denied that this wasn't merely some sickness. His eyes were also not entirely dark green anymore, a reddish gleam flashing whenever the candlelight hit them. There were still very few other differences though, Harry supposed that splitting his soul twice as opposed to at least six times -as far as he knew- meant that enough soul was left to not do too much damage to Riddle's body. He still had all his hair at least. This time Dumbledore followed, looking down at Riddle with a sad smile. ''I assume you can see the differences?''

Harry nodded. ''I do… and I remember from the memory you showed me from when he returned to Hogwarts, that his physical changes were much more drastic too. What causes it?''

''Ah, that it for us to discuss after. It wasn't only his appearance that changed though. Tom was always cruel, but over time he became less good at hiding it. Changing things I touched into thorns and conjuring snakes to scare his classmates were only pranks compared to what he came to do in time, after all. Unfortunately, both the headmaster and the other professors didn't listen to me… they did not see the monster that was growing in the castle,'' the man sighed. Harry stiffened at the word.

''But you did,'' Harry softly spoke. ''So what did you do to help him?''

Silence fell over them as Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who frowned. In the background, the man's younger version started speaking about animation of objects. Riddle next to him hardly reacted to the lesson, scratching away on his paper, creating strange diagrams and drawings.

''He was beyond help then,'' the man whispered. ''He'd pushed me away from the very first day… I was trying to minimise the damage he could do to others instead.''

Harry swallowed heavily and looked away, at the boy who was already well on his way to becoming a Dark Lord. In fact, hadn't Magic come to Tom while he was still at Hogwarts? He sighed and reached out without thinking, his fingers hovering against Tom's cheek. ''No-one is beyond help, not as long as they keep reaching out in any way,'' he spoke. ''And he did reach out, by asking multiple times to remain at Hogwarts.''

''Harry…'' Dumbledore spoke, a warning tone in his voice.

Defiantly, the teen turned around. ''Look, I understand that you brought me here to see how Riddle slowly changed and became more and more horrible. But honestly, he's not the only one who is to blame for that. Can you blame someone for hating Muggles after being estranged by them throughout their entire youth? Or blame someone for hating the person who could have gotten him out of all that, yet refused? You said before that you regret making some decisions. I certainly hope that you regret threatening an eleven-year old on the one day he saw hope on the horizon, that you regret not swallowing your pride for one moment in which you could have told him he was special. Because from that day on, he's gone above and beyond to prove to you that he was, leading to** this**!''

Harry couldn't have picked a worse moment for his outburst, for during his rant, the other Dumbledore had called Tom to the front of the class again for a demonstration. As Harry turned around, Tom showed both his skills in conjuring and transfiguration, a pile of white sticks appearing first and then, slowly, starting to move. Harry swallowed down everything else he'd wanted to say as in front of the class, a human skeleton rose upwards, staring into nothing with its empty sockets, shuffling forwards-

''No matter how things may have started, and how much I contributed to it,'' Dumbledore then said, looking at Tom's creation for a long, hard moment, ''Nothing could have stopped him from becoming what he did. Because other than you, Harry, Voldemort never was capable of empathy, or love. The only thing he ever loved was the darkness in himself.''

The air whirled again and Harry gasped as he landed back on his chair in Dumbledore's office.

Before he had the chance to say anything, Dumbledore raised his hands and spoke: ''You remind me of a friend of mine Harry… he as well, never found a monster he couldn't love or forgive. I still don't agree with him, sometimes it is necessary to push away those who have proven to be dangerous. You should keep this in mind too, especially when it comes to Voldemort. As bad as his past was, it is no excuse for the crimes he committed, even at a young age. I admit to making one mistake however.'' Harry sat up straighter in his chair. ''With your heart, I cannot imagine you to ever choose a path that would hurt other people. Hold onto those feelings, my boy, for they are a rarity in this world. Protect those who are dear to you, and save who you can.'' He leaned closer with a smile. ''But do try not to snoop into the Restricted Section for that too often.''

''I won't, professor,'' he answered in all honesty. The Restricted Section didn't hold a candle to Voldemort's personal collection. He left all Dumbledore's unspoken implications as they were. They both knew how the Headmaster's trust in him had wavered, had spoken it out enough to not mention it again. Harry only still wondered how the man wished for Harry to both stand up to Voldemort and at the same time not hurt people and keep love in his heart. Sometimes it felt like the headmaster wasn't even aware of what impossible and contradicting things he asked of others. ''So, I have already pointed out the differences that I saw,'' Harry finally spoke, taking one of the sandwiches that had appeared next to him on the desk. He only vaguely tasted the tuna salad as he chewed it down, too deep in thought about the impressions those memories had left. '' The physical changes, his attitude… You said you'd tell me what caused it?'' Perhaps he was a bit too direct, but Harry had a burning need to know to what conclusions Dumbledore had come.

''I think it was murder,'' the headmaster answered with a sigh. ''After your adventure in the Chamber of Secrets, I learned that it really had been Tom who'd killed poor Myrtle, and I am almost certain that by the time of the last memory, he'd killed once again. Each time he became a bit less human, as if something was… missing.''

''Missing, professor?''

''From the very first day that I met Tom, he was already strange, dangerous. The stories of the matron who had taken him in and of the other children made me come to the conclusion that he had already a very warped mind. That became worse over time, and started to affect him each time he murdered. That is my theory at least. As if the little humanity he had seeped further away… I'm still developing that theory further.''

''You make it sound as if he wasn't human to start with,'' harry frowned.

''I am honestly not too sure. Can you call someone who cannot feel all human emotions, completely human?''

''To be blunt, professor, that is like saying that someone who was born without legs isn't human because he cannot stand like any other. Also, you've met him when he was eleven years old, eleven years in which he was isolated in a Muggle orphanage, surrounded only by those who were afraid of him. Enough time to become traumatised enough to perhaps not trust the first stranger who comes along with the full scope of one's emotions.''

Dumbledore gave him a wavering smile. ''Ah, Harry, your absolutely positive attitude both lifts my spirit and is devastating at the same time. Voldemort cannot be saved anymore. The only question that remains now is why, and how to end the terror he started. If there is one thing in life that I have had to learn, it is that the dead should stay dead. And he died thirteen years ago.''

''You okay?'' Ron asked as Harry finally got to class. It was apparently the second time that his friend had asked by the look that Ron gave him. Harry's head was still filled with Dumbledore's words and a pounding anger at the man's refusal to even consider the fact that Voldemort was still human no matter the deeds he'd done. Hermione looked up too with concern.

Dumbledore had given him a slip for Professor Binns, but Harry decided that it wasn't worth even bringing attention to as the ghost was in one of his typical rants about Goblins and Harry seriously doubted that he was aware of having students at the moment. He thus slipped into his seat and whispered: ''Everything okay, Dumbledore wanted to talk to me. I'll tell you and Mione all about it in the train tomorrow morning. I doubt we'll have much time to speak before then.''

He was right in that assumption, their lessons taking up most of the day, and packing and cleaning up the few hours before the End-of-Year feast. Harry paid little attention to Dumbledore's speech in favour of indulging in the food, of an abundance and quality he couldn't hope to have in the coming months. After sneaking to the sixth years dorms to give the Twins their promised money, Harry crashed in bed early, having no notable dreams to his disappointment. He hoped he would see Voldemort again sooner rather than later, not wishing to be cooped up at the Dursleys for long, lest he'd be driven insane.

In the morning, he and his friends went to the station together, now and then looking back at the castle they wouldn't see for a while. After a slight debate with himself, Harry decided to also invite Neville and Ginny, though the latter refused, wishing to spend time with her own friends. At Neville's grateful look, Harry was glad that he asked the boy, who had tried his best to help Harry all through the year. Neville might not be the best student, or the brightest, he did have his heart in the right place and Harry felt like he and Ron especially were old enough now to get over the opinion that Neville wasn't 'cool' enough to be their friend. -Hermione never had had a problem with Neville in the first place-. It was due to this that Neville was also informed of Harry's trips to Dumbledore's office, which apparently made his respect for Harry rise about three hundred percent, no matter how much Harry tried to explain that it really wasn't all that great.

Other than Dumbledore and memories of Voldemort, they mainly discussed holiday plans. Ron's family had been quite vague in their letters, mentioning something about not remaining at the burrow for the entire holiday. From Sirius' stories and Dumbledore's plans to call the Order together, Harry had an solid idea of where they would be staying, as he'd already hinted at to Fred and George. While the Weasleys hadn't actually been Order members before, they were avid supporters of Dumbledore now, and Harry was very certain that they'd be asked to participate. Hermione on her part was going to Spain for two weeks with her parents before returning to England again, having no further plans for how to spend the rest yet, at which Ron promptly suggested that she could always come over to his place. Harry kept mostly quiet, already having said everything he wanted to, not feeling like making his lie more believable by unnecessary details, except for when his friends asked him direct questions about it. Since he usually was a bit quiet on the train back to the Dursleys, they were thankfully understanding and left him to his musings.

''Hey, at least you do not have to stay there long this time right?'' Hermione gently told him as she gave him a goodbye-hug after leaving platform nine and threequarters.

''True,'' he replied, an empty feeling overcoming him as he recognised Vernon's car. Not long… but how long exactly, he didn't know. For all he knew, something would go wrong and Voldemort would have more pressing matters on his mind than saving Harry from the Dursleys. He said his hellos and goodbyes also to the Weasleys, thanking Molly once again for being so kind to stand in as family at the last Task, and secretly giving the Twins a thumbs up for their projects.

Vernon narrowed his eyes at Harry as he approached the car with a dreaded feel in the pit of his stomach. Hedwig hooted quietly, even she had learned that screeching around the Dursleys would lead to less food. ''So, back again then?'' his uncle barked.

''It would seem so.''

''Last summer was good with you out of the house,'' the man sneered. ''I've half a mind to send you away somewhere.''

Harry didn't say anything, still having too many doubts about everything working out to make a snarky comment back about sending himself away. He loaded his trunk in the car with difficulty, then sat in the back with Hedwig's cage on his lap, having made sure that the bottom of it was sparkly clean before leaving Hogwarts and removing the last few droppings right after exiting the train. He didn't want to have to put his pet in the boot again, even if now he had to suffer Vernon's constant glances in the rear-view mirror to make sure Hedwig didn't dirty his expensive car. No further words were exchanged during the hour-long ride back to Privet drive, a trip during which absolutely nothing happened, a preview of a regular Dursley day. Once they got out of the car and arrived 'home', Vernon took him aside like he did every year, threatening with his key. ''If anything happens this summer, anything at all, that will make the neighbours wonder what is going on here, you'll be sleeping in the garden for the rest of the holidays.''

Any neighbours that didn't know yet that something weird was going on in a house where bars had been installed on one of the windows, probably wouldn't notice any accidental magic either in Harry's opinion, though he kept that thought to himself. ''Yes Uncle Vernon,'' he muttered, taking Hedwig's cage under one arm and struggling to take his trunk inside with the other, where Uncle Vernon instantly confiscated it and locked it away in the cupboard under the stairs.

Each day here was almost as if Hogwarts had never existed, the only reminder being his wand, which he had hidden under his shirt before even entering the car. Each time he showed up downstairs to do anything other than household chores, he was met with hostile stares, grinding teeth and rude comments from his Aunt and Uncle. Not being particularly interested in being made to feel unwelcome every second of the day, he tried to avoid his family members as much as possible, which improved the general mood in the house. At first he'd pondered on whether or not he should sneak down and at least watch the news to see if anything strange was going on, then dismissed it. There was no way that Voldemort would be going out of hiding anytime soon. Thus, he tried to stay as invisible as possible to at least have a chance of receiving meals and not ruining any chances to get out of here. The only blessing he had was that Dudley had decided he'd outgrown being mummy's little boy, instead running wild with the gang of douchebags he'd gathered to rob children and vandalise whatever they could find on the streets. That left a lot less time for him to hunt and beat up Harry, who wisely stayed inside. The situation was all in all quite ironic, considering how his family had always tried to paint** him** as being criminal.

It didn't mean that Harry got away completely without bruises though. Dudley was not such a problem anymore, but his Aunt and Uncle all the more so. As much as they tried to tell themselves that their little Duddykins was having tea over at friends, the whispers of the neighbourhood reached even their stubborn ears. Being even meaner to Harry than usual whenever he cared to appear was apparently the only outlet they could find, causing even the slightest sarcastic response to be punished heavily.

Days passed, Harry's only highlights of the magical world being the _Prophet_ and vague letters from Ron that were brought by owls during late evenings. He wasn't entirely sure why they were so uninformative, since it was clear between the lines that Ron and his family had gone to Grimmauld place as he'd expected. And Dumbledore had** told** Sirius while Harry was there that the Order would gather, with the house as their headquarters. Perhaps it was to prevent anyone from intercepting important information? The teen found that he didn't care much anymore, trying to survive the heat that had already started very early this year and ignored the messages he received. Was he stuck here? Had it been too much to hope for a better place?

Even Mrs Figgs couldn't cheer him up. The Squib had invited him over for tea twice already, but he'd refused. Each time, it felt like a stab of betrayal that he'd never been told before. Someone with ties to the magical community had lived so close, watched over him _-spied on him?-_ all of his life on Dumbledore's orders, all the while leading him to believe that he was a messed up child who strange things happened to. It wasn't that he was completely ungrateful… on Thursday the Dursleys weren't home for most of time, so Harry went to the local supermarket for some ingredients and baked her cookies, putting them on the doorstep of Mrs Figgs with a card. She** had,** after all, tried to patch him up with potions over the years and given him some away-time from his family, so that was worth something. Harry just didn't think he could face her in person, not wanting to blow up on the old woman with questions.

On Friday, Harry finally recalled the advice Sirius had given him in regards to Dumbledore. He really should get himself to Gringotts and speak with the Goblins about guardianship and all that. The Headmaster may not have much to say about Harry's summer plans as long as the Dursleys let him go, he'd like to see how much influence his magical guardian had and on what exactly. Thus, as soon as he'd prepared breakfast for the Dursleys and gotten an apple and a piece of toast as thanks, he went out of the door with thudding heart. Last time he'd gone to the Leaky on his own, it had been on the run, ending with him staying there after a run-in with Cornelius Fudge. He certainly hoped things would go smoother now. In his pocket, he had a few coins that he'd also saved from the Dursley's prying eyes and hands, enough for the fare back and forth and hopefully a bit of ice cream. He only hoped that the goblins would actually give information about his bank account, since the key to it was still locked in the cupboard.

Harry made as little conversation in the Knight's bus as possible, trying his best to keep upright and not spill his stomach contents. The sole mercy of the bus was the speed at which the experience was over with… Harry stumbled out in front of the Leaky Cauldron and instantly went to the back, not up for conversations with random strangers. He couldn't completely avoid it, people flocking to him now not only for being the boy-who-lived but also a Triwizard Tournament winner, asking for autographs and taking pictures together. One girl especially was visibly upset when he denied hugging her for a photo and stomped away. In a much worse mood than before, he ducked into the bank, grumbling to himself, walking up to the same counter he usually went to, the same one where he'd first spoken to a Goblin with Hagrid. Harry didn't know much about Goblins apart from what he'd heard in history class. As such, he always felt a bit awkward when speaking to the creatures. Perhaps the Ministry would have been a better idea?''

''Yes, Mr Potter?'' the goblin in front of him spoke, leaning over the counter, staring with unblinking, tiny black eyes. A row of sharp teeth was very visible as it spoke.

''I... erhm, it was recommended to me to come to Gringotts for information about guardianship and such things,'' he spoke, deciding that it would be better to be direct about it.

''Vault key?''

Harry blinked. ''No, I didn't come here for money. I don't have the vault key with me. I just want to know who my guardian is.''

The creature sighed deeply and muttered something that sounded very much like a curse. ''Gold is everything, wizard,'' the goblin spoke, clearly angry. ''Or did you think you would get information for free here?''

''Well, it was here or the Ministry,'' Harry said, getting distressed. ''Wouldn't that info be free there either?''

The goblin was silent for a while, then raised a finger in a gesture to wait and got up from his seat, disappearing through a short door in the wall. Harry sighed and leaned on the counter. He should have learnt from his encounter with the mermaids to look up the cultures and manners of other magical beings he would have to deal with. He waited for almost fifteen minutes, already not having any further hope that he'd ever receive help anymore, when the door opened again and the goblin returned. ''Right.'' It said without any apology. Harry somehow hadn't expected one either. ''We can proceed.''

''Wait, I don't need my key after all?'' Harry asked, perking up, shrinking away a bit as he was glared at.

''Don't think that this special treatment is because of your status in the wizarding world,'' it sneered, then muttered softly: ''News can spread fast among non-humans, especially those who have been particularly looked down upon by warlocks. It is known that you freed a house-elf. For that, we shall overlook your ignorance in this matter. We will only require a look at your wand for identification.'' Nodding hastily, Harry withdrew his wand and carefully placed it in the black-clawed fingers of the Goblin, waiting nervously as it was inspected. Without a word, it returned the wand to him. ''Good. Here is all your legal and financial information.'' He accepted the dusty booklet handed to him and curiously flipped it open, only to find empty pages. ''Some blood would, of course, help,'' the Goblin dryly remarked after he stared at it for a couple of seconds.

''Ah, right,'' he said, looking around for anything sharp, only seeing the Goblins' quill. ''As I can't use magic out of Hogwarts, could I…'' he gestured, accepting the quill as it was offered and using it to prick some blood. ''Am surprised that the Ministry doesn't mind this,'' he remarked, as ink started to flow over the pages. ''Isn't blood magic forbidden?''

''Not when we claim it to be goblin-specific magic,'' the creature shrugged. ''So, the first half is financial figures regarding your deposits and transactions, the second half regards your inheritance matters. Guardianship is also regulated there.'' Harry quickly flipped through, numbers dancing in front of his eyes. The only facts he noted about the first part was that information on two separate vaults was available; a trust vault for his money and the main Potter vault for more money and objects. Both of them held a considerable amount of gold of which he instantly swore the Weasleys would somehow, secretly, receive a large sum. He could clearly miss it. Harry would have to look at that second vault at a later date and figure out where the key had gone… For now, he was far more interested in the second section, which only consisted of a couple of pages. It showed a crude, very linear family tree of everyone who had once held either of his two vaults and showed when they'd been set up. Other than that, a single page contained his own data: a brief summary about him that would not have been amiss on a chocolate frog card, wand description, age etcetera. Somehow, he'd expected secret goblin documents to have been a bit more exciting, perhaps showing notable ancestors or artefacts that belonged to him.

The only noteworthy thing was written all the way on the bottom of 'his' page, and Harry had to look thrice to believe what he saw. There, in clear black ink stood:  
_Muggle guardian: Petunia Dursley Née Evans.  
Magical guardian: Sirius Black. _

''Sirius?'' he exclaimed in confusion. ''But how… how is that possible?'' he looked up at the Goblin. ''My godfather told me his guardianship should have been transferred years ago. The one who held the key to my vault and personal belongings of my parents was Albus Dumbledore!''

''Our books do not lie, Mr Potter,'' was the only answer he received, in a rather frosty tone at that. ''You have seen enough?''

''I suppose,'' he replied, closing the booklet again and handing it back, the Goblin nearly ripping it away from his fingers. ''Thank you for being lenient, I promise to bring my key with next time.'' Couldn't hurt to be polite after all, even if he had no specific liking towards Goblins.

The being regarded Harry with its odd eyes for a few seconds longer. ''Do that. _Degamih i sonlouri_''

Harry blinked at the words, figuring they were something in Gobbledegook and awkwardly said: ''Same to you,'' before shuffling away, hoping that the words hadn't been an insult or something similar.

Three more days passed, and Harry had debated a few times whether or not he would just up and go to Sirius, Order be damned, especially now that he needed to speak to his godfather about this whole magical guardianship thing. All of his theories about Dumbledore were absolutely for naught now, no Goblin would have let the Headmaster touch a vault he didn't have rights to. It did irritate him somewhat that the man had made it sound as if he had some semblance of control over where Harry remained during summer. But as much as Harry lay awake from his own musings, for some reason he couldn't really find it in him to move and actually **do** something. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe the empty hopelessness that had plagued him all week already… He'd even become a lot less responsive to the Dursley's, enduring his underserved punishments with apathy, which made Vernon even angrier since he 'didn't get through' to his nephew.

The doorbell rang: two short, angry shrills that Harry heard more from his opened window than from downstairs. He didn't react, perfectly content to keep lying there, staring at the yellowed ceiling. The rest of the house may be kept in perfect shape, it looked like the Dursleys hadn't touched anything in Harry's room since he'd moved in here… A few angry words from Uncle Vernon that he couldn't quite make out made Harry frown. Not an expected visitor then, were people going around again with advertisements? A heavy slam shook the house, evidently the door had been shut rather abruptly. Harry closed his eyes and rolled over to one side, hoping that his Uncle wouldn't need to let his anger out any further than with yelling. The bell rang again, three curt rings this time. Harry sighed deeply. Some people just couldn't give up, could they?

Unexpectantly, the door was apparently opened again, for he heard people speaking downstairs, then move through the corridor. Curiosity and indifference struggled for control, the former winning after a couple of minutes. Before he could get up however, he heard voices again, much clearer now. ''You stay away from me, you freak! I do not tolerate this in my house. First owls, then a hairy giant,** out**!''

Harry's heart shot up to his chest at the words and he was running for the door a second later, throwing it open. He didn't particularly care about the fact that he was wearing ugly old trousers from Dudley or a shirt that was at least ten years old, as soon as he saw who had entered, he couldn't get down the stairs fast enough. ''You came,'' he breathed, days of worry washed away as he stared up in the ruby eyes that gleamed from beneath a black hood.

Lord Voldemort himself stood in the pristine corridor of the Dursleys, looking as out of place as Aunt Petunia would have in Knockturn.


	36. Reunion

''You look… awful,'' Voldemort commented, clearly displeased. ''Can you not at least bother wearing something clean if you must wear Muggle clothing?''

Harry only grinned at him, no words could bring down his happiness. ''You think I have a choice? Living here?'' he asked in return, skipping down the last stairs. Damn, he'd forgotten how tall the Dark Lord was. ''I guess you already introduced yourself?'' Both Vernon and Petunia stood at the end of the hallway now, staring with rather wide eyes at the white yew wand around which Voldemort had loosely curled his fingers.

''I doubt there is a need, they will not remember anything from this exchange,'' the man spoke. ''That would be rather counterproductive to me ensuring the Order didn't notice anything up to this point. Get your things, we're leaving as fast as possible.'' Slightly disappointed, Harry moved towards the cupboard and, with a glance at his Aunt and Uncle, pulled forth a hairpin. It wasn't the first time he'd picked the lock to steal some of his school books, and usually he was quite proficient at it, but doing so under the staring eyes of his family didn't make it go any faster. As he'd feared, Vernon's shock over once again having a wizard in his house faded quickly.

''Boy, what do you think you… **Stealing! Breaking in**! 'Tunia, look at that, he** is** a criminal, Marge was absolutely right!'' It was in this moment that Harry remembered that Uncle Vernon was at times too stupid to be afraid. This was the same man who had threatened a magical Half-Giant with a gun. He only ducked just in time to avoid Vernon's fist, cursing as the pin he'd used broke off in the lock.

''Enough,'' Voldemort hissed disdainfully. ''Stop wasting my time, Muggles. We're in a hurry.''

Harry groaned softly as Vernon made himself even bigger than he was. Being so much larger, physically, would his Uncle stand a chance if he tackled Voldemort? Now that was an entertaining thought. ''Now, I do not know who you are,'' Vernon started, wagging his meaty finger in the air, taking a threatening step forwards, which had Harry scrambling away fast. Voldemort may be armed, Harry certainly had had enough bruises from this one week already to take chances. Wow, so it had come to the point where he was hiding behind his former worst enemy to seek protection from his family then? ''-I will make one thing** very** clear,'' Vernon continued, slightly foaming at the corners of his mouth. ''This is **my** house, and in **my** house, I have sworn to never tolerate this.. this** hocus pocus** and if you think that-''

Harry gasped suddenly, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and doubling over. Voldemort had clearly masked his magic again, before. Now, it started leaking through, darkness bubbling to the surface. With a swishing motion, Voldemort blasted Uncle Vernon off his feet, Petunia shrieking as her much heavier husband pressed her against the door at the other end. Harry was surprised that it held. ''I am trying to be civil here, Muggle,'' Voldemort sneered, removing his hood, eyes screaming murder. Vernon started gasping too, nearly hyperventilating at the sight of the Dark Lord.

''What.. what are you?'' he rasped, spreading his arms as if to protect his half-squashed wife.

''The worst nightmare of a great many people. And one day, your executioner. Now, as much as I wish to punish you for your crimes against a magical child, that will have to wait for another day, so do not tempt me to rip your heart from your chests right now. I am already…** this** close._** Alohomora**_,'' It was funny to see how the Dursleys ducked in fear at the spell, which merely unlocked the cupboard. Harry didn't take very long to relish in their expressions though, hurrying to get his things out. Each minute that Voldemort stayed here longer was a heightened possibility of a bloodbath. Considering the man's own past with hateful Muggles, it was a miracle that he was holding back so much. Staying hidden must be quite important indeed. Voldemort merely stared the Dursleys down, who held their tongues for now. As fast as possible, Harry ran up the stairs and retrieved Hedwig and a few other things he'd been able to smuggle to his room before or received per post.

''Won't the Ministry get wind of the performed magic?'' he asked upon returning downstairs, thinking of the whole fiasco with Dobby. ''I've been punished before for magic cast by a house-elf here.''

Voldemort gave him an odd look. ''Did Barty not explain the trace to you? The trace on your house will not activate if non-traced magicians perform the magic. House-elves, being creatures, do not fall in this category.''

''Ah, I suppose he did, it was a while ago,'' Harry answered defensively. ''I've got everything.'' He hesitated, biting his lips, then took a deep breath. ''Thank you, really. I've been waiting for you.'' At Voldemort's stony expression, he hastily looked down. He shouldn't have said that, he should** not** have said that…

''You're welcome,'' Voldemort murmured, making him look up in shock. Had he just… ''Now for your** family**'' the Dark Lord spat. ''As much as I'd love to leave them in bloody pieces for Dumbledore to puzzle together again, it would be best to not leave any trails behind. Look at me, you piece of filth!'' he hissed, crouching down to look into Vernon's panicked eyes, jabbing his wand against the many layers of double chins of Harry's Uncle. ''_**Obliviate**_.'' He repeated the spell with Aunt Petunia, wiping his wand with a disgusted grimace after on a tea towel that hung over the chair in the corner. ''To imagine that you are** related** to those people,'' he commented. ''Well, one cannot choose their family I suppose. Your cousin is still out?''

''Yeah. How do you know about him?''

''Apart from you talking about your family before and me not having the memory of a leaky cauldron like you do? Why do you think it took me a week to get you? I've let Barty observe the habits of the people around you, of that damned Squib in Wisteria Walk and of course of Dumbledore's 'extra security'. He's had some men stationed to watch you now and then. Due to lacking members and me not being an active threat, it is still rather lax security though, there are hour-long gaps in their schedules. Now for the complicated part…'' With a bit of intricate wand movement and a few muttered words, the Dursleys, still with glazed eyes, got to their feet and marched into the living room. Then, it was as if the air rippled a couple of times around them. ''To ensure that even backtracking spells will not reveal that I was here,'' Voldemort explained after a moment of inspecting their surroundings. ''There is a bit of magic that can show the history of a room, similar to how the spell Priori Incantato reveals shadows of past spells used by a wand. I've changed both the memory of this house and of your family to portray a story of you being picked up by an acquaintance of Ms Étourneau. It is why I came personally, Barty doesn't have these spells down to perfection yet.'' It was always wondrous to Harry how Voldemort could so casually slip into his teaching-tone about any little detail.

''Ah…'' Harry eloquently said, his heart making a strange squeeze at there being such a practical reason for the man to come himself. Well, what had he expected? The Dark Lord shrank his trunk and opened the door of Hedwig's cage to let the owl out, whispering something to her that caused the snowy owl to fly off into the living room, presumably to find the next open window to escape through. Harry was distracted as Voldemort came** far too close** and held out an arm, which the teen stared at stupidly.

''We'll be apparating,'' the man impatiently said.

Harry's stare turned, if possible, even less comprehending. ''I can't apparate.''

''Oh for fuck's sake,'' the man cursed, and Harry wasn't sure whether to be more shocked about that the usually so stoic Dark Lord actually used the word 'fuck' or over the fact that Harry suddenly had an arm around him and was being pressed into said Dark Lord's chest. Before his brain could catch up to the crisis, his stomach shot into his throat, the world disappearing as he was squeezed through an invisible tube. The only thing that prevented him from falling over and puking when he felt ground underneath his feet again, was the Dark Lord's arm, which still held him in a tight grip.

''Why-'' Harry gasped ''-does magic-'' another gasp, ''-suck so much with travel?''

''You'll become used to it.''

''So they said about floo,'' he grumbled. ''And Portkeys aren't any better.'' Feeling like he could walk again without instantly collapsing, Harry wriggled a bit to make it clear that he'd like being let go of. Voldemort's arm fell to the side and the man instantly started walking, whereas Harry still first took in the sight. From the outside, Riddle manor still looked exactly as run down as it had before, the garden completely overgrown, which confused him slightly, for he was certain that it had improved when he'd been here with Fleur.

''This way, through here,'' the other spoke, walking around a group of old trees next to the house and placing his hand on the trunk of one. Then, just like with the barricade at King's cross, he disappeared into it. With only slight hesitation, Harry followed, stepping through the tree and coming out at the other end, only this time the surroundings were altered.

The same group of trees, where he now stood in the middle of, didn't look so weathered anymore, lush green crowns reaching up high, branches stretching towards the clouds. Stepping out of the shadows, he now also saw that the garden was indeed as he recalled from last time, with large bushes in full bloom and rows of flowers, most of which he recognised from Herbology and Potions class. It looked like Voldemort was growing his own supply of ingredients. What he hadn't seen last time, was that the house too seemed to have been renovated. Harry felt as if he'd landed in the past century, with the manor being newly-built, exuding an air of grandeur rather than the waned glory of before. He took a moment to appreciate the change, using it as an excuse to at the same time enjoy the unfurling of Voldemort's magic, which was like invisible strands of smoke in the air, curling around him. ''It looks beautiful,'' Harry commented. ''Are you not worried about Dumbledore finding this place though? He's gotten rather close to guessing your places of interest, hasn't he?''

''I am not worried about the old fool. All magic within this house is contained with dimensional shifting, the single entrance is the one we have just gone through. Apparating to and from this place is impossible, there is no access to the Floo network and only tied Portkeys or the Dark Mark can create other entryways, both of which have to be spelled by me personally. This is even more hidden as when I'd set up my quarters in Australia instead.''

''Unless someone sees any of us lingering around the trees or actually going through them.'' Harry pointed out. ''And I know there are spells to prevent Muggles from noticing that, but wouldn't the magic of those spells remain and make these trees more suspicious? Or what about spies from Dumbledore watching the premises?''

The man looked over his shoulder and threw Harry an amused look. ''As much as I appreciate you trying to think steps ahead, do you really think** I **had not thought of any of those options? I have placed spells on the garden that make these trees hard to notice for both Muggles and mages, using source magic that is impossible to detect for normal humans. Unless Dumbledore suddenly strikes up a deal with another Lord, which is incredibly unlikely, none will notice this entryway, nor be confused as to why they cannot see this part. Only a select people can see past these spells.''

''So you.. keyed me in?'' Harry asked.

''I did not, I was interested in whether or not you could see the entrance by yourself. Having a part of my soul makes it possible, it would seem.''

''Oh joy, the observations have already started,'' the teen commented. ''When is the next blood sacrifice?''

Clearly not deeming his reply worth a response, Voldemort went up to the path leading to the house, Harry on his heels. No sooner had they entered, did a blur storm down the stairs, a blur that felt it necessary to suffocate Harry a moment later.

''Evan!'' Barty excitedly yelled in his ear. ''You survived those terrible Muggles! We need to throw a party right about now!''

''No time for festivities Bartemius,'' the Dark Lord interrupted, already on his way upstairs. ''Prepare the veranda. Four black candles, barbed hooks, ash, smoked quartz and a mirror.'' Then, he looked back at Harry. ''You next blood sacrifice is about to start. Due to your own doing, I might add.''

''What?'' the Gryffindor asked, confused.

Barty instantly let go of him as if stung. ''You** didn't**.'' he said, then looked down at Harry's feet. Harry looked as well and didn't see anything interesting. He still had two feet, that had to count for something. ''You** did**. Evan, how often did I tell you to come to me to practise spells you found in the books our Lord sent you. Now we have to clean up your mess…''

Harry sighed, wondering what he'd done wrong this time. ''Fine. Direct me to the veranda for whatever.''

''You're taking this well, a ritual upon arrival,'' Barty commented as they both went to the pantry first, which had, in Harry's absence, been remodelled as supply room for anything but food. ''Did the Tournament teach you how to be less of a mess?''

''I'm still a mess now, I just learnt how panic in style.'' Barty snorted at that and dumped a box in Harry's arms that smelled faintly of blood and in which he heard something metal clatter. ''When he said 'barbed hooks', we are not talking about any that will go into my skin, hopefully?''

''Depends on how serious it is, it might be necessary. When did you perform shadow magic?''

Blinking, it finally dawned on Harry what this was about. He hadn't realised it much in the past week, but it was true that his shadow never returned. Now that he thought of it, hadn't Voldemort said something about there being cause to worry if it didn't come back within a couple of days? That had been… nearly two weeks ago. ''Erhm… during the last task?''

Barty groaned again, louder this time. ''And you didn't find it worth telling anyone?''

''The Dark Lord knew on the same day,'' Harry defended. ''And it's not as if I could walk up to anyone at Hogwarts and ask to remedy it, nor could I write a letter to this address, could I?''

''Isn't Black partially aware of your allegiances and interest in Dark Magic? He might have had the necessary resources to counter it.''

''It's not as if anything bad happened to me,'' the teen grumbled. ''My shadow is just gone.''

Barty shook his head. ''It's not a matter to be taken lightly. Shadows are… part of a person. If you lose your shadow, you can lose parts of yourself over time. There has been the case of a group of dark wizards interested in shadow magic who collectively lost theirs. A few managed to get them back. The others… they did not have a very pleasant fate. One by one, they faded: more and more people couldn't see or hear them anymore, or even remember them. Only those who had been part of the circle of mages and retrieved their shadows still knew all members by the end of it. Have you felt faded in any way? Been less noticeable to others?''

Uncomfortable, Harry rubbed his arms. ''I don't think so. Certainly not at Hogwarts, and with the Dursleys it is hard to tell since they prefer to ignore me in the first place. About feeling faded… maybe, I've found it hard to be interested in anything lately, thought it was the heat.'' The apathy that had overcome him was gone completely now, and it was as if Harry had broken through the surface of a dream.

''Hmmpf, you can be glad that you're here now then. If anyone can fix this, it's the Dark Lord. Come on, this should be everything we need.'' Harry wondered why he wasn't more worried. His memories of all the rituals he'd been put through were certainly his least favourite from his time here, and he could never really trust Voldemort to not make it painful. Despite that, Harry felt rather uncaring towards it at the moment, helping Barty with setting up the veranda as if it was a routine: moving pots and plants away to the edges, drawing a circle, lining up the necessary items where he was told to… Harry jumped slightly when the Dark Lord swept in, his eyes scanning the room with a scrutinising gaze. The thought that this would be the first time that he actually participated in a ritual with the man having his true form crossed Harry's mind briefly. Would it make much of a difference? Voldemort had complained about not having had access to even a sliver of his powers before…

''Passable,'' the man in question interrupted his flow of thoughts. ''Before we start, I'd like to clarify that I'm not particularly fond of confusion. As long as you're here, you will be Evan again to me.''

The teen shrugged. ''Fine. I honestly don't know what I prefer anymore, Evan grew on me but I've been Harry all year so call me however you want.''

''I just explained that I'd do exactly that, I wasn't asking for your permission,'' the other spoke, sounding -and feeling, Harry noted, - slightly annoyed. ''Now, since you got yourself into this, I'll hear no complaints about anything you have to do during this rite. Can I expect you to follow orders without hesitations or objections?''

''Yeah, it's all good.''

That didn't seem to be the most desirable reply if he could trust Voldemort's mood, but the man stayed silent nonetheless after, circling around the room, apparently not done with his inspection yet. ''Bartemius, leave us, I will call for you when necessary.'' The other bowed his head and left quickly, only lingering long enough to give Harry two thumbs up, which he answered with a weak smile.

''Since you occasionally behaved unpredictably during previous rituals, I'll give a brief overview,'' Voldemort stated, standing in front of the closed door with his hands clasped behind his back. ''All of this is intended to lure your shadow into returning to you. That it did not come back in the first place is an indication of lacking self-confidence, possibly even self-denigration. You do not think enough of your own character and will thus allow yourself to fade. Magic can only do so much when your own psyche works against it. I will take over the physical aspect of this ritual to trap your shadow, but only you will be able to convince it to accept you again as a worthy host.''

''But… Harry spoke in confusion. ''I** don't** think that I'm a worthy host. I mean… I'm** me**.'' And wasn't that plain to everyone? Anything he'd achieved, he'd done so on the burden of others. How could he, just Harry, do anything to convince anyone to stick with him? As grateful as he was for all the friends he had, Harry would never understand** why** they all gave him trust and loyalty. He was nothing exceptional.

Voldemort glared at him and spoke, rather aggressively: ''If my soul thought you a worthy host when you were a mere baby, then you'd better be enough for your own shadow now, Potter! If you cannot believe in yourself, you'd better believe in **my** decisions. My power runs through you, so **act like it**. I am not about to list your achievements to make you feel good about yourself. That doesn't mean that they're not there and if you haven't suddenly been brainwashed, surely you are able to recall them yourself. Concentrate on that. Search within yourself, find your strengths and **seize** them.''

Easier said than done. Harry took a deep breath, trying not to feel too lost. Looking up, he searched out Voldemort's eyes, the red gaze calming him somewhat. Surely, if the most powerful wizard he'd ever met could believe in him, he had done** something** to deserve that? ''I… okay.. I'll try,''

''**Superb**,'' was the highly sarcastic answer. ''And remember, no further protests or I'll leave this instant.'' Harry had to admit that Voldemort's grouchy mood wasn't improving things, piercing deep into his own emotional turmoil. ''Remove your robes, take the mirror and kneel five inches away from the centre.'' Harry did as instructed, vaguely uncomfortable both by the fact that he had to get naked again and by the sound of clanking metal behind him. ''Angle the mirror so that you can look into it while still holding it in a relaxed position, it won't do for your concentration to break from muscle cramps.'' After a few attempts, Harry positioned it so that the mirror rested against his knees and flat hands. It didn't help that the thing was round and rather large for a hand mirror. Peering into it, Harry noticed that it was hard to see his reflection in the flecked surface that spoke of old times. Had this been in the house already?

''Could you… maybe explain what everything around me is for?'' Harry asked. ''To understand better what we're doing.''

''What I am doing you mean. You only concentrate on your own thoughts... Very well, all objects you see are there to protect and stabilise,'' the other spoke. ''Ashes have the power to fixate and draw in energies, shadows especially. They are, after all, but a shadow of the object they used to be. The four black candles and smoky quartz crystals form a double stabilising square around you that will serve as a barrier, and the mirror shows that you at least still hold your reflection, which is theorised to form a balance to shadows. Objects that have a reflection also have a shadow by the laws of nature, so this should not be inconsistent magically either.''

''And the hooks?'' Harry asked.

''To immobilise it in case it wishes to escape again or attach itself to me instead. Now, after one more little thing, we'll start.'' Harry tried not to jump up and move away as he felt Voldemort come closer and kneel down behind him. There was something rather disconcerting about being at the mercy of a killer. Who could have known? Harry bit back any cynical words that might have alleviated his nerves as Voldemort's hands ghosted over his shoulders and he saw something shimmer in the corner of his eyes, moments before the object he'd seen made a cut at his shoulder. Harry tried not to react to the pain, nor the uncomfortable feeling of blood trickling down his shoulder. Of course nothing here would be done without sacrifices. ''Close your eyes and meditate on your strengths, let any piece of information drift to your mind that encompasses your strengths and successes,'' Voldemort murmured in his ear before moving away again.

It was more difficult than the Dark Lord made it seem, doubts fighting for control the instant Harry closed his eyes. The Dursleys' sneers, Snape's obvious contempt, the many times Harry had been beaten up by Dudley or had to run away for other dangers. What was he good at? His school notes weren't anything to write home about, nor was he incredibly popular or excelled at any type of magic. Harry released a frustrated groan.

''Don't try so hard,'' he vaguely heard, more in his own head than outside, although it was most decidedly Voldemort's voice. ''Relax and let it come to you. Search not for memories of accomplishments, but memories of when you felt accomplished.'' Strange though the advice may have been, it helped. It wasn't unlike calling forth happy memories to cast the Patronus charm, Harry thought. He only need to focus on when he'd felt happy… and proud. His first Quidditch game flashed through his mind, the feeling of relief and triumph after almost swallowing the snitch. Then there was the moment where Sirius had flown away on Buckbeak, saved by Harry and Hermione. It didn't matter that it hadn't been only him who'd done the work, he'd been a part of it nonetheless. It felt as if he was in a dream again and memories kept piling up faster than he could have ever expected: Dudley behind the glass in the zoo; Snape's frustration at being unable to find evidence for Harry's trips at Hogsmeade; receiving a massive amount of points after the ordeal with the stone, winning Gryffindor the House cup; Running with the caught dragon egg in his hands to safety…

He became aware of Voldemort's voice, deep notes singing an enthralling chant which felt as if it moved something in Harry's brain, and he didn't know anymore what were memories and what were feelings: Seeing Ginny's face return to colour again after she'd lain on the cold stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets; Being greeted with a party on the day his name had come out of the cup even as he'd dreaded returning, so sure that everyone would hate him for it; casting his first corporeal Patronus charm to save Sirius and himself; Punching that foul Ministry woman in the face; Freeing Dobby; Saving Norbert; the Dark Lord rising from the cauldron in the graveyard, returned to life because of Harry…

''_Open your eyes.''_

Blinking, slowly returning to awareness, Harry followed the voice, **His** voice. The teen shivered at the atmosphere around him, a suffocating blanket of magic, and forced himself to concentrate on the image that stood in the room. A dark, menacing mirage that should not be so three-dimensional as it was, looked down, hollow eyes focusing on the mirror in Harry's hands. For a moment, all of Harry's thoughts stopped in irrational fear.

That was a mistake.

The vision moved, faster than he could see, growing in size and opening a gaping mouth that was far too much alike a Dementor. Harry broke his stance and scrambled backwards, staring at the thing with wide eyes. Black hands stretched out, to grab, to devour…

''No!'' Harry yelled, angry at himself. ''No, I will not be controlled by my own shadow! You are mine, you are a part of me and I will not allow you to run free like you wish!'' He tried to grab it now, mowing fingers finding nothing but air as the shadow moved out of the way. Harry turned to follow it, then saw that there was no need to: The shadow struggled, caught by Voldemort's clawed fingers… hooked fingers? Swallowing, Harry saw red droplets slide down the man's pale skin where the hooks had been pierced through. Trying not to get sick at the sight, Harry instead focused on the shadow again, approaching it and reaching out. ''Come back to me,'' he whispered, calling forth all the images from before. ''I am worth existing,'' he choked out, pressing all the horrid memories of having to pretend he didn't exist at Privet Drive to a deep, deep corner of his mind. ''See? Even the mirror says so,'' he spoke, holding the thing up to show his reflection.

The apparition shrank to his own size, and Harry could recognise the silhouette in it as his own for a brief moment before it sank into the floor, the blackness dimming, mixing with the sunlight that shone through the roof and walls as it turned back into nothing more than a regular shade. Closing his eyes, Harry felt only relief, feeling complete again, that strange cloud lifting from his mind entirely. It must have been minutes until he was done sorting out his mind, for when he opened his eyes again, the room was clean, a robe had been draped around his shoulders and Voldemort sat on his chair, carefully removing the hooks from his fingertips. Harry came closer, having tied the robe around him to not feel so exposed anymore. He hated the fact that so many rituals required being sky-clad to not disturb energy-flows. ''I had to use more than I thought,'' the other said, then grimaced as he pulled at the pieces of metal. ''Don't feel so guilty, I hate that emotion more than any other.''

''Sorry,'' Harry hastened to say, now feeling guilty for his previous guilt.

''That… does not help,'' the man sighed.

''Can't you block my emotions now the link stabilised?'' Harry asked. ''I mean, I can't since I apparently suck at doing magic but you can control it, right?''

''Can, yes. Generally, I think it is better if I can keep an eye on your stability like this. I'll never know when you're about to plunge a knife into yourself again otherwise.'' His piercing, accusatory stare made Harry's face grow hot in embarrassment.

''That was one time!'' the teen protested.

Voldemort ignored his words and instead removed the last hooks from his fingers, inspecting the wounds. ''Take your wand, it's time for you to learn some healing spells. Before you start about the Trace again,'' he said as Harry opened his mouth already, ''As I said, we are in an entirely different dimension with a very limited entrance to it. No magic you cast here, with your wand or another, can ever reach the Ministry. I take it that you have no previous knowledge of healing?''

''Erhm, no. It's only covered in Charms from fifth-year onwards, I think, and none of the books you sent me held anything specific about that either.'' Doubtfully, he looked at the blood-smeared skin. Even if the other would now tell him the spell for healing wounds, he had never before gotten a spell correct before spending hours on trying to learn it. Surely the Dark Lord would not sit here and let Harry try to heal it for hours? Uncertain, he took his wand from the shelf he'd put it on before and held it awkwardly as he waited for instructions.

''Minor wounds can be healed using a variation of spells, the most common one in Britain being the charm 'Episkey'. It is a generalised spell used on both flesh wounds and small, broken bones in non-vital places, like toes or noses. To gain an understanding of the spell itself, it connects the caster's knowledge of how a human body** should** be in its healthy state to the actual cells. It then speeds up the natural healing process while trying to make the result fit the caster's idea of healthy as closely as possible. Apt healers with a deep understanding of the human body could technically also use it for major wounds because of this, even if the risks there become greater due to other organs or appendices being in the way.'' Harry nodded, fascinated by the background. At Hogwarts, most teachers just taught him what a spell did, not the how behind it.

''To summarize,'' the Dark Lord spoke: ''with flesh wounds it continues the development of natural cell regeneration and other involved processes in a much quicker and more effectual way than they would otherwise. With bones, it both replaces damaged internal cells and pushes the tissue around the bones in a certain direction. What is most important with this is to gain an understanding of the body part that you are healing, together with an understanding of how healing normally works. Most witches and wizards unfortunately leave this out, relying purely on their magic to do the work without any additional input. With a spell that relies on the knowledge of the caster, this is highly problematic and one of the causes why we have so many pseudo-healers walking around.''

''Is this a bad moment to admit that I know neither?'' Harry asked. ''I mean, I'm not sure how much there is to know about fingers, but I definitely don't know how wounds normally heal.''

''That's what I am here for,'' the man spoke, sounding rather smug about it. Harry suddenly had an image of a young Tom Riddle, acting all haughty when explaining something to his classmates that only he understood, and Harry had a hard time not laughing.

''What is so amusing about that?'' the Dark Lord asked, narrowing his eyes, reminding Harry of that perhaps his literal thoughts were not being read, hiding his emotions was still impossible.

''I just.. had a funny thought,'' he admitted, pressing his lips together to not burst out in a fit of giggles. It didn't help that now he thought of Voldemort as a teenager, Sirius' talk about the word 'cool' came to mind again. This was definitely not the right time and place to ask Voldemort about it, and yet Harry couldn't get it off his mind even as the other launched into a detailed explanation of skin layers and different cell types. It felt like hours after the man stopped talking, and Harry's head spun with terms like epidermal regeneration, cell proliferation at the stratum basale, matrix fibers and macrophages.

''Well then, now you have a theoretical foundation,'' Voldemort spoke, ''It's time for a demonstration.'' Harry, who had sat down on the stone floor and had slumped over a bit during the lengthy talk, perked up, watching as the yew wand was set at the tip of Voldemort's thumb in front of Harry's face. '_**'Tergeo, Episkey''**_ the man spoke, making a spiralling wand motion. Within a few seconds, both the dried blood was cleared away and the tissue had knitted itself together, leaving no outward signs of there ever having been a hole in the skin. ''The first spell is merely a helpful charm to clear out the wound, make it more visible. The second one did the healing. As you could see, the wound itself started mending at the deepest point in the wound and built up towards the outside, repairing all three skin layers after the actual flesh. Now, it's your turn. The wand motion is a circle, of which the wound should be the focus point in the centre. Focus on the relevant information you have now, the spell will do the rest. As an incentive to do well, I just wish to point out that my teaching method includes punishment when you get it wrong.''

Harry nodded, hardly having expected any less, first speaking the spell a couple of times as he always did in class to get the pronunciation correct, then carefully took Voldemort's hand in his. It felt strange, being large and cold, with far too long fingers and sharp nails. Harry couldn't help but observe the strange skin, which was entirely hairless and so white that he could see the web of bluish veins beneath the surface of the palm. He knew better than to imagine those spindly hands to be brittle however, for Voldemort had been able to grab his throat rather painfully even as he'd been in his rudimentary form. Realising that he was perhaps stalling for a bit too long, Harry nervously looked upwards, noted that Voldemort was very much intensely staring at his face, then cast his eyes downwards quickly to not make it awkward. Or even more so, better said. Clearing his throat, Harry pointed his wand at the tip of the small finger, figuring that it was the least harmful to mess up.

His circle came out a bit shaky due to nerves and Voldemort hissed, the hand tensing. Harry gulped, wanting to slap himself for rushing. He hadn't focused at all on the information he'd received beforehand. Overwhelming pain was the result, and Harry tried not to cry out as he wrapped his arms around himself and endured it, gasping as the spell was released. It hadn't been the Cruciatus curse he noted, not being as intense. Still, it had **hurt** and he seriously hoped to get it right before turning crazy. It was, however, a struggle not to get angry at getting punished for even messing up the very first time he cast a spell of an entirely new branch of magic.

''This is not Hogwarts,'' the Dark Lord warned, as if having read his exact thoughts this time -and maybe he had? Harry surely couldn't tell-. ''My teaching does not consist of showing you a spell and expecting you to learn it through practise as you have done till now. I gave you a deep enough understanding of it to cast it correctly the first time. You know what to do to make it work, so it **will **work if you follow my instructions. Again.''

The second casting was considerably better, after Harry took a while to recall all information before speaking the charm. It healed up the flesh this time, but the skin left much to be desired, creating a nasty scar that inexplicably ran down the entire finger. After another round of the unknown curse, Harry rubbed his painful arms while the Dark Lord repaired the damage Harry had done, taking a couple of minutes and a number of different spells to get the skin back to normal. ''Healing that is done incorrectly is complicated to repair, for your magic thought that it was doing the right thing when creating this. I ask you to mess up as few of the remaining eight fingers as possible.''

''What did I do wrong?'' Harry asked, not knowing what to do different from before.

''The order of information may be the problem, or your understanding. Was there anything I told you before that you did not understand and neglected to ask questions about?''

''Well, not exactly, your explanation was pretty thorough but… it takes a while to sink in and properly get, I think?''

A suffering sigh followed. ''Why are humans so slow at processing?'' the older man muttered to himself. ''You have fifteen minutes of meditation to wrap your head around the concepts I told you about, you clearly didn't correctly store your knowledge on how scar tissue is created and healed. I will search out Barty in the meantime, meet me upstairs.''

Relieved, Harry moved to the walls, leaning his back against the warm glass panes. It promised to be another hot day, it wasn't even noon yet and the air had already turned humid in here. Before he could even start his meditation, he was disturbed by Nagini, who opened the door with a nudge of her snout and slithered inside. _~Harrison,~_ she hissed, wagging her tail a bit as she halted next to him. _~Or Harry. Master told me that you are Harry Potter, not Harrison Black. I was sad that you lied to me,~_ she bluntly stated

_~I… I didn't think you would have reacted well if you'd known that I was Harry Potter.~_

_~I would have bitten your head off,~_ she fervently nodded.

_~Right. I'm not sure if I am sorry for deceiving you then.~_

_~You should be, it would have been an honourable death.~_

_~Your master doesn't want me to die~_, he reminded her, laughing as she was confused by her flawed logic being pointed out.

_~Don't lie to me again~_ she finally huffed. _~And pet me more to make up for it. I also want more rats.~_ she demanded, slithering even closer, sliding over his lap and curling around his torso, her heavy head coming to a rest on his left shoulder. Having long given up on trying to get Nagini to move anywhere, Harry let her do as she pleased as he closed his eyes and relaxed again. Trying not to worry about a giant constrictor being wrapped around his ribcage was surprisingly easy. Trusting that he'd feel it when fifteen minutes had passed through Voldemort's impatience, Harry didn't bother with spells – he'd never gotten down the alarm charm that Hermione was so fond of when timing her homework- and instead got to work, trying to visualise what he'd been told before, envisioning cells to be little living creatures. As expected, a headache started to form not too long after, an indication that he should probably hurry. After a brief discussion with Nagini, he managed to convince her of why it was necessary for at least him to move, and she went away under heavy protest, curling around a large clay pot instead.

''You improved the room a lot,'' Harry commented when he walked in, taking in the richly decorated drawing room once more. ''I didn't have a chance to mention it last time, but it looks a lot better.''

''I wasn't going to live with outdated furniture forever. I'm rather doubtful if **you** say it is tasteful however,'' Voldemort commented, making Barty snort, who was sitting in a corner with a book. ''Your choice of clothing usually leaves much to be desired concerning style.''

''At the Dursleys' I'm not allowed to wear anything other than Dudley's old clothes, it's not my fault that it all looks horrible,'' Harry scowled. ''I'll have you know that I wanted to buy a solid golden cauldron for myself when first visiting Diagon Alley. If that isn't stylish, then I don't know what is.''

Barty laughed out loud now. ''Solid gold? Oh Merlin, you can discuss your sense of style with Lucius then. He always wears at least one piece of gold jewellery to show off.''

''Perhaps you should have bought a golden cauldron, Bartemius told me you are horrible at brewing potions, gold makes it easier,'' Voldemort commented, smirking.

''What? Why?''

''Gold is chemically and magically inert, meaning that it does not react with other materials. This is also the reason why magically creating gold is so difficult. In short, by using golden cauldrons, the metal of the cauldron itself cannot destabilise your potion such as is the case with iron, brass etcetera.''

''But Hogwarts does not allow it right? Hagrid refused to let me get a golden cauldron because it said pewter on my list.''

''They merely do not want the rich to have a clear advantage. Hardly anyone would be able to actually afford a golden cauldron. In addition, most basic potion recipes are written with the standard of a pewter cauldron in mind, so any reactions have already been cancelled out by the added ingredients. Take a common herbicide potion: the Horklump juice and Lionfish spines necessary to make it are both acidic, which would erode a pewter cauldron and cause toxicity. In any standard potion book you will find that Flobberworm mucus is listed as an ingredient, whereas it is actually not necessary and only there to cancel out the acidity as this ingredient is alkaline. In a golden cauldron, you could skip this step. Enough about cauldrons or room decorating however, I would appreciate for my fingers to stop burning.'' Voldemort held out his hand, showing the tips, which had red rings on them now. Feeling guilty -which he should really stop before he was being cursed for** that**\- Harry crossed the room and sat down on the couch next to the Dark Lord, once more taking the left hand he had already started on.

Feeling much more confident in his understanding now, Harry pointed his wand and imagined the skin to be as flawless as he wished for it to be, keeping in mind all he had learned. ''_**Episkey!**_'' he spoke, making a circle - a bit oval still but who could draw a perfect circle in the air?- with his wand. Tensing up, Harry looked at the result, overjoyed when he saw unblemished skin. ''I did it!'' he spoke in amazement. Never before had he gotten down a spell so quickly before. ''You would have made for an amazing teacher,'' Harry honestly spoke. ''It was a shame that Dumbledore-''

The Dark Lord's hand shot out and Harry felt his throat close with invisible magic, leaving him unable to continue speaking. He spluttered a bit, trying to breathe. When Voldemort finally released him, Harry spent a while coughing and rubbing his sore throat, glaring at his Lord. He could have just** told** him to stop speaking, but no, where was the fun in that? Bastard. ''Bartemius did tell me that you've had a few more meetings with that meddlesome man. More memories?''

Harry nodded in affirmation, wincing as he recalled the last time his mind had been read. It was not an experience he'd like repeating. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn't seem like the type of man to keep a Pensieve to muse over his old memories or for the convenience of his guests. After a contemplative look from the Dark Lord at Barty, the blond shot up from the floor. ''I'll keep reading downstairs, no worries about me!''

The door closed and Harry became very aware of that he was alone in the room with his Lord, who looked less than pleased with the teen's latest slip-up. Great. ''Tell me what they were about first, it makes no sense for me to go through memories when I was present in them.'' Harry nodded in relief and leaned back against the backrest of the couch while Voldemort healed the rest of his own fingers. In his peripheral vision, Harry noted that the older wizard didn't even need to use a wand for it, nor an incantation, for all seven wounds that were left healed up without a word being spoken as the man flexed his fingers. Fingers that had felt amazing to hold, soft and cool to the touch… ''Well?'' the man pressed, making Harry jump. Had he just.. no fucking way that he'd just longed to hold the Dark Lord's **hand** of all things.

''Erhm, I'm thinking,'' he spoke, his voice a tad hoarse. Whether from the spell of before or his own thoughts, he didn't want to know. ''Some were quite a while ago, six in total. Errr… Some trials of your Death Eaters, your first meeting with Dumbledore, you applying for a job at Hogwarts and then several ones of different Transfiguration lessons you had at Hogwarts over the years,'' Harry rattled off. ''Dumbledore wanted me to notice the differences about you in those. Like, your appearance and behaviour and such, I think he meant it as a warning for me to not do the same. It looks like Hermione was right after all in that Dumbledore is using this to show me what path not to take.''

''So he believes that you are capable of accepting his** redemption**?'' Voldemort scoffed.

''I managed to convince him that there's nothing to redeem yet in the first place,'' Harry spoke. ''He still believes that I only used dark magic because I wasn't aware of the dangers it brings and because I was fighting for my life. Which is partially true too, I would never have reached the cup if I hadn't seen that spell on shadow magic.'' Then, he frowned. ''Weird, that actually **was** a spell that worked on the first try, I hadn't thought of that before.''

''Perhaps it wanted to leave, it certainly wasn't eager to return.'' Harry didn't answer, pulling his feet up and hugging his knees. Even if it was true, he wasn't particularly ready to hear it. ''It is good that Dumbledore no longer thinks that you using dark magic means you are linked to me. That will severely improve your image and in retrospect also of the magic you used. How did you convince him?''

''Barty did that for me,'' the teen admitted. ''He erased any previous suspicion by letting the teachers believe he'd been after me all along, having had some elaborate plan in mind with this Tournament which failed. Since Dumbledore knows you never truly died, he firmly believes Barty to have contact to you in some form and act on your orders. It's why he assembled the Order again. By the way, about Barty…'' he hesitated, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words in a way that wouldn't sound accusatory. ''Why can't he hear about these memories? From what he told me, he knows quite a bit about your past, right?''

Harry swallowed when a wave of pure negativity hit him. ''I do not like talking about where I come from, nor other people knowing of it,'' was the clipped reply. ''Barty is exceptional in many ways, which is why I trust him with a general overview, yet I do not wish for any more details to be revealed than he already knows about. It is uncomfortable that you know so much, without me being able to either erase you or those memories. Dumbledore would instantly gain suspicion again if you were to not recall them in detail.'' Harry wasn't certain if he should be more worried about the implication of that Voldemort would have liked to Obliviate or even kill him had the opportunity arisen, or for the man's general suspicion towards anyone who knew of his past. It couldn't be very healthy to hide a part of one's identity to such an extent.

''So, erhm, do you think as well that Dumbledore's intentions with this are to make me wary of using dark magic?''

Voldemort started tapping his wand against his upper thigh, and Harry noticed that it may well be a substitution for the finger rapping he'd always done before. Or had he tapped his fingers due to not having a wand close in his smaller form most of the time? ''I doubt that would be his** only** reason, surely he could warn you away from dark magic in other ways. No, he has a purpose with this… he is making you not only aware of my history, instead especially focusing on my change, a change that happened due to…'' he trailed off.

''You splitting your soul?'' Harry guessed, receiving a surprised look. ''I'm not completely incompetent,'' he grumbled in response. ''But what does showing your family have to do with… Oh, the ring! The ring that your grandfather pushed in the face of that Ministry worker, it was one of your vessels!''

''Indeed, and while I was at Hogwarts for that job interview, it was also to hide one of my vessels in a concealed chamber, and to see how I could get to the sword of Gryffindor as another possible artefact. I always thought he hadn't caught on, I must have underestimated the old goat. What I do wonder about is why-ever he showed you his first meeting with me, or those trials of my Death Eaters, neither were linked to the others. It might well be that he has several different motives all at once: warning you not to take the same path, giving you information that can possibly be used against me and showing you indirectly more information about the pieces of my soul. After you… destroyed… my diary,'' Voldemort spoke, dragging the words as if it was a painful reminder -and by the fury that flared up around him, it was- ''Dumbledore got his hands on it, didn't he?'' On Harry's affirmative nod, the Dark Lord closed his eyes and rubbed his face. ''Of course he did. Undoubtedly has he spent a good few hours trying to figure out what it was. If he is now showing memories that just so happen to link to the other vessels, I don't believe that to be a coincidence. I suspected that he knew about them last summer already after I saw your memory of the diary, and removed the vessels from their hiding spots, but it is something different to see him trying to inform you about it. Who knows what he has planned…''

''But they're safe, right?'' Harry asked, troubled. ''All of them are here.''

The man gave him a scrutinizing stare, then admitted: ''Not all. There is you, whom he can even command to his office, the diary is already destroyed and… let's just say that even with that the set is not complete, Barty nor I could retrieve all of them.''

A horrible thought dawned on Harry, which stole his breath away. ''What if…'' he coughed. ''What happens if he finds out that** I**-'' Voldemort didn't react with quite enough surprise to Harry's opinion, and he turned towards the man. ''You already thought about that,'' he accused. ''You KNEW!'' he sprang up, anger rising in him, which was instantly met with Voldemort's own fury.

''Of course I KNEW child,'' the man hissed, now standing as well, towering over Harry with blazing eyes. ''I knew from the first moment he started showing you memories of my past that he could discover what you are. I never claimed otherwise! And what do you expect me to do about it? Do you think that I wish for a piece of my soul to be in such a precarious position, in a human, vulnerable body nonetheless? I gave you all protection I could, even before I considered this to be a possibility, so unless you wish me to rethink my generosity of letting you run around in freedom and instead lock you up to keep you safe, you had better start to** trust** me.''

''How can I trust you when you won't tell me-'' Harry kicked around him as he was heaved up in the air by strands of pure magic, coming face to face with Voldemort, who looked less than pleased.

''You insolent child, do you really think that even** now** I am keeping relevant information from you? If there is any trait I despise above all others in humans, it is withholding knowledge from those who deserve it. When Severus Snape came to me with the lines of the prophecy and I figured out whom it referred to, **I** was the one to inform him about Lily Potter's oncoming death. Turning into someone like Dumbledore, unfolding my plans without informing a single person who played a part in them would be despicable. You are a central asset in both mine and his. Keeping anything from you about it would only have adverse effects later on.''

''Then why?'' Harry yelled, struggling against the ropes of electrifying power that started to dig and burn into his skin. The grip of the strings only tightened.

''Because anyone with a brain could have seen this! Do I need to hold you by the hand all the time? You know about my soul pieces, you know you are one, and now have found out that Dumbledore is gathering information about them. Is it too much to ask for you to put the pieces together in your head on your own for once?'' With a disgusted sound, the other released his hold, dropping Harry to the floor, who felt rather stupid now. ''To spell it out for you: If Dumbledore knows these are the secret to my immortality, I doubt he'll stop at much to destroy them. However, he also believes in that prophecy that we know little about, which at least foretells that you have the power to destroy me, and you have proven it more than once.'' Harry was shocked at the admittance, he'd thought the Dark Lord to be far too arrogant to recognise Harry as a real threat. He certainly hadn't acted like it before. Waiting to see if another outburst would follow and deciding that it was safe after a minute of silent, angry staring, Harry went over to the couch again and sat down once more.

''I apologise, my Lord,'' he muttered reluctantly. ''It's just that I… I suppose I'm too used to only finding out about plans that involve me later on.''

The Dark Lord didn't answer for a while, pacing back and forth in front of Harry, who tried to gauge his feelings: irritation, anger, and also concern for some reason. At long last, he stopped and spoke: ''As much as you annoy me sometimes with your unpredictability, you have one good attribute: other than most people, who prefer to be safe in their ignorance, you are curious about everything. Knowledge, no matter how painful or undesired, is vital in any decision we make. While I could always put a choking spell on your neck and keep you here by force, I much prefer having you follow me of your own free will.''

''Yes, because that spell worked wonders before,'' Harry dryly spoke. ''I only tried to kill you again.''

The withered look he received told him enough even without the sudden amused air that exuded from the Dark Lord. ''Here I thought my previous spell would have curbed your sharp tongue. You are unbelievable sometimes. Go and rest, perhaps ask Barty to teach you something useful. I have to make sure the national newspapers are running as I want them too.'' The man rose from the couch and adjusted his robes. ''Your trunk has been placed in your old bedroom, do take out the books I lent you, I'd like to have them returned to me.'' He seemed to think about something for a second. ''Considering how well you did with getting your shadow back and using healing magic, you may choose one to keep. Well then, I'll be back for dinner,'' With that, he swept out.

Despite threats and pain, Voldemort had been incredibly civil for his doing, Harry found.


	37. A Day in the Life of a Lord

It was freeing, walking around the office without having to swallow Polyjuice potion every hour he was here. Despite having completed the spells shortly before the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, he only put them into practise today, after he'd learned how to control the transformation easily. As tiring as the spells had been to create a more permanent disguise of Noctua, it had been worth any price. _The Daily Prophet_ had been acquired three-and-a-half month ago, _Nouvelles du Monde Magique_ only five weeks, and Voldemort had split his time between the newspapers and his legislation. Now, he could finally focus as much on this work as he expected from all of his employees.

Calm and Control were two words that Voldemort had enforced instantly in both of the newspaper publishing companies he ran now. Noctua had been a hands-on man who had an eye on everything, and the Dark Lord made sure to use that image to enforce his will on every detail that went on. He had no use for hectic employees running around and forgetting half of the things they should be doing, so the _Daily prophet_ was soon running in a smoother manner than ever before, and he hoped to reach the same level of efficiency quickly in France too. He stalked through the offices, looking left and right to spot anyone who might be slacking off, and at the same time checked a list he'd received from the reporters of Witch Weekly on interesting gossip to pursue. For if there was one thing he'd learned in his lifetime, it was that in such a small community as their own, especially with magic happening left and right, gossip was a surprisingly accurate way of finding those stories that really piqued one's interest.

Reluctantly, he also admitted that his Muggle upbringing helped to sort out the accurate ones, by comparing it to what Muggles usually made up to explain phenomena they didn't understand nor could influence. In sharp contrast to Muggles, magical folk tended to try and downplay explanations for those kinds of things. Black ghosts on the moors of Devon for example, were instantly thrown out, knowing that people merely wished to have a safer explanation than the fact that a couple of Dementors were going rogue -a fact he would not like to alert the public to anytime soon in the first place -. Large explosions down in Tinworth on the other hand, spoke of illegal experimentations that he would love to use as a distraction to cover up some of the more questionable affairs a couple of Ministry workers had gotten themselves into. Not that he wouldn't exploit those affairs, but he preferred to let politicians with opposing views think themselves safe enough to gather a heap of dirt before exposing them. Like that, they would have a much harder time defending their actions than if he'd exposed wrongdoings already very early on, making them more careful.

''How is the additional category working out?'' he asked, stopping at the desk of three of his newest employees.

''We already have several ideas for the layout, and Tintink told me he hunted down several spell creators and inventors already to provide a steady stream of information.''

''Good, work out some test layouts with a dummy paper and have it sent to my office tomorrow, I'll have a look at it then.'' He gave them a curt nod and kept going, pacing back and forth. He might soon need to expand, the Headquarters in Diagon had become too small in the short time he'd been here. Perhaps next Saturday he would get some time in to clear out the office and put in expansion charms, before everyone would come in to work on the Sunday edition.

After taking over Noctua's persona, Voldemort had introduced changes to fit his plans each week. Before, the Daily Prophet been an absolute mess with 36 sections spread over only 20 pages. During his reforms, that entire structure had been broken down by now. First and foremost, he had put international news in the spotlight, it was too important to push to page eight where it had previously been. Especially when they would at long last disconnect from the Muggle world, it was important to still keep in contact with wizarding communities abroad. Newspapers were fundamental instruments in that. Furthermore, he'd removed the 'good news and bad news' sections and instead recategorized it all as national news, highlighting the pages after on the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts and 's as national beacons of daily news. Sports he had left untouched due to popular demand of it, and he had reduced many of the nonsensical categories, from '_Ask D. Shaman', to 'Puzzles' _and_ 'Blablabla'_. None of those had any right to be in a professional paper. Instead, they now cooperated with the reporters from Witch Weekly: the magazine staff provided all broad current topics of gossip to him like the list in his hand, so he could sort out what was real news, and leave the juicy bits to the Magazine to cover. Who was dating who had no business in newspapers and it was an easy way to get free information.

His latest project had been the advancement of the '_Magic News' _section, which was now less a list of interesting magical titbits and more modelled after the science section in muggle newspapers: new inventions, discoveries regarding magical creatures, spellcrafting and developments in potions were to be featured. The Wizarding World liked to pretend that it was stuck and steady, creating an invisible hurdle that consisted of the society's general mindset when it came to changing the country's fundaments. To stimulate people's curiosity regarding magic's possibilities and to instil a feeling of that the world was moving faster than they thought, he wished to remind every single reader of how much existed out there to keep up with, also leaving behind a sense that Britain was not as advanced as many other magical communities out there. That was harder to do in France with the second paper he ran, since that country had always tried to strive forwards regarding magic. It was no wonder that alchemists and potion masters flocked to France even when they hadn't gone to Beauxbatons.

He still had a few worries about Nouvelles du Monde Magique since he wasn't there as often himself, and three weeks had not been enough to take any grand steps towards anything yet. One bright spot was that two weeks ago, he'd appointed a reliable, zealous young witch named Argantan Derrien as managing Editor when he wasn't there personally, and despite her age, she'd already shown to excel in whipping the employees in shape. Her major flaws -having no nose for good articles herself and having horrid style – were more than made up for by his own influence and the fact that she was incredible at finding brilliant staff members. That the Derrien family were purebloods which always had held open views towards dark magic had also played a role in appointing her. Having disagreements over what was appropriate to publish would not do the company any good, after all.

Overall, Voldemort felt pleased with how well the take-over had gone. Noctua's methods had matched his own, even if not as extreme, and buying out the French national newspaper had been easier than expected. What was most important to him, was that he doubted any of his enemies would ever suspect the role he'd taken up. Dumbledore knew only of his drive to teach, and others who had known him back then had expected him to be drawn to politics. Running the press was also not something he per se enjoyed, but it was the most beneficial position to be in at the moment, especially if he would after all become politically active in a few years. Even if by then, anyone would try to dig into his 'past', it would be hard for anyone to notice the fact that Noctua had actually been removed from office a long time ago already or pinpoint the exact time. The only thing that might give it away was the fact that now, several physical details were different. Since he hadn't wished to rely on Polyjuice potion or temporary glamours for too long, he'd crafted a second appearance, binding the spell to him using the tattoos he now bore on his right arm. Crafted appearances were hardly ever exact though, and he was a bit taller now than Noctua had been for example, and retained his own voice. Most of today had been spent on changing his employees' memory a tad to convince everyone that Noctua had always looked like this. It had been hardest to influence his assistant, who had worked with Noctua daily for over six year now and who, as he'd found out today while probing her mind for memories- was a tad too obsessed with the man. Perhaps Voldemort would give her another position at one point, he didn't wish to have his every move be scrutinised by someone who was in love with him.

''Sir?'' he looked down on a small, balding man who shuffled closer. Merlin, why did this cretin always remind him so much of Wormtail?

''What is it, Belby'' he replied, a tad harsher than strictly necessary. It looked like all the talent in the family had gone to Belby's brother, a famous potioneer who had received an order of Merlin. The only reason why Voldemort hadn't fired him was that it would sink the morale if he dismissed the one employee who had been here longest of the current staff.

''The… the results of the survey from last week are in.''

Oh yes, he'd entirely forgotten about the surveys. For reasons he could not quite grasp yet, people were incredibly hesitant to give out any personal information, unless that personal information could tell them what type of broomstick was most closely matched to their personalities. Or something along those lines. In either case, surveys were one of the most popular tools in several magazines, both magical and muggle, to reach out to people and target them for marketing purposes. Voldemort figured that, while he wasn't especially interested in advertising _the Prophet_ further -it really wasn't necessary, being the only large newspaper in the country- he could use surveys to gather information on the population he planned on ruling one day. What was on their minds, who had gone to what house in Hogwarts, how high of a percentage of foreigners their community held, a rough amount of Muggleborns… Each week, they created a new survey or quiz for their subscribers to fill in and sent back, and it had quickly gained popularity. All of them were overall harmless, but he ensured to put in at least one question of importance in each one, to slowly mine valuable data.

''Remind me again what the topic of the last one was?'' he spoke.

''A questionnaire on what people would like to improve in our paper, Sir.''

Right, there had been that too. Feedback on whether the changes he'd made were being received well was as important as information on the actual readers. ''And?'' he asked, getting a tad impatient at Belby's silence. Did he have to drag out every word? If so, he'd gladly yank the man's tongue with it until it would rip-

''Most would like to change the focus of our content. A few filled in the 'other' option a couple of times to complain that _the Prophet_ is too dry since Skeeter has gone. One woman wrote that there is too much Fudge and too little Potter. Looks like people want their celebrity back.''

Voldemort's eye twitched. Potter? **Potter**? Could that boy not leave him alone at work now either?

''We** just** brought out the article on the Champions after the final results of the Triwizard Tournament, do they expect news of their hero every single day?''

''To be fair, that was almost two weeks ago-''

''I don't care, I will** not** go back to drivel for the sake of entertainment! I'll publish Potter once the boy does anything worth writing about. Until then, the public will have to entertain themselves with Quibblers if they wish sensational stories!'' Belby backed off with a shocked look and Voldemort hissed under his breath. Why did Potter always rile him up so much?

He retreated to his office with his sour mood as once more, his thoughts revolved around his youngest… follower? Truth be told, Voldemort himself wasn't entirely certain as to why he'd gone along with the boy's wish to spend another summer at Riddle manor. True, it was good to keep an eye on his Horcrux, and true, the boy didn't deserve to be stuck with filthy Muggles for all of summer, but it had one major drawback: feelings. The Dark Lord was familiar with anger, with pride, and even fear. But what seeped through the link when talking to Evan was much more complicated and alien. He thought he had learned the more complex emotions of humankind, yet the intensity and composition of the boy's moods, sometimes feeling three entirely different things at once, was confusing. Time and time again, he had to hold back to not quickly skim the upper surface of Evan's mind to read actual, comprehensible thoughts. Considering the history they had of accidental lapses into each other's mind and the deliberate dream-walking, Voldemort was certain that Legilimency would be ill-advised. That left him only with the puzzle of Evan's moods to figure out what was on the boy's mind, although judging by the reactions he'd gotten, he usually took good guesses.

Sometimes though, he wondered if he interpreted too much. The way that Evan had looked at his hands when healing them, the strange, almost longing emotion that he'd received… He enjoyed Evan's admiration and was fascinated by exploring the ancient soul and mind magic they shared, but he needed to be careful not to let anyone get too close, certainly not a teenage boy with as many issues as Evan had. Voldemort took a deep breath and pinched his nose as an echo of those emotions he'd felt now welled up in himself. With a resolute slam of a fist on his desk, he stopped them. This was ridiculous, he was a master of his own mind. He would need to be more on guard around Potter, that was certain. Whether it was a curse or a blessing that the boy himself was denser than a bludger when it came to figuring himself out, remained to be seen.

Finally, Voldemort managed to distract himself with labour: magic took away most of the routine work, but it could not replace a human brain when it came to checking the content of articles. That even with his newly appointed members of staff they were only less than two dozen, didn't ease his workload either. He changed what he felt necessary before it would get printed and made notes to inform his employees of the desired changes to improve future work. Hours later, he emerged, handing the pile to his assistant.

''Listen,'' he spoke, the office falling silent in an instant, all eyes on him. A moment passed in which he took in the faces of all the people in the room. ''All of you need to keep one thing in mind: what we do is informing the public of each detail that goes on in our world. This is more than a mere job that you spent a bit of time at in exchange for money, I** hope** you agree to that. We are the backbone of our government, both to support it and to keep it on the right path when the politicians swerve off it. People depend on us, they believe in and rely on our stories, for who else is going to tell them what is happening? We must never forget about the impact we have. I realise that some people have been missing Skeeter and a few others like her that I fired. Some of you have changed your writing style in a way that reminds me of her, a fact that I am not pleased about. We do not write to become popular. Good stories **will** present themselves, there is no need to embellish on details. It will only make the public question our integrity in case we publish articles on topics not supported by the public. So from now on, I wish to see no more sensationalist headlines, certainly not when after the first two lines I can see that it is merely meant to stir up trouble at expense of quality and accuracy. Do you understand?''

Two reporters who had been more than guilty of his accusation let their heads hang. If only he could get a good round of torture in…

''What…. What do you mean with topics not supported by the public?'' Belby again… Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the man, the only one who'd picked out that particular sentence. Perhaps he wasn't so unintelligent as the Dark Lord had thought before.

''You all have heard rumours of the blacklist, have you not? A list that was started by the Chief editor several generations back of topics that were not to be written about?'' At a few hesitant nods, he smirked. ''While I can unfortunately not confirm the existence of such a specific list, it is true that the Ministry has made it incredibly difficult to write about certain issues. Let's just, metaphorically, say that we will burn the blacklist entirely in the coming year.''

Chatter broke out instantly, and if not for the fact that he had a very specific image to uphold, he would have blown up at them to shut their mouths. Damn Noctua's good nature… as much as they were alike when it came to work, so different were they personality-wise. It was a good thing that the man had been married to his work, Voldemort couldn't imagine having to also uphold the image of Noctua's possible family life.

Leaving the staff to their own thoughts and gossip, he exited the office, strolling through Diagon Alley, breathing in the magic of the place. Only Hogwarts could rival the pure, old magic that oozed out of the ancient buildings. Hopefully one day, this would not be limited to a small cluster of streets anymore. Voldemort stopped in front of Ollivanders, giving the single wand on its dusty cushion a fond look. How he loved magic, every single aspect of it… Physically, it kept him alive more than air did after all the changes he'd made to his body, and more importantly: it gave him a reason to make living about more than mere survival. For his people, he'd fight, to bring them all to an era without shame. He could never thank Magic enough for choosing** him**. Not that he'd ever doubted there was anyone** more** worthy of the title of Lord than himself. Any fool who claimed so would not live long enough to profit from Voldemort's fight.

The difficult part was to keep together the people who** did** believe in him as much as he did himself, for he'd found that most people were cowards, out for their own gain, who'd turned tail as soon as he'd gone.

_Not everyone is a Slytherin_, an inner voice reminded him that sounded suspiciously like Potter again. Considering the links they shared, he took a moment to make sure it wasn't actually Potter, then moved one, slightly disturbed by the fact that he was developing inner voices. He'd been alone for too long…

Taking one more look to appreciate the magical community around him, he apparated to Little Hangleton, quickly making his way into the house, stopping on the doorstep of the kitchen, where Evan and Barty were having a discussion about House-elves. Keeping his presence masked, he listened in.

''- One cannot get an elf using a false name or any falsified information, otherwise the binding spells wouldn't properly work. And who would want a servant who could possibly betray you?'' Barty spoke, in an apparent answer to a question the teen had asked.

''It sounds more and more like slavery to me.''

''Interesting idea, but as someone who comes from a family that has kept house-elves for a long time, I can't see it like that. House-elves love doing what they do, I've seen it often enough. Also, this entire thing did not come from wizards searching servants. I talked quite a bit with Winky when I was younger, and she told me stories about her kind. The first house-elf was a wild elf, creatures that have long since gone extinct and that were barely magical. The only powerful magic they had, was that they could siphon magic off witches and wizards they lured into their homes, strengthening their own powers. Wishing to have more than that life, one elf in particular went to a wizarding home and offered to stay near them in exchange for work. More followed his example after it became clear that prolonged contact with witches and wizards gave elves power more permanently. At one point, the elves wanted even more and started contracts to tie themselves directly to magicians, sacrificing their own independence for magic. It's a fate that they doomed themselves to in greed.''

Evan frowned. ''I've never heard about that before… it's definitely interesting. Still, even if this is the true history of House-elves rather than a romanticized bedtime story, that generation of elves must be long dead, and their descendants are born into this life without any choice. It does not excuse the fact that many magicians treat their elves horribly, make them hurt themselves or sleep and work in horrid conditions.''

''I never said I advocated for cruelty,'' Barty shrugged. ''Elves don't make a good case for themselves in that regard either however. Look at Winky, my father acted like she was the lowest form of life and gave her commands that were emotionally damaging, including firing her when it was convenient for him. He didn't have enough compassion for humans, and certainly didn't waste any on creatures he believed to be beneath him. With all that, Winky **still** treats him like a god, and even now still cries about him after getting a new contract.'' Evan was silent at that for a while, looking as if he fought an inner debate.

''Then how do you explain rebelling House-elves? I know of one who defied his master and another who tries to do everything to not follow orders properly.''

Barty shook his head. ''I'm honestly stumped there. Winky may have told me much about elves, I'm no expert on how these contracts work. Whatever the case, I can assure you that it will not turn out well for the elf if defiance gets them fired. Even when not punished directly by their masters, the spells that bind them to our magic can also snap. Elves without work go back to their previous state. Even if an elf takes the benefits of having ties for granted, they'll feel the repercussions when they're gone. As I said before, they can only do this much magic due to indirectly using ours. Without it, House-elves can barely do anything and have no protection. Trust me on this, any elf that is so unhappy with their situation that they manage to break free, will soon seek new employment.''

''Actually,'' Voldemort spoke up, removing both Noctua's disguise and the shields that masked his power. The others jumped up as if burned, and he smirked at their reaction. ''It has to do with the way elves are bound nowadays. Your history on elves is only partially correct, Bartemius. The first elves bound themselves not to a family, but to one specific person, and could then use magic on the exact level of their master. Upon death of that master, elves searched out a new human to serve. Wizarding families weren't exactly happy with the arrangement however, since elves would only answer to a single family member, and leave after that person's death, forcing the family to purchase or persuade a new elf each time. The contracts were changed so elves would serve an entire bloodline or those carrying a certain surname, generations long. Then, it changed to even generations of elves being bound to a family instead of an individual one. This made for convenient servitude, but had the negative effect of ties not being so close anymore. If an elf prefers one family member over the others or receives different orders, they can choose what to do for example. What you said is essentially still correct though: if their last master dies or they break free for whatever reason, their magic will be reduced to being as harmless as a regular pixie's. Elves born in servitude may not know that, they'll feel the effects soon enough regardless.''

''My Lord, I did not know that you were so knowledgeable on elves,'' Barty spoke in surprise. ''You hardly ever expressed an interest in the creatures.''

''When Evan and I met after the third task, we had a brief discussion about house-elves,'' Voldemort admitted. ''He mentioned knowing rebelling elves, I found it interesting enough to pursue, to find out the reasons behind their change in behaviour. The crux lies in perception: the bond between House-elf and Master was created to be mutually beneficial and powerful. With its power weakened due to the laziness of wizardkind, and benefits for elves downplayed and forgotten, it is no wonder that these ties are dissolving. Elves who perceive themselves at only being at a disadvantage can, with enough willpower, work against their masters. Since house-elves will be an important asset to us after detaching our world from the Muggle one, I need to spread this knowledge quickly to make the public aware of the effects mistreating elves can have.''

''Why would House-elves become so important?'' Evan asked, having listened to his explanation without a word, which was incredibly uncharacteristic.

''Who else would do menial labour? Keeping Muggles would bring more trouble than good, and magicians can usually not be bothered to run farms or orchards, can they? Elves are the best solution, for no matter how you view them, most really do love their lives. It is also a non-issue for most witches and wizards.''

Barty nodded in agreement while Evan just stared at him with a strange expression that Voldemort couldn't quite place until the teen said in a very careful, low tone: ''You thought about taking Muggles as slaves?''

Raising an eyebrow, the Dark Lord tried to gauge the boy's feelings. It didn't help that many of them were so unfamiliar to him, although he could pick up disgust quite well. ''If you are talking about keeping them to work without pay, then I suppose you'd call them slaves. Since Muggles do not really count as people however, I'd prefer the term cattle. Though this is all quite hypothetical. As I said, it would have too many drawba- where are you going?'' he snarled as Evan, now wearing a furious expression, walked past him without a word. As Voldemort turned to follow the boy, he was rather taken aback when the other turned around, a cold anger showing that was very unlike the usual way the teen blew up when disliking something.

''I need some time to think,'' Evan said through clenched teeth. ''And I don't give a damn about how powerful you are or how much pain you can make me feel, I'll talk to you again when **I** want to.'' With that, Evan rushed upstairs, a door slamming making it clear that he'd retreated to his bedroom.

Not wanting to admit that he felt a bit lost, Voldemort turned to Barty and harshly demanded: ''Drag him out of there! I will not be disrespected in my own house!''

Barty licked his lips nervously and swayed back and forth a bit. ''My Lord, I will do as you ask if that is truly your wish but…. I would like to express that I doubt it's a wise course of action. Despite what you share, you only just gained his trust, destroying it now for the sake of showing him your control is ill-advised.''

Voldemort hissed a few choice words in Parseltongue, then sat down on the only chair in the kitchen, glaring a hole into the wall. Barty remained at his side as a quiet comfort until the Dark Lord was ready to speak again. ''This is why I chose you to stay here instead of any of those idiots,'' he finally admitted, rubbing his temples. ''What was so disagreeable in what I said? Since he has some moral issues about slavery, I thought pointing out that I do not see it that way would sway him.''

Barty sighed deeply and conjured a second chair, carefully sitting down. Voldemort noticed that his muscles were tense, as if he was prepared to up and run at any moment. A wise move. ''Evan's problem isn't slavery specifically. Nor is it murder, or theft, or any other crime. He is the type of person who only condemns certain actions due to a sense of a higher moral standpoint. This kid has been mistreated all his life by people who thought he was beneath them.''

''I as well-'' Voldemort exclaimed, sparks jumping up from his hands in his anger.

''My Lord, with all due respect,'' Barty muttered, bowing his head. ''From the moment you cast your first piece of magic, even the Muggles around you saw your superiority. They did not hate you for being below them, they feared you for being something they could never hope to be. It is true that the Muggles in your own life and that of Evan's acted out of hatred and fear both… yet it manifested in different ways. You were isolated, cast out and punished when you showed your powers, and only then. Evan's family had a deep-seeded prejudice against wizardkind already and took it out on him before he could even cast accidental magic. He has been treated like less than human until his time at Hogwarts. Because of this, he has vowed to protect those he thinks cannot stand up for themselves. Muggles are, unfortunately, included in that. Having them labelled as cattle may have brought back unpleasant memories.''

''But he** isn't** lower than the scum that raised him! He is a wizard, for Merlin's sake. From the time he was one year old, he managed extraordinary feats. There is no reason for him to identify with the weak!''

''And yet he does.''

Frustrated, the Dark Lord got up and started pacing. ''So all of this time, the reason he has been so defiant about many of my actions is due to his misplaced sense of care for the **helpless**?'' he spoke, cackling at the thought. ''Does he not realise just how dangerous Muggles can be to us, even after what he went through at their hands?''

''I think he does, but he is only willing to condemn individuals, not an entire species. I do consider myself lucky that he has those views though.''

''Why so?'' Barty gave him a calculating look, as if debating whether to speak up or not. ''If you hadn't wished to tell me, you shouldn't have spoken in the first place,** speak.**''

The blond ran a hand through his hair and bit his lips, two nervous ticks that Voldemort had tried him to stop doing, as it would make Barty appear unstable and weak in front of others. ''Had it not been for his sense to protect the weak, he might have killed you again when he first entered this house.''

Voldemort didn't answer – he didn't need to, Barty could read his mood well enough to know when it was time to flee, dodging the curse that was sent flying through the room. Seething, the Dark Lord remained where he was, unpleasantly reminded of how frail he had been back then. While he could gloss over it easily himself and talk about it, Barty knew well not to mention it as a moment of weakness. Needing to calm down, he went over to the veranda, the sweltering heat of the day still trapped within its confinement of glass panes even as evening set in. Nagini came slithering over, possibly having spent the entire day here, and he basked in the warmth. If there was one disadvantage that his new body had given him, it was cold blood. Warming charms were sufficient to counter it, though there was nothing so satisfying as real heat on his skin. Within minutes, all negative thoughts and anger had been cast aside, new insights in his conversation with Evan and Barty coming to mind. His loyal follower had been right, as was often the case when it came to judging human interactions. Coping mechanisms came in many different shapes, and whereas he had found comfort in retaliation and dehumanisation of Muggles, Evan had had vastly different experiences and could not be expected to harbour the exact same feelings. It looked like the boy had embraced** kindness** instead of all things, and more self-hatred than could be good for anyone.

How to deal with such a thing was the question. Certainly, not all those who followed him shared his every thought, but the general idea had always been there, a superiority of being mages being a belief held up like a banner against the rest of the world. Then again, if all went as planned, that wasn't entirely necessary anymore, since he'd rather save his people and hide than have them all die trying to scratch away the stains on this earth. Evan had become a lot less hostile after seeing his intention to prioritise lives of wizardkind over his own need to murder the unworthy. Perhaps the only thing he'd need to do was be less vocal about the latter. That would only pose a problem should Evan meet with other followers of his than Barty…

What was most frustrating, was the realisation of how important it was to keep the boy happy. Shunning Evan could be detrimental in more ways than one: he knew of Voldemort's plans, of his immortality, of the fact that Evan himself was a living Horcrux, and many other secrets. They shared a bond through soul, a mental connection and he had Evan's blood running through his veins since his resurrection. As much as he tried to downplay it and control the hot-headed Gryffindor, the boy held power over him as well. What was more, Potter had been prophesized to have the power to vanquish him, and had already lived up to that once. His throat constricted at the thought, and Nagini curled closer to him as she sensed his emotions.

She was, however, not the only one.

''What are you so afraid of?''

Keeping his eyes closed, Voldemort tried to show no outwards signs of having been startled.

~Of possibilities, and my inability to judge which ones to trust or follow,~ he hissed, tensing as Evan came closer. His back was unguarded, if the boy held another weapon now, he could-

He felt the other sit down next to him, a flurry of feelings coiling in the air around them like a ball of moving twine. ~I find it hard to understand you sometimes. Barty tried to explain to me where you come from but I… to me every life has value. Even the animals that we eat or use in potions are not so worthless to me that I'd ever** wish** them dead, kill them for sport or out of hatred. You have everything that millions of people would be envious of: magic beyond belief, immortality, intelligence… why waste all of that on putting others down? And how can you, even after all that, still fear anything? You've spent over a decade as a spirit and still you pulled through it, what possibility could be worse than what you've already experienced?~

He didn't answer, for he still did not wish to open up to anybody, not even to the one who held his soul. Finally opening his eyes, he gave a sideway glance at the teen, who sat next to him completely off-guard, legs crossed, leaning back on his hands and wand nowhere in sight. How could he ever be this open to another human being? How could he put the weight of his fears on anyone without panic about being betrayed? The answers Evan was searching for were none that he could give… An inquisitive gaze met his, Killing curse green, yet without a hint of malice.

Before he knew it, the veranda disappeared, green eyes all that remained in a last flash before he was overcome with emotions, his own thoughts laid bare. The anxiety that gripped him at the possibility of never knowing true feelings, that what he had achieved being merely artificial imitations of something his parents had denied him at birth. The pressing weight of failure in his Task, mages being wiped out before he could act, any wrong step being the last one. Uncertainty over Harry Potter, possibly destined to be his greatest foe, a truth he did not wish to be real… For if the full prophecy really did mark Potter as his enemy, would he need to kill the most wondrous piece of magic he'd ever created? His human Horcrux? Give up another sliver of his soul to protect the whole and kill a piece of himself in the process? Being killed… his greatest fear: to die alone, forgotten, and above all, unloved. For as much as he tried to distance himself from those bothersome other humans, at the base of it all he yearned most for that which he'd never truly had. Even Regulus had only taken from him before fleeing, betraying…

Lashing out, Voldemort managed to scramble back for control, separating his mind's and Potter's. Tears streamed down Evan's face, the stricken and fearful look telling him instantly that this invasion had not been intentional. Resolutely, he got to his feet, wanting to create as much distance between himself and the boy as possible.

He didn't get very far. After only a step, Evan jumped up towards him. The Dark Lord raised his wand, ready to defend himself, only for his arm to hang in mid-air uselessly when arms wrapped around his waist, Evan pressing himself against Voldemort's chest. ''What… what are you-''

''You're not alone,'' Evan whispered with a choked voice. ''And after the impact you made on this world already, you'll be remembered for ages even if you'd miraculously perish. I- I don't know much about this prophecy-thing, but as much as we disagree sometimes, I'll stand by you. The fight for something greater is not something I can ignore, **Magic** is not something I can ignore. I'll do anything, I told you as much. I-''

''Stop,'' Voldemort commanded, gripping the boy's shoulders and pushing him away, claws digging into thin robes. ''You're rambling.'' How strange it was, to be comforted by a child, a child he'd caused so much suffering nonetheless. Uncomprehending, he asked: ''Why are** you** not afraid of** me**?''

Evan blinked rapidly and quickly, almost angrily, wiped away his tears with the back of his hand ''I am. Like, you seriously scare the hell out of me sometimes and at times I'm not sure if I'll survive my next conversation with you.''

''Then why?''

''It didn't really seem relevant to me at the moment. You needed someone there,'' was the mumbled reply.

Voldemort shook his head slowly in disbelief. ''One day, I swear, that attitude of yours is going to land you in an early grave if I don't physically drag you away from it. Go now, I need more time to think alone. Why did you come here so quickly in the first place?''

With an unimpressed, raised eyebrow, clearly overcoming his previous mood, Evan huffed: ''You're the one who told Barty to drag me out of my room, are you complaining about it now?''

Right, he'd never actually cancelled that order, had he? ''Speaking of Barty, if you tell him of anything you learned here, I'll give you a reason to be afraid of me again.'' And how much had the boy actually seen and felt of his insecurities? Should he try to find out? He did nothing as Evan nodded and retreated, only stopping long enough still to pet Nagini's head.

Sighing, Voldemort sat down once more to ponder on his thoughts. In a way, Evan's presence had only made him more uncertain…


	38. Answers

''Come on,'' Barty shouted, ''Nothing is going to happen if you're afraid of it!''

''It doesn't help that I know how it's supposed to feel, thank you very much!'' Harry yelled back. Both of them stood on opposite sides of the overgrown field that was the back garden, which was also covered completely by Voldemort's spell. ''Besides, what happens if I accidentally try to go beyond the borders of this dimension?''

''Good question, I guess you'll either get ripped to shreds, cause a sort of paradox, or just won't be able to. Let's find out!''

''Not. Helping!'' With a frustrated growl, Harry kicked the hoop that he was standing in. Today marked the third day of attempting to apparate. So far, he hadn't moved an inch. While Barty's enthusiasm hadn't waned in the slightest, Harry wasn't happy about his own progress. In truth, what held him back most was the fact that side-apparating with Voldemort had felt as if he'd been drowning until the very last moment, getting air back in his lungs barely in time not to pass out. Combined with the other disastrous ways he'd mucked up magical travel before, he'd created a huge mental block that just wouldn't let him focus enough to actually **want **to succeed. ''Is there no other way?''

''I myself learned it by jumping off a cliff, I apparated just in time to not be smashed on rocks,'' the other cheerfully spoke, and Harry wasn't entirely sure whether to believe it or not. A second later, Barty burst out laughing. ''I wish my story was that exciting, I waited till I was sixteen like a good little student and learned it during my lessons at Hogwarts. Putting you in life-threatening situations might actually help, but since I'd prefer not to get any backlash from your shields, and the Trace would pick up your magic anywhere else, we'll have to do with this. Come on, you're usually pretty good in catching up on these kind of things.''

''It's just that anything besides brooms sucks to travel with! What if I get stuck? Or end up where I'm not supposed to go?''

Barty shook his head and came towards him, putting both hands on Harry's shoulders, a grin from ear to ear. ''Thought you were supposed to be a Gryffindor, kid. Roar and all that. Look, you've managed to find a way of breathing underwater, you've fought off hoards of monsters, you've done so much magic that many will never accomplish. And you think that** you** of all people can't learn how to apparate? You're already there two-thirds of the way: the destination is right there in front of you, and your movements are deliberate enough. Now be determined to actually** do** it!''

Harry closed his eyes and focused again, breathing in deeply and slowly. Yet even as he turned around, it was already clear to him that he'd fail once more, the thought of squashed lungs being enough to deter him. ''Do I really have to learn this** now**?'' he sighed as he looked up at Barty's disappointed face. ''I won't be able to get a license until I'm seventeen anyways, apparating anywhere for me beforehand would be illegal.''

''Only if you get caught. Besides that, you have a few enemies too many, not learning this is going to put you on a difficult spot. Do you take constructive criticism?

''Not without crying. Never stopped you before though, so why ask?''

Barty sighed heavily at the sarcastic response, then perked up all of a sudden. ''Hey, didn't you tell me that you apparated once as a child?''

Harry shrugged. ''Yeah, but that was entirely on accident. I was suddenly on the roof of the school and it felt completely different. I blinked once and then I was there, there was nothing unpleasant about it apart from the consequences after.''

''Perhaps you're a bit too hung up about your negative experience from before. As I tried to explain yesterday, side-along apparition is different from doing it yourself, and while it certainly** can** still feel like hell, proficiency depends on the wizard. From your past success, I can say with certainty that it should feel like it did back then. If that was absolutely nothing, good for you.''

Harry considered the words, recalling the memory. He'd wanted to be away from Dudley, wanted to be somewhere out of reach, somewhere** safe**. With renewed vigour and sudden resolve, Harry turned around on the spot, feeling magic rise to the surface not only through his hands like when using a wand, but everywhere, a warm rush enveloping him as he travelled through empty space. He stumbled as he landed not on the opposite side of the field as expected, but in a dark room, and for a moment, he was entirely disoriented. Was this inside the house? Without thinking, he took his wand. '_**'Lumos!**_'' he spoke, lighting up the interior, rich shades of blue and cream all around on the painted walls.

''Bartemius, what in Merlin's name are you doing, get out of here!'' a rather grouchy voice spoke, and Harry nearly got a heart attack as the room suddenly burst with magic; ensnaring, choking, delicious magic. With great difficulty, he turned around and his light shone on none other than the Dark Lord himself, who shielded his eyes from the light with one hand. ''Potter?''

''I… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… I mean…'' Flushed, Harry dimmed the light and tried to find the door, -if only those waves of power wouldn't keep crashing down on him,- in his haste knocking something over. A heavy thud sounded, and as he tried to move again, Harry stumbled over Nagini, who had wound herself around his legs.

~_Coming into Master's den? How…. interesting…~_ she hissed in a way that suggested she would have smirked if she could.

~_Nagini, ah, let me go!~ _He struggled to get loose, gasping for breath as her body wound tighter around his chest, pressing slowly-

_~Nagini, __**enough**__,~ _As if stung, the serpent uncoiled and slithered away under the bed, her eyes flashing up an unnatural gold in the darkness. Harry coughed and slammed his own chest, trying to breathe again, tears streaming down his eyes. He yelped undignified when hauled to his feet and he stood in front of a rather aggravated Dark Lord. Somehow, Voldemort wasn't any less intimidating when wearing nothing but pyjama trousers. ''Explain yourself,'' the man hissed, cold fingers finding themselves around Harry's throat, and now he was trapped again, trapped in more than one way…

''I succeeded in apparating,'' Harry said matter-of-factly, somewhere deep within him finding the gall to be casual about the whole situation, ignoring the living air around them. Better to act as if he wasn't affected in any way.

''And that had to be in my bedroom, while I slept?'' The displeasure couldn't have been greater. The grip tightened.

Somehow, it was irking that there was not even a hint of recognition at him succeeding something that most wizards needed much longer for. ''Why** are** you sleeping? It's afternoon,'' he thus bit back, moving his head to show irritation at being held.

''Not all of us are blessed with regular shifts, I start work in three hours, we're having an extra edition since Fudge decided to throw himself a parade for absolutely no other reason than trying to focus attention on the Ministry rather than on Dumbledore. Fudge and the old fool had a falling out, as I'm sure you are aware of. With how much support the Headmaster has of the general public, he is doing his best to make himself look like a strong and able leader. It is highly annoying, but for now aiding Fudge is a much better option than giving Dumbledore a positive platform, I am about to drop the first controversial theme onto Fudge's lap soon after all, I can't have him see it coming.''

''Sounds like you'll be busy again…'' Harry spoke nonchalantly, trying to gauge the other's reaction. He'd mainly spent time with Barty, as Voldemort was barely ever home due to his new job. Harry had hoped to get a few answers and interesting discussion with the man, but that was absolutely impossible with how little he saw the Dark Lord.

Voldemort sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Harry shivered as he felt magic reach out and caress his head. ''Tomorrow child… tomorrow I'll make time for your ever-curious mind. For now, I'd like to make the most out of the two-and a half hours of blessed sleep I have left.''

''Right. I'll just… go then,'' Harry said, pointing his thumbs behind him at what hopefully was the door so he wouldn't look like an absolute fool. It was difficult to see Voldemort's face, but the dark chuckle he got was unmistakable.

''Go? You stumble in here, waking me, then think you can just… leave? Oh no… no, I don't think so.''

The icy fingers left his throat at last, but that didn't mean that he felt any safer now. Before Harry could make up his mind over whether he wanted to run or not, his back hit a soft mattress and he felt it dip on the other side as well. ''What are you…'' he started carefully.

''Think of some calming thoughts, I wish to sleep,'' the man commanded, and now Harry, who had half-expected to get tortured, was entirely confused. Then, it clicked as he recalled all the times he and Voldemort had slept in one room before. It wouldn't be the first time that the Dark lord used their mental link to steer his own feelings. Sighing, Harry surrendered himself to the fate of being Lord Voldemort's mood regulator. His thoughts went to Hogwarts, to flying, to his friends, and soon enough, the man's breath deepened. Carefully, Harry sat up, shaking his head in disbelief. How would Ron and Hermione react if they could only see him now?

Harry spared himself an answer on that, refusing to let his imagination run wild, for he was certain that his inner Ron and Hermione voices would only make him laugh. Instead, he looked down on the sleeping face of Voldemort, eyes now used enough to the darkness to see more than a white fleck. Why was it that sometimes, this man was so damn terrifying, and the next moment, Harry got such an overwhelming need to protect him? Voldemort made a few grumbly noises in his sleep and turned around, his hand shooting out and wrapping itself tightly around Harry's arm in much the same way he'd always grabbed Nagini's tail when sleeping in his rudimentary form.

''Okay then,'' Harry sighed, lying down again and turning in such a way that his arm didn't get completely twisted, not expecting to get much sleep out of this himself.

It appeared that he'd been wrong, for when the teen became aware of his surroundings again, light shone in his eyes from the open window, and Voldemort was already up and fully dressed. ''I shall be leaving,'' the man announced. ''Congratulations on managing to apparate, but please do still work on your aim.'' Harry groaned something incomprehensible as he registered the words, and buried his head deeper in the pillow again, somehow not feeling rested at all, perhaps due to having constant muscle aching since the first day he'd arrived. Barty fully used the fact that Harry was here to get as much teaching in before the Gryffindor would leave again to possibly more incompetent teachers. It wasn't that Harry minded very much, spending time with Barty was great and learning useful spells to survive a duel even more so. And other than at school, where he needed to focus on several different courses each day, plus homework and social activities, here Harry could really concentrate on a single spell each day until he had it down, drastically lowering the time he needed to learn it. Only apparition had had him stumped for several days now due to his internalised hatred for it.

It was unbelievable that it had been two weeks already since he'd arrived… with disappointment, Harry realised what that meant: he only had a bit over three weeks remaining until he'd go to Grimmauld place. Not that he wasn't excited to see Sirius again, that would be amazing too, but it would also mean that he wouldn't be able to see either Barty and Voldemort for quite a long time. On top of that, it would be hard not to use his wand at every convenient moment now he'd gotten into the habit of drawing it for any little thing. To not waste more of the precious time he had left, Harry managed to drag himself out of bed.

''Evan!'' he heard, and Harry looked up to see Barty coming up the stairs. ''I've searched everywhere for you, even went out in the Muggle town…'' the Death Eater trailed off and narrowed his eyes. ''That is our Lord's bedroom.''

''Genius conclusion,'' Harry yawned. ''I accidentally apparated straight in here and he didn't let me go. Wanted me to sleep with him, and you don't exactly say no to the Dark Lord if you value all your limbs in the right places, right?''

''You… you** slept** **with him**?'' Barty repeated in a shrill tone that Harry had never heard leave his mouth.

''Obviously, why else would I be in there for hours?'' the teen replied, wondering why Barty was making such a big deal of this, pointing at his completely tousled hair. ''At first I wanted to leave, but he dragged me to bed and didn't leave me much choice so… what?''

''You're fourteen… he **assured** me that… By Morgana, you're FOURTEEN.''

''Oh… OH. **No**!'' Harry hastened to say as he saw Barty's face contort in crazed fury. ''He didn't…'' the teen swallowed, finally understanding how Barty had taken his words and he wanted to slap himself. But really, did he need to spell it out that he obviously hadn't had** sex** with **Voldemort**? Getting red only at that unimaginable thought, he almost yelled: ''I meant** literally** Barty. I can influence his mood using our mental connection, and since I disturbed his sleep, he used that to fall asleep again faster, that's all. He didn't do anything… inappropriate. Merlin, why do I even need to say this out loud?'' Then, he stopped to think for a moment and warily asked: ''What exactly did he assure you of?''

Barty only answered with a strangled cry that expressed frustration, relief and a dozen other emotions all at once. Harry knew better than to ask more questions when the man was like this. Shaking his head, Harry went down to the kitchen to fetch himself some food. It was a miracle that Voldemort had survived on his own for almost a year here. For all the Dark Lord's genius, he was a shit cook, barely above Barty's level. Baking, on the other hand…

''Where does all the food actually come from?'' he wondered aloud as he walked in and found several boxes with fresh ingredients standing in the pantry once again. Picking one up, he started to restock the cabinets. ''I haven't had to go into town even once to buy groceries this time, and you aren't really making trips either, are you?''

''You don't really think that witches and wizards usually go to Muggle supermarkets, do you? And can you imagine House-elves walking into non-magical shops?''

''Well… no. I never thought about it. Is there a magical substitute?''

''In a way. Our community always used middle-men to buy necessities. That used to be 'the one mage that knows enough about muggles to bulk-buy food for the entire village from local farms and then distribute it further' in older times. After buying local became less and less popular with muggles, we also needed to adapt. Two families in the country saw a business opportunity in acting as wholesalers for the entire Wizarding community in Britain. They're not a traditional store though, you can't just walk in and buy their wares. There's either subscriptions for magical restocking of selected items at certain times, or owl-orders. We use the latter, our Lord has it all delivered to a post box in Diagon. It's a lot safer than what we did before. Now the Order is getting active, we can't show our faces in town too often. As you said, Dumbledore knows that our Lord's family used to live here and that there's a good chance we're hiding here.''

''You think he's spying on the village?''

''If not already, he will when he gathers enough men and resources. I won't put it past him to let them guard any place he suspects our Lord to have any sort of connection with. We're perfectly safe behind these walls, and both the Dark Lord and I can easily apparate when still within the illusion field near the entrance, but going into Little Hangleton regularly would be an unnecessary, stupid risk.''

''Shame, that pizza place was good,'' Harry casually said, causing Barty to laugh.

''That was your concern? If you want to get a break from feeding us, I can take you anywhere else to eat in the muggle world.''

''Sounds good,'' the teen said, then proceeded to fix himself and Barty some dinner.

While working, Harry's thoughts wandered to tomorrow, where he'd finally get some answers, hopefully. Perhaps he should really make a list and stick to it this time, for none of his conversations with Voldemort ever went where he wanted them to. According to Barty, whom had memorised the Dark Lord's work schedule, the man should be home all evening tomorrow, so Harry should have plenty of time. It was frustrating to never know what exactly was going on, and he fully wished to rectify his ignorance. Thus, in the short breaks he had during his further apparition training, Harry wrote down every thought that struck him.

It was with this list in hand that he knocked on the door of the drawing room the following evening.

''Enter,'' he heard, and Harry softly closed the door behind him, taking a few steps. How odd, he'd barely set foot in here during his stay. ''Sit down and have a drink.'' Relaxing at the tone and the generally calm atmosphere in the room, the teen crossed the distance between himself and Voldemort, who was lounging on the new couch.

''My Lord,'' he spoke, giving a short bow before sitting down. Considering that he was here for answers, he'd do everything in his power not to antagonise the one who could give him those. Harry turned the chair he'd chosen a bit away from the sweltering heat of the fireplace, which was burning even in this hot summer.

Voldemort mustered him for a moment. ''You're learning, I appreciate that.''

''According to Molly Weasley, I'm the politest young man she's ever met,'' he couldn't help but blurt out.

Voldemort chuckled lightly. ''Having met four of her spawn and hearing wild stories about her eldest two, I'm not surprised that she has little knowledge of polite children.''

Confused, Harry leaned forwards and took the glass that floated in front of him, which held an amber substance that he couldn't identify. ''You've met Weasleys? When?''

''I wasn't unconscious while attached the Quirinius, you should know. I gathered information the entire time. I may not have spoken to anyone directly, but I certainly wasn't deaf either.''

''Right. I keep forgetting that you've been at Hogwarts for like, a year.''

''One would think that I left a larger impression on you after the grand finale of it.''

Harry shrugged and leaned back. ''So many weird things happened to me in my first year at Hogwarts that I didn't really think through all of the implications you being there had, apart from that encounter.'' He swirled the liquid in his glass around and gave it a suspicious look. ''Please tell me that this is neither an experimental potion nor alcohol.''

''You developed an aversion against alcohol? You seemed to enjoy it last summer.''

''I did, I just… you know, there were a few parties too many as celebrations of finishing the Tasks last year. Everyone tried to one-up the other and after my first massive hangover I decided to stick to Butterbeer until I am actually allowed to legally drink. Which is… actually, I don't know when I'm allowed to legally drink. To be honest, I barely know anything about Wizarding law, it's not taught at Hogwarts.''

''Another fault in our education system that should be rectified, good that you brought it to my attention. Perhaps an interview with several Muggleborn or Muggle-raised to see how much they know about common laws is in order to point this out to our dear government… To answer you: we never created a law for drinking in the Department of Magical Law and it is thus governed according to the last Muggle law that went into effect about it, which is the 1923 Intoxicating Liquor Act. It says that under-eighteens are not to be sold alcohol for consumption on licensed premises, but minors can be **served **alcohol as long as they are sixteen. In other words, if a sixteen-year-old goes to a pub with their caretakers, they could not buy alcohol themselves, yet are allowed to drink it when bought by those responsible for them. To make it more complicated though, this only goes for alcohol sold and served by licensed premises. In private homes, the legal drinking age is actually set at five years old.'' He gestured to the glass in Harry's hand. ''So there's nothing illegal about this.''

''I suppose I know too little about Muggle law too,'' Harry grimaced. ''Did you make it any less complicated in your legislation? I mean, you said you didn't wish to rely anymore on Muggle law, right?''

''True, but I saw no reason to change this, the legal drinking age is fine as it is in my opinion. There's no need to add unnecessary controversy to something that is already working perfectly fine. Should I set it at a specific age, be it older or younger, some people will always find issue with it. So, to move on, what burning questions do you have for me this time?''

Harry took a moment to set down his glass -legal or not, he didn't feel like consuming anything that could leave him loose-lipped and clouded of mind,- before answering. ''First of all, I'd like to know what actually happened to Wormtail. It's a mystery that neither the Aurors nor the Order have been able to solve. They say that the state he was left in hinted at the work of Dementors, even though there were none present. Furthermore, he didn't have a Mark anymore.''

''And why do you wish to know about the fate of one of my Death Eaters?''

''I brought him to the Ministry in an attempt to get my godfather cleared. Wormtail confessed only to the Aurors, not in court, and as his corpse was left without any proof of him being a Death Eater, there is nothing left to show that Sirius was falsely accused of murder.''

''Hmm, I suppose that you deserve an answer… My Mark can detect traitors, an improvement I created even before I regained my rudimentary form, after seeing just how many of my followers denounced me shortly after my demise. Wormtail's was the first Mark that I adapted. After Pettigrew gave you my address, the Mark activated and devoured his consciousness, his sense of self, every single memory he ever had...''

''That is… cruel,'' Harry whispered, horrified. He shivered as the room, which had held a pleasant, warm air before, appeared to darken. Shadows fell on the Dark Lord's face that had nothing to do with those cast from the fire.

''Yes, and also necessary. After my death, my followers scrambled to get their own names cleared, giving up names of other Death Eaters they knew, claiming they were under the Imperius curse or that they never had anything to do with me. If only they had all held true to my ideals… had they held together and chosen another, temporary leader until my resurrection, had they believed in my immortality… I would not have had to start over completely. Perhaps I would even be a decade further in my plans than I am now. Adapting the Mark in a way that betrayal means turning into little more than an empty shell should prevent it from happening again. Once I make it known, that is, I never did tell Wormtail what exactly I did, his was a bit of an experiment. Also, I am still not as cruel as the Ministry is. The effects are similar to a Dementor's kiss, true…. with one very important difference: the soul is kept intact. Should Wormtail die now, his soul can still move on. That should make it clear to my followers that choosing Azkaban over me is still not a desirable option.''

Harry wasn't entirely sure about that. Going to Azkaban didn't instantly mean the Dementor's kiss after all. It certainly would make for less traitors though, he grudgingly admitted. ''That brings me to my next question actually… Your Death Eaters, have you still not changed your mind about them?''

Voldemort slightly cocked his head. ''In what way?''

''You said you wouldn't be freeing any of your followers from Azkaban, since that would only lead to chaos. Now, Dumbledore is pulling the Order together though, and the Ministry has been alerted to Death Eater activity. Does that change your plans in any way?''

''Not at the moment. I wish to be as inconspicuous as possible. The Order has absolutely no proof as to my return, and Fudge would still deny my resurrection even if I came to kill him personally. That leaves me with just as much freedom of movement as before. However, should one of the other sides indeed declare a state of war, I shall not hesitate to free my soldiers, does that suffice as an answer?''

''You say that as if it will be easy to cause a mass-breakout.''

''It is, Dementors are possibly the darkest creatures in existence. They naturally submit to me, the only reason they do as the current Ministry dictates is because no-one bothers them and they are fed enough. As soon as they know I've risen again, they'll gladly return to my side. A few have already felt my return and have left Azkaban in search of me.'' Harry stayed silent for a while, taking in that information. He'd always wondered why the Ministry would work together with something so obviously** foul**. It didn't improve his image of the Dark that Voldemort made it sound as if the fearsome creatures were his lapdogs. ''As of now, you needn't worry about Dementors patrolling the streets, as I said, I prefer to remain in hiding.''

''Why?'' Harry frowned. ''I'm sorry if this sounds rude but… I've seen some of your memories, I feel your emotions constantly, and if I noticed one thing, it's that you love being in the centre of attention. Hiding away, letting an unknown man you use as a disguise take credit for your achievements, doesn't fit your personality.'' The air around Harry crackled dangerously. He tried not to pay too much attention to it and looked straight into red, narrowed eyes. Oh yes, he had wanted to not piss off Voldemort for once, so much for that. Calling him an attention-whore had perhaps not been Harry's smartest approach. As it was too late to take back, Harry pressed: ''I don't understand why you'd choose such a long-time approach when it's clear that you want to show the entire Wizarding World that you were capable of resurrecting yourself against everyone's expectations.''

''What I wish for and what is clever are entirely different things. There is something called restraint, perhaps you've ever vaguely heard of it?'' Voldemort's tone had taken on its well-known hissing quality that was always reserved for either threats or snide comments.

''Can't recall,'' Harry replied. The other opened his mouth, closed it again and gave Harry a sort of astonished look that told him he'd effectively avoided a disaster. ''Okay, so you're basically saying that you choose the smart route, got it. So what are your current short-term plans? What are your working on right now? Me and two of the other Champions accepted your envelopes, but so far you haven't published anything about it, right?''

''True, even though both Delacour and Diggory contacted me through my company. It is a shame that Krum was so stubborn… then again, it was never my intention to focus on Eastern-Europe in the first place, so his lack of support is not going to give me much difficulty. I am rather glad that he wasn't the one who won the Tournament, that would have made it much more complicated.''

''He didn't sound very happy about whatever it was you'd given him. What did his envelope contain?''

''In a moment, you're a bit too hasty with your questioning. About short-term plans: I am still in the middle of reforming both newspapers to fit my ideal way of getting across information. Once I have reached a satisfactory format and teams, I'll start introducing more controversial topics. I've already announced it to my staff, but it will take a while to gather sufficient resources for it. Also, it would be too easy for outsiders to notice the massive changes in the way I run these papers if I'd do both at the same time. The next step I wish to achieve is to cause debates and turmoil in the Ministry by using the taboo topics given to you, as well as a few others I will write about later, when I will not need the feigned 'requests' of celebrities to get these published. During that time, my Death Eaters currently working at the Ministry can build up a network of sympathisers and take action against these atrocities to give dark magicians a better name. This will take at least a full year. I personally will be overseeing both the press and these select groups to ensure that nothing escapes my notice. Naturally, I'll need to be adaptable, for I do not yet know what Dumbledore is planning, if anything at all. Barty told me that you will be at their Headquarters the last two weeks of August?''

''Yes, although Sirius already swore to keep me away from meetings to not compromise the Order,'' Harry grimaced. He looked away as he caught Voldemort's unimpressed look.

''Ah, Black… You certainly created a dilemma there. I am mostly impressed that he did not instantly run to Dumbledore once finding out what side you are on. Apparently he still remembered his heritage somewhat. I will not intervene in whatever plans you have with Black, as long as they do not compromise mine. It is good that he is still regarded a criminal, so he doesn't have too much contact with others. I prefer to have his sphere of influence be as small as possible.''

''About that,'' Harry hesitantly spoke. ''There is something you should know that I found out about Sirius. I don't know how, but he is still my magical guardian even though he went to Azkaban.''

''**What**,'' Voldemort hissed, jumping up from his seat, starting to pace back and forth ''That is impossible, all convicted criminals are stripped off any legal rights for the duration of their sentence.'' The Dark Lord stood still all of a sudden, long fingers placed at barely visible lips. ''Unless… unless they were not really convicted. Black never had an official trial. His bank account has not been frozen then either, correct?''

''Probably not, he took the risk of going to Gringotts to get money just to buy me a Firebolt.''

''I should have known then… this leaves us at a disadvantage. Black is both your godfather and your magical guardian. This could mean that he could claim full guardianship of you, including influencing your political and financial decisions as well as your place of residence until you are seventeen.''

''Wait, you mean I really wouldn't have to live with the Dursleys again?'' Harry spoke, instantly seeing the positive point in it.

''Don't act as if this is a good thing,'' Voldemort snarled. ''Your Muggle family has only limited access to your resources since they don't know how our world functions. Black on the other hand, could fully exploit this to bind yourself to him as tightly as a parent to their child. He could decide **anything **for you, unlike your ignorant Muggle Aunt. I wish to see detailed memories of every conversation you've had with him. **Now**.'' Harry's hand automatically twitched and searched for his wand as Voldemort got closer again, looming over him. The movement was interrupted by a strand of magic that caught Harry's wrist. ''Don't even think of it,'' the man whispered as he sank down in front of the chair, deathly pale hands reaching for Harry's face. The teen closed his eyes tightly, tensing up and hoping it would be over soon, for the last time had been anything but pleasant. ''The less you resist, the less painful it will be.''

It was not very helpful advice. Even before Harry could halfway try to let down his guard, a sharp pain already stung through his skull, and he was lost in it, half-aware of his own cries as shreds of his own mind flashed by, visions he couldn't grasp. And he was drowning again, suffocating in the darkness that surrounded him from inside and out, that choked up a throat raw from screaming. Harry tried to grasp the magic that held him in its grip, clawing at it in a futile attempt todefend himself. At long last, the pain abruptly stopped. Harry curled up into himself, gasping for air, blood pumping far too fast, fast enough for it to rush into his ears and make him dizzy. Alive… he was still alive. And Voldemort was already talking again, nonsensical syllables that Harry couldn't hear properly through the rushing blood. He reached out again, grasping the man's robes in an attempt to push, for there was no other way he could convey that he needed space more than anything now. It didn't work as intended, for instead of moving away, the Dark Lord came even closer, pulling Harry out of his chair. At least he'd stopped talking…

A spark, a shudder. The cloud of pain made way for blissful peace, as if Voldemort's hands that stroked the side of his head were coated in a healing spell that fixed his mind. ~_Evan?~ _Harry refused to speak still. A few seconds of healing by far did not make up for the pain he'd gone through for so long before. He didn't care where he was, relaxing and letting his head rest against the first thing it found, which happened to be a bony shoulder. He counted minutes before his body returned to normal and he dared move again without fearing falling over instantly.

''That was a lot worse than last time,'' he rasped, his throat still feeling as if he'd swallowed sandpaper.

''It was longer.''

Voldemort let the teen move away, and Harry slowly heaved himself up into the chair again, trying not to think too hard of what had happened before. Why did he always end up clinging to Voldemort after the man hurt him? That was definitely not healthy. ''Yeah, well, that made it worse,'' he replied. ''And, what are your grand conclusions?''

''He does not know more about me or my followers than Dumbledore does, apart from the fact that** you** follow me. Or would follow me in case I resurrect… I am in two minds about it. On one hand, he knows far too much about your true goals, and telling him your allegations was still incredibly stupid in case you misjudged his loyalties. All of my plans regarding you could be destroyed the moment he decides on a whim to trust Dumbledore with this information. Taking into account how unstable he appears to be, there **is** a chance of that happening still. On the other hand, Black is perfect when it comes to covering you, and he does not seem to be as averse towards dark magic as I thought. His desperation to act as a substitute father to you and make up for his mistakes towards his dead friends is something we can use.''

''I am not going to **use **Sirius,'' Harry bit. ''After all the support he's given me, after the risks he's willing to take, I am not going to betray his trust by manipulating his emotions or intentions. What's more, I shouldn't need to! Your cause is just, your ideals are better for this country than anything else we could have, you have **Magic's** support, by Merlin! If with all that, you still need to deceive others into doing what you want, you're doing something fundamentally wrong.''

''Yes, because speaking to your godfather about my cause did so much good,'' Voldemort countered. ''He doesn't believe a word of it, and he will never. As it stands, I need to minimise the damage he could possibly do with the knowledge he has. You always fail to recognise your own importance, Black becoming aware of his power over you would be **disastrous**, it's a miracle that it eluded him till now that his status as guardian was never revoked!''

The words halted the angry cloud that had started to redden Harry's vision again.

_I am… important?_

He failed to voice those thoughts, though Voldemort fell silent nonetheless, perhaps picking up his confusion. ''Evan, do you think that I sit down with all of my followers to sate their curiosity?'' the man quietly asked. ''In a way, you** are** me. Nothing is more important to me than myself.''

The glimmer of hope he'd felt for a moment died in Harry's chest. Of course Voldemort only cared for the piece of soul stuck inside. As if he'd ever care for anyone else. Harry's last short, involuntary trip into the man's mind had shown that the only reason why Voldemort didn't pursue the prophecy was due to fear for himself. It had nothing to do with Harry as a person. ''I won't tell Sirius that he is my guardian,'' he dispassionately spoke. ''Please don't ask more of me than that.''

''And if he finds out?''

''He's still a criminal in the eyes of the Ministry, I doubt that he could adopt me or something like that. As long as this guardianship is still shared with the Dursleys, he won't be able to anything drastic. I'm not active in politics, and the key from the main Potter vault is missing, so he wouldn't be able to touch too much of my finances either.''

''That is reassuring. I will let the topic of Black rest for now then. You also asked about Krum… it's not so important anymore since he refused my offer of publishing the topic, but I gave him information on the systematic eradication of necromancers in Europe.''

''Necromancers?'' Harry asked. ''Those actually exist?'' He'd read the term before in books, but that was about it. The topic hadn't even been mentioned in Defence against the Dark Arts until now, and Harry had this vague impression of wrinkled and grey men and women forming circles to raise zombies.

''Of course, I myself am quite versed in Necromancy. I had to be to be… anchoring ones soul to this plane of existence is one thing. Actually getting a body back after dying is another altogether. Necromancers study death and soul magic alike, animate dead bodies, and try to contact those who have passed… with limited success. Due to the dark nature of their magic, necromancers are shunned and, more recently, victims of organised killing. Governments of sixty-five countries in this world actively 'control' the amount of necromancers within their population by making them disappear in various ways.''

''And what does that have to do with Krum?''

''He used to have a sister, four years older than him. She was a born Necromancer, which is about as rare as a born Leglimens or a Metamorphmagi. Her parents tried to hide it, but her talents became obvious to her teachers once she started education at Durmstrang. Fortunately, Durmstrang is one of the few safe havens left for aspiring Necromancers, even if there are no courses available to train it. She stayed at the school even during summers and lived to graduate still, then was murdered within the first month after. One of her fellow students must have notified a government official in Bulgaria.''

With each word, Harry grew more angry. ''That is awful! Especially when you say that it was a born talent, she couldn't do anything about… whatever powers Necromancers can naturally have. How is this any better than Muggles punishing magicians for having magic?''

''It is true that she was more dangerous than most of us. She could influence life and death with a mere thought and was thus considered a threat to Muggle and mage alike. Even if she'd learned to control those powers and been taught properly, she could have chosen to use it for utter destruction.''

''You agree with it?'' Harry frowned.

Voldemort scoffed. ''Of course not, if a person has more magical power than another, I believe they should have the right to wield that magic. Magic is, after all, what determines the value of life. I agree with your analogy: this is no better than what Muggles often do to us. My explanation was to clarify that I think it is** understandable**, not that it is just or even acceptable.''

''What do you mean with 'value of life?'''

''Simple, magic is the deciding factor in the superiority of a race. As soon as a person shows that they possess magic, they have revealed to have transcended to a higher being.''

Harry stared at Voldemort for a couple of seconds and tried to take in the tone it had been said in, as if this was the most widely-accepted statement in the world. Yes, they'd talked before about blood purity and Voldemort seeing Muggles even as mere** cattle**, so it really shouldn't come as a surprise, but the words struck something. It wasn't so much that Voldemort thought that magic equalled superiority as much as the fact that he'd said it as if it wasn't an opinion to be discussed about as much as an obvious fact. ''You know we disagree on that,'' Harry carefully reminded the man. ''I do not think that any one life if more valuable than another. If I'd start thinking of those without magic as lower than those with, I'd also have to start dividing people by other things: gender, race, intelligence…''

''Why? Just because you take one factor into account does not necessarily mean you are forced to suddenly separate people in other categories as well. That is an active choice. I disagree with racism or sexism, I have found no evidence for people with one skin colour or gender to have better qualities than people with another overall. Magic however, is a power given to a chosen few by a goddess which lets us bend the laws of nature to our will.''

''But magic is indeed exactly that! A power, a skill so to say. So does that not equal power to value? Why would that not be the case for different kinds of power that Muggles can also wield? Money, intellect, royalty?'' Harry just couldn't fathom how someone who was supposed to be so genius could not see humanity in its entire complexity rather than through this limited all-or-nothing view. Even a lack of natural intricate emotions couldn't explain this kind of logic, for Harry found that Voldemort completely ignored many factors to make them fit his point.

The Dark Lord leaned back and mustered Harry, then answered, rather calmly for his doing. ''Magic is a very specific power, the only one that truly matters when it comes to the right of wielding authority and rights over other species. Only when it comes to an already established equality in magic, such as between different magical species, do other factors play a role in further developing a hierarchy.''

Harry admitted to not being the most observant person. In fact, Hermione more than once had told him straight out that he was dense. Now though, a moment of clarity struck him that made Voldemort almost see-through. The teen noticed all the ways the man tensed while he spoke, the far-too precise and controlled movements, the flat tone of voice that masked a tremble of insecurity. Voldemort clung onto this belief as if it was the last rope that held him from falling into despair. It wasn't that the view Harry had of the world was unfathomable to the Dark Lord, but it would destroy everything he had ever worked towards. And even with the Task he'd been given only being to **protect** Wizardkind from the rising threat of Muggles, Voldemort had somehow interpreted that as a huge us versus them battle that he had to win by establishing dominance over them as if Muggles were an entirely different species. A battle he'd fought all of his life now. Not for the first time, Harry could only feel pity.

Should Harry ever succeed in changing this man's view of the world, should he destroy that belief that Voldemort's entire system was built upon with logical arguments, what would he even achieve with that? What would be left? Even now, he could see that succeeding in that might be easier than he thought, but at what cost? Would their world be left without a Dark Lord to restore balance and provide protection? Then again, was it in any way ethical to let Voldemort continue as he did, being so alienating towards Muggles that he felt it to be his right to even kill them? And moreover, was it up to Harry to make this decision?

''Look, I can… I can understand where you are coming from,'' he started. ''You've made clear to me why Muggles can pose a danger, and also that people with the abilities that we have are maybe better at running the world. But that also gives us a certain kind of responsibility, doesn't it? Kings, Queens or Presidents all have a higher status than the civilians they govern, the law might even elevate their status so that their life is legally worth more than that of a regular person, but in return they need to protect their citizens. The head of a country can't just condemn random people whenever they wish to based on the fact that there is a difference in value of life, as you put it.''

Voldemort sighed deeply, a strange emotions trickling over through the link that was hard to identify. ''I may have been too pressing with my views. Barty told me that you… identify with Muggles in a way. I won't ask you to take over my own beliefs, it isn't necessary since in the long run, we won't need to deal with Muggles at all. I only wish for you to understand that you cannot always judge groups of people only as individuals. There are systems in place, and the system in which the Muggles of this country move about is a threat to us. Their entire society would wipe out ours. To keep with your analogy, Kings and Queens can condemn civilians when they pose a threat to the crown. And Muggles** are** a threat to us.''

''Yes, but we're also stronger, and can choose how to deal with them. Your idea of creating a safe environment for us to live in, separate from Muggles, is actually a great solution, instead of trying to rule over them by force. Before that happens though, it's still important to see Muggles as people we can talk to and make deals with instead of rabid dogs who are out to get us. It's a fact that we're greatly outnumbered, and let's be honest, most magicians aren't exactly self-sufficient. Purebloods like to pretend that they don't depend on Muggles, but Barty just told me yesterday that in the end, they too eat food farmed by and bought from Muggles. You won't be able to get around working with them in some cases I think. Then acting dismissive because you firmly believe that you are a transcendent life form won't smooth any conversations, certainly not when they find out how easy you find it to kill their kind. Murder is not the most responsible option.'' Maybe Harry would never be able to change Voldemort's opinions, he could certainly try to influence the methods used to get where they wanted to go.

''As much as I wish to strangle you sometimes, in moments like these I am glad that you are here,'' Voldemort spoke, completely out of the blue. At Harry's uncomprehending look, he continued: ''Even Barty would never dare to discuss with me this freely. I already told you last year that a fresh opinion is welcome when it is in a private conversation and you do not become insulting. I'll consider your words.'' Relief washed over Harry. He hadn't actually thought that he'd succeed in getting through to the other in any way. It was very telling for the future, that Voldemort was sane enough to consider any kind of advice. ''So, is there any other pressing matter that you'd like to hear more of?''

Harry looked at the list in his hand. There was one word that he'd written down completely randomly, scribbled in the top corner. He tried to resist the mental link as little as possible to fully gauge Voldemort's mood and with that, his own probability of survival. Before he could change his mind again, he asked: ''Did you ever use the word 'cool' when you were younger?''

The other smirked. ''You should have asked me that in the past weeks. I just saw every conversation you and Black had, I know there is a bet running. As such, I'm not going to answer that.''

''Damn it!'' Harry exclaimed, laughing. ''I didn't think of that at all. Okay then, a serious question now, if I'm still allowed to stay?'' Voldemort chuckled and gestured for Harry to continue. You took up the position of Head Editor of the Daily Prophet right? What happened to the real Noctua? You said he was mutilated but not dead?''

''I remember you trying very hard to get the point across that just killing people doesn't accomplish anything. You were right: by restraining myself, I could keep him around for a long time to have ingredients for Polyjuice potion, and now still to occasionally seep off his memories. Using his disappearance to my advantage by usurping his position, then keeping him imprisoned and drugged was indeed much more effective than merely erasing him from existence.''

''That's not.. I…'' Harry inhaled deeply. ''Glad to have been of help.'' Small steps, Harry reminded himself. One spared life was already a huge deal for someone who thrived on slaughter. Although it could still have something to do with how much he valued lives of magicians more, and the fact that it physically hurt the man to kill the ones he was supposed to protect. ''Thank you as well, it is relieving in a way to finally be able to speak so openly about everything that's been bugging me, it's always so impossibly hard to get answers anywhere else…''

Voldemort dipped his head in acknowledgement. ''I know the frustration,'' he spoke. ''Now I have a question for you… if you could learn any spell in the world, what would it be?''

It really should have taken him longer to form an answer. Harry knew that there was an almost limitless possibility of what magic could do, and choosing a particular spell definitely should be naught impossible. But there was really only one thing Harry had always longed for, something which Dumbledore and many others had told him didn't exist. But hadn't Voldemort said that he was a proficient Necromancer?

''A spell to bring the dead back to life,'' he whispered. ''More than anything.'' He looked up, directly into his Lord's eyes. ''You have told me before that you can do that. As an exchange for the philosopher's stone, you told me you'd bring my parents back for me. Was that a lie?''

''No,'' the man spoke, and Harry's heart lifted, even as his brain sent warning signals at the tone and feelings that he received from the other. ''Not entirely. Very well, I shall show you, but be warned: you might not like the results.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that I forgot about before to not spread any misinformation:  
The info about legal drinking age etc is correct FOR THE TIME. In 1995, the last law passed regarding alcohol was the 1923 Intoxicating Liquor Act, which allowed children 16 and over to drink alcohol that parents bought for them in pubs etc. This law is not in effect anymore, it is restricted a bit more now.  
Only the part about the drinking at home from age 5 and over being legal is still true.


	39. Ties of Blood

''Wait, we're doing this now?'' Evan spoke, sounding shocked. ''Don't we need to… wait for moon phases and star alignment and such?'' His wish had likely been voiced in a spur of the moment and now the boy wasn't sure if he was fully prepared to suddenly be involved, Voldemort assumed.

He gave the child an amused look. ''So you** have** been paying attention. Yes, normally we would need to wait for the perfect moon phase. As it stands, luck is with you once more. Today is the 27th of July, and it just so happens to be a new moon tonight. One of the best this year has to offer, right before the summer solstice. Would you be at the hands of an inexperienced mage, you might have had to wait for the next one, but I have raised armies of the dead before and do not need much planning to start, for I have already fleshed out this piece of magic fully, years ago.'' He didn't even try to hide his pride.

''So this is Necromancy then, yes?''

''In its full form even. Necromancy is the art of working with the dead and has three main branches: Corpus, Animus and Mens. Most necromancers only divulge in either Corpus or Animus: they try to raise dead bodies without a will of their own, or try to contact spirits of those who have passed away. Bringing someone back to life however, requires a mastery of all three in perfect sync. It is a form of the Art that is nigh impossible to get right.''

''But you can?'' The hope in that voice was as undeniable as the crushing longing that battered on Voldemort's mind right now. He hesitated for a moment. It was not the first time that he had ever received this request from a follower. Usually, he made them go through all the necessary steps and revelled in the horror that unfurled at the very last stage, when the dead were standing in front of them. Barty had told him not to lose the boy's trust now. On the other hand, perhaps it** could** work to a much more satisfying degree than usual. Lily and James Potter had been killed by his own hand after all. And with the connection between their wands and the strange workings of magic, their minds might not be as lost as was usually the case…

He settled for saying: ''In a way,'' neglecting to mention that he'd never attempted it in an as advanced form as he would attempt now, and that even what he envisioned to be the perfect result, was something he doubted Potter truly wanted. Evan was silent for a long time, staring into the fire.

''Whatever you have in mind…'' he carefully started. ''Is what you would have given me if I had joined you back then?''

''Yes.'' There was no denying that now. Oh, he would have brought Potter's parents back, for worse or for worst. He kept his promises after all, and he'd never promised anything about** how** alive they would be. Ironically, it would even have worked worse then, as he hadn't had weeks in which he had studied the boy's wand and found out about the connection of their cores, nor had he taken in Evan's blood. He still felt it was a safer option to agree now, than to flat-out admit that back then, he could have barely brought back their souls even.

A rare expression crossed the boy's face, who suddenly looked much older as he pensively stared at Voldemort. ''I have been told again and again that the dead cannot be brought back. I… may have gotten a tad too excited before.''

The Dark Lord gave him an unimpressed look back. ''You will pass?''

Evan shook his head sharply. ''No, that's not what I meant. I only wish to say that I am not eleven anymore, and as tempting as the thought of my parents living again is, I'm not so naïve to believe that it is that simple. I'm interested in how far you can take it, but I please ask you to not pretend that it will be really them. That would make it… too hard. I've already lost them once. What I want, is to fully know** why** everyone keeps telling me that it can't be done, when necromancy and soul magic and all that exists. I want to see the absolute limit, and you're the only one who can give me that.''

Mind links and soul pieces be damned, if Voldemort had ever felt a genuine connection to this boy, it was now. Evan kept surprising him. Performing a hellishly difficult piece of magic just for the sake of seeing where the human limit lay, was exactly what captured his own interest all the time. For Evan to see past the instinctive desire to have Lily and James Potter back on this world again and to still wish to go through with it, showed a depth that Voldemort had feared wasn't there at all.

''In that case, I'll go further than I ever did before,'' he vowed, unable to suppress a sinister smile. Death magic was the most fascinating of all, and Evan would give him the tools to explore it deeper than he'd been able to as of yet. ''But first, you need a theoretical foundation. Sunset is only at nine and the night last till 5 'o clock tomorrow. The ritual itself takes about an hour. Wait here, I will send Barty out to get some… ingredients.''

XxX

Harry leaned back when his Lord left the room and tried to figure out his own feelings. He was… looking forward to it, of all things. It was odd how calm he actually was. The thought of the dead coming back to life made him only nervous because it would be his** parents**, not because he generally had something against the idea. The longer he thought about it, the surer he was of that death wasn't very frightening anymore. He'd been on the verge of death himself often enough already that it wasn't such a distant concept as it might be for most people, and if there was any wish he'd always had, it would be to speak to his parents again in some form. When he'd been small, he'd imagined faceless men and women to speak to as he lay in his cupboard and pretended they were his parents. At Hogwarts, he'd practically been drawn to the mirror of Erised, the first time that he found magic which gave him a window to having his family back. It hadn't mattered that they weren't real, or that they couldn't speak to him.

If Dark magic could give him more than that… if Voldemort could… then why not?

He looked up at he felt Voldemort enter the room again. From the moment of his request, it had become more tangible, turning the air thick and syrupy, making breathing harder. A heavy book landed in Harry's lap, a strangely beige, thick tome covered in geometric symbols. ''I realise that we do not have enough time for you to acquaintance yourself with the concepts completely, but I recommend reading at least the first paragraphs of each chapter, so you have an idea of all aspects involved. Take the text with a coin of leprechaun gold though, some of the ideas and concepts here are a bit far-fetched and outdated.''

Carefully, Harry cracked open the book and squinted his eyes at the squiggled, handwritten lines of slightly faded ink on yellowed parchment. There was no introduction for some reason. It looked like the author skipped any historical aspect or reasoning why Necromancy was necessary, and instead jumped straight into the first chapter called '**the Black cosmos**'.

_As with all higher Magicks, the Art of the Dead operates on a different plane of existence. It is in this Black Cosmos that the Necromancer can connect to the true power of the beyond. Many practitioners never set a foot in the Black Cosmos and will never find the right moon to colour their Art, leaving them mediocre and weak. A True Necromancer will be able to clad themselves in the Veil without their body withering, and cross over towards the plane between. One must remember that to reach the Black Cosmos, the Veil is to be used, and to return safely, a tie to the home realm is of utmost importance. This can be achieved through a grounding by other sorcerers, a tie to the physical body of the summoned, or easier methods such as consuming the body of a canine._

''What?'' Harry muttered to himself, reading that last sentence again.

''Perhaps an entire bag of leprechaun gold,'' Voldemort spoke, peering down on the page over Harry's shoulder. Should it feel so normal to have a Dark Lord casually standing behind him?

''Why can I read this so easily? The book itself looks ancient,'' Harry commented, glancing at the faded title on the cover.

''It is indeed written in middle English, but while translation spells between entirely different languages often give poor results, it is not incredibly difficult to spell texts of older versions of a language to be readable in its modern variety. The grammar is key with these spells and it is similar enough to give little trouble. I shall take my leave now and come to find you when all preparations are done. A few hours should be sufficient for you to acquaintance yourself with the material.'' Without waiting for an answer, Voldemort left.

Harry tried to continue with the first chapter but found that the author was really going a bit too far with suggesting eating dogs to stay in this dimension, so he skipped ahead to the next. He figured that placing one's soul into vessels would be enough of a tie to keep Voldemort steady enough on this plane of existence when summoning spirits. It even had when the man himself had died, so that was not a point of worry. In extension, Harry should be pretty safe too with how closely they were linked now. So, he kept reading chapter two, which was simply called 'the Path'.

_The four moons of the Art decide the path a Necromancer can take: four distinct moons fill the sky of the Black Cosmos, their colours paining the vast skies in an almost arctic display of vibrance. This otherworldly beauty has drawn in many a man not steadfast enough. The largest of all, the pale blue moon of Despair, calls out to those linked to Animus. Necromancers who walk under this moon will be able to understand the realm of to the dead like no other and call their souls even into our own dimension. Its twin moon is Ruin, which shapes the Art by giving power over Corpus. Necromancers who have Ruin's blazing red light reflected in their eyes can raise any corpse with artificial souls and even create moving matter out of nothing but a handful of bone dust and a few drops of blood. The other side of the Black Cosmos is filled with the eerie green glow of the moon called Fear, which can freeze the mind of any living being. Mens is its domain, and Necromancers who stalk its shadows can fully grasp the minds of living and dead alike. Those utilising Mens are able to connect to the minds of the dead and become an Oracle. Last of all, the smallest moon shines, its bleak yellow seemingly unfit for its name Glory. Few are drawn to this moon above the others, yet those who do can master all. I myself am fortunate enough to have ignored the obvious choices and looked beyond, a skill so valuable in all of the Art. _

Harry looked up as he heard a sound, but it was only Nagini who had entered the room. He rubbed his eyes and went to chapter three. The second one had interested him so much that he'd read the first full page of the chapter, and if he was supposed to skim through all of the book, he wouldn't make it at this pace even if he had hours. While it was great that the text had at least been enchanted to read like modern English, the handwriting was still terribly hard to decipher. Who knew when exactly Voldemort came back. From his Lord's earlier words though, Harry figured that Voldemort, being apt at all aspect of necromancy, must have been 'chosen' by the Glory moon, whatever that meant. How much of this was to be taken literally anyways, and how much was poetic speech? One thing that caught his attention was the line about blood and bone dust. Voldemort had used both those ingredients in creating his new body. Did that mean that Necromancy had been involved? That would explain why splitting a soul also wasn't done so often… Even if people wouldn't really die from it completely, most might not have the skills or power to gain a physical form again.

The next few chapters described the different forms of Necromancy in more detail, and while Harry found it fascinating, it was not what they would be doing right now. He neither wished to have the dead speak through him, nor was he interested in raising soulless zombies -or** Inferi** according to the book-. The Author, who was called Cadmus as Harry had found out, and who loved mentioning himself throughout the text multiple times to the point of annoyance, was sadly rather tight-lipped on rites for full resurrection despite claiming to be proficient in all branches.

The described magic cast under the moon of Glory was limited to creating vessel bodies that could connect to a human mind and soul, creating artefacts that made passed over souls be bound to this realm in a ghost-like form again, and enchanting objects to create smaller doorways to the Black Cosmos using a Veil. He still also would have to ask Voldemort about that: in all the text he'd read now, it was just assumed that the reader knew what a Veil was. Either it was covered in another book, or perhaps there was a paragraph about it squashed somewhere among the twenty pages of Cadmus' rant in the first chapter of how amazing the dimension of the Black Cosmos was. He skipped through the next few chapters, which went into more detail about necessary calculations, entire pages covered in formulas and the same strange, geometric figures that Voldemort had doodled in the Transfiguration class during which he'd raised a skeleton. His finger stopped when Harry saw a title that caught his eye:

_**Ties of Blood**  
As made abundantly clear before, blood is the strongest ingredient when it comes to the Art and has been since the very beginning. The Greek used to sacrifice sheep and dogs to raise armies, and the Romans took the lives of human children to appease the dead and receive their blessing. It logically follows that one's own blood can also be used in rituals of the Art, and I have found this to be the strongest form. The dead that come to use more easily are those related by blood, either from birth or from marriage._ Harry blinked, wondering if he'd read that correctly. Since when were married people related by blood through their marriage? True, Purebloods were obsessed in keeping bloodlines pure and practically only married those related to them, but surely the author couldn't assume that this was always the case?_ In turn, Necromancers can also enforce this bond and strengthen their magic using these ties. Creating Inferi with the bodies of ancestors, spouses or offspring will yield better results. Likewise, they are easier to call into the realm of the living._ Harry sat upright, his eyes flying over the text. It described different examples of necromancers who had performed rituals with those related by blood and compared the result to other attempts where this hadn't been the case. So if he offered his own blood again, would this work better?

''Interesting reading material?'' he heard, and Harry looked over his shoulder.

''Barty! Yeah, I never knew anything about necromancy before. It's… different.'' The blond man approached with a strange look on his face and sat down, only casting Nagini a wary glance. Harry had long ago figured that Barty only tolerated being in the same room as the snake for his Lord.

''Evan…'' Barty hesitated. ''I just wished to check up on you. I can't say that I am** surprised** by your request of seeing this magic, but I'm not entirely sure you fully know what you are getting into. Your parents… your parents are dead. And even the magic of a Lord has its limits. Necromancy is meant to communicate with those who passed over and to make use of the empty husks the dead leave behind. Not to bring them back on this plane.''

''I know,'' the teen spoke quietly. ''Thank you for the warning nonetheless, I appreciate it. I can't really… explain my feelings about this very well. My parents were always this** idea** for me, you know? I always knew that they were dead, that they couldn't return, but ever since that mirror, I realised something. I want to talk to them, to see them, even if it is again just the idea of them. My parents died when I was one year old and I never will know how they were in life, so no matter how they react or how they look… could I even tell the difference?'' he growled quietly in frustration at his inability to express the full scope of the emotional turmoil in his head. ''Look, on one hand I want to fulfil a childish wish, on the other I am absolutely awed at how Voldemort -sorry, our Lord,- can push the limits of magic to a point I never thought possible. This could give me both. I will witness amazing magic that very few are privileged to, and maybe have a chance to catch a glimpse of my parents, in whatever form that is. It is absolutely clear to me that this doesn't mean they'll come back like they were and we'll be a happy family all of a sudden. I don't even expect that they will stay beyond this night.'' He hadn't really thought of that possibility before… how long-lasting was this type of necromancy? Inferi seemed to stick around until they were dismissed or killed. Connections to souls however, didn't last for longer than a couple of hours at most.

Barty gave him a small smile. ''Good to hear, it looks like I was worried for nothing.''

''Could you maybe answer a couple of things I am confused about?'' Harry asked, waving with a few pages.

Scratching his head, Barty said: ''If I can. I never got into the subject much, but I know some of the underlying theory. Necromancy never interested me much. The dead are better left to rest in my opinion.''

''So you don't know what a Veil is supposed to refer to?''

''Oh, that. I can't give you a detailed explanation, but it's supposed to be a piece of magic that protects the physical body of Necromancers as their soul crosses over to the other world or limbo or whatever it's called.''

''Black Cosmos?''

''That. Basically, to connect fully to the dead, a necromancer separates his body, soul and mind while keeping a connection to still tie them together. The body stays in the physical world while the soul and mind move further. The soul is tied to the body using pieces of the living world like the clothes of the dead or blood, and the mind is connected still because it is trapped under a Veil. Imagine it to be like a shield spell, but wrapped completely around one's body. Then in that other world, the soul and mind split again, although I can't recall what keeps those two tied together. In either case, were the Veil to be removed, the mind of the caster would be lost completely. The body would still be alive on this plane, the soul would be tied to it and soar in the Black Cosmos, but the mind would be gone and without it, soul and body cannot be brought back together either, for the caster would need to have active thoughts to reverse the entire process.''

''I find it a bit confusing that soul and mind are apparently separated. With a Dementor's Kiss, the soul is sucked out and the body remains, right? What happens to the mind though? All victims of Dementors look empty, as if they're not thinking anymore.''

''It might seem like it, but it's not entirely correct. A soul is one's sense of self, their spiritual nature if you will, and it is also there that one's magic is stored. The mind is what gives us active thought and the ability to reason. People who have been Kissed still possess the latter: they can technically still take care of their bodies: logically, they know when they need to eat or sleep to survive. But without a sense of self, of who they are, they don't care anymore for little but basic survival, if even that. All their wishes and hopes are gone, they cannot identify anymore with the memories they still possess and thus everything becomes meaningless, especially when you consider that with the soul, their magic also left. A Kissed person could technically still do a crossword puzzle, they just don't feel like it anymore.''

''That sounds so much worse than actually dying…''

''Yes, perhaps that is why most do die. A freshly Kissed person usually still goes through the routine of daily life for a while, and then just stops. Honestly, a Dementor's Kiss is merely a postponed death sentence. I've seen it far too often in Azkaban, even in that single year.''

''What do you think of the Dark Lord being allies with Dementors after your background? They appear to be drawn to him, both because he is a Dark Lord and also since he is a full necromancer.''

''I'll try to stay away from them if necessary, but I can't deny that they could be useful. So, any other questions?'' the last sentence was spoken in a slightly shrill tone of voice, so Harry figured it was best to move on from the topic of Dementors.

''One more, the author of this book mentioned blood bonds through marriage a few times now. What's up with that? At first, I thought that he maybe assumed that every mage with common sense would marry their cousins or something, but the wording is a bit strange for that.''

Barty relaxed again and shot him a grin that looked only slightly forced. ''Oh, that. Nowadays we use contracts for marriage. Back in the day, people made blood pacts. If not related already, blood was shared on the wedding day in a ritual that would actually cause the bride and groom to be related. It fell out of practise centuries back already, when blood magic was banned. For a while, some dark magicians still kept the tradition, but it honestly didn't have any real benefits and actually made spouses unable to truly harm each other. Which became a problem after the possibility of divorce came up and people couldn't take revenge on their ex-wives and -husbands anymore. Some romantic sods still used them in private, but I can't imagine it working out well. As I said, no benefits.''

''Hold on, our Lord and I shared blood!'' Harry cautiously said, a growing horror dawning upon him. ''Twice even, once in a blood sharing ritual and once during his resurrection!''

Barty scratched his beard stubble. ''Hmmm… I suppose you did. Well, because of that already existing soul bond and your mum's sacrifice being a hindrance, I guess sharing blood actually did have benefits for you.''

''That's not what I meant!'' he exclaimed. ''Does this mean we're related now?'' Then, an even stranger thought struck him. ''Did we enter a blood pact?'' he whispered, eyes growing wide.

Barty let out a barking laugh at first, then grew silent rather fast. ''That sounds absurd but I actually… don't know entirely. Well, it's definitely not a full blood pact, he has your blood but not the other way around. After that first ritual, he removed his blood from you instantly due to incompatibility. As for related though…. Maybe? Technically, he should have taken over some genes from your line, even if just a few. He can definitely still hurt you though… can you hurt him?''

''I wasn't stupid enough to try again.''

''That's my kiddo. That leaves us without an answer though. If you value your limbs intact, you might also not really wish to ask him about it, he is a bit touchy when it comes to anything about family…''

''I hadn't guessed,'' the teen responded, rolling his eyes. Harry chewed on one of his nails, furrowing his brow in thought. So Voldemort could be related to him now…. and through that, to his parents? If so, that could explain why the man thought he could go further than ever before with this resurrection. Harry doubted that Voldemort had ever tried to resurrect one of his own ancestors. ''Maybe I won't need to ask,'' he finally said. ''Anyways, thanks for your answers, that was pretty helpful. I really need to continue reading now, if I haven't at least skimmed all of these chapters, I'm going to find out just how much he can still hurt me.''

''Point taken. I'll leave you to it then. Good luck.''

''Will you be there too then this night?''

Barty shrugged and sauntered out of the room. ''If He lets me, count me in. I've never seen a full necromantic ritual before. Could be fun.''

Right, of course Barty's sense of fun included raising the dead. Harry returned to his book, only a few chapters left that he hadn't touched at all. He worked through them for about an hour, then abruptly came to the end. He'd expected there to be more left still, but he hadn't seen before that the last fifty pages were just a long list of ingredients that could be used in different types of the Art. Out of pure curiosity, he looked up 'Dog', since he was still wondering about why the hell anyone would need to eat canine meat.

_Dogs and wolves have been common sacrifices in the Art for millennia, the first written mention of this being in a prayer to Hecate, Greek goddess of magic, crossroads, ghosts and necromancy. Devoted necromancers in Greece were forbidden from eating any meat other than dog, to connect more properly to passed souls. It is uncertain still why dogs have a connection to the dead unlike any other animal, only that they do. Both Cerberuses and Anupi guard crypts and tombs, and Grimms stalk graveyards and those who will be the next to pass on. Dog meat both helps us connect to the dead, and keeps our own soul safe from being pulled into the Black Cosmos entirely._

Stated like this, it actually made a whole lot more sense to Harry than when it had been so casually mentioned before. He tried to scan the list as quickly as possible to see if any other strange facts would come up. It was made more difficult by the fact that it didn't look like Cadmus thought much of alphabetical order. In fact, Harry had no idea what kind of order the author had been attempting to uphold, if any at all. A few terms under dog, was 'woman'.

_As with all worldly temptations, no Necromancer shall look upon a female before practicing the Art, for it may cause a state of distress, leaving the Necromancer unable to either enter or return from the sacred plane of the Black Cosmos._

''Maybe you just shouldn't think with your dick,' Harry muttered to himself.

''Excuse me?'' an icy voice cut through the air. Harry jumped up, the book nearly flying from his grasp.

Feeling blood rush to his face, Harry turned. Great timing again, he'd been so caught up in reading that even Voldemort's magic strengthening again had escaped his notice. Maybe he was getting a bit too used to its constant presence. ''The… the author,'' he coughed. ''I just read his comments on women. I'm rather surprised that the only thing he has to say is that Necromancers shouldn't look upon them. What about female Necromancers? Especially when it comes to Mens, there should be many, right? The Oracles of Greece and such?''

''True, but this book was written in 1268, and times had changed. For the worse, in the case of women. Since the decrees of the Council of Paderborn in 785, Muggles started to explicitly fight witchcraft and necromancy, and women became their main target. In the following centuries, the magical community tried everything to escape the hunt, from fighting back, to secluding themselves. One of the many downsides was that, since women were often suspected and put on trial at the slightest hint of magic, wizards actually forbade witches from practising many types of magic that had to be cast out in the open, from weather magic to flying, and also necromancy. Not that all held to this of course, but wizards often formed societies from which witches were excluded. It was only in the 18th century, when the witch hunts became more sporadic and the Wizarding council was replaced by the Ministry of Magic, that witches were able to reclaim their rights.''

''The 18th century? I thought witch hunts were something of the Dark Ages only.''

''A common misconception. It all started in 785 and increased over time, but the actual high time of the witch hunts was around the 1600s, and they lasted well into the 18th century. Only then was witchcraft not an official criminal offense anymore in most European countries, England included. Naturally, most 'witches' who were caught were actually Muggles, but it made it difficult for actual magicians to move around, especially without a proper governmental system in place at the time.''

''I'm glad that at least in some cases, the Wizarding world was able to get progress going. I can't imagine going to Hogwarts without Hermione there, or Ginny even...'' then, he laughed. ''I think those Muggles and exclusive societies can be glad that Hermione wasn't born a few centuries earlier, she'd have ripped them apart to achieve equality and education.''

''Since she is a Mudblood, she'd first have had to tear apart the restrictions that would confine her in that society before tackling ours,'' Voldemort reminded him.

''She'd have found a way,'' Harry shrugged.

''You seem to think awfully highly of miss Granger,'' the Dark Lord hissed, sounding and feeling absolutely displeased.

Harry sighed and closed the book, putting it next to him. ''Of course, she's one of my best friends. I would probably be dead twice over if it wasn't for Ron and her helping me. I mean, you know how smart she is.''

Voldemort only scoffed, which Harry chalked up to the man still not being a fan of Muggleborns outsmarting purebloods. ''Come with me, it is time. We shouldn't dawdle. Unless you have questions still?''

Harry considered it for a moment. ''Barty dropped by and cleared a few things up for me, but I still have a couple. For one, all of these rituals are always performed by a single Necromancer. So will I just be watching or...?''

''I have adapted the regular ritual. Since these are your parents being raised, I find that it would be beneficial for you to partake in certain aspects of it, such as the vocal connection. When it comes to the actual spellcasting though, I will of course not leave that in the hands of a teenager who is utterly untrained in Necromancy and skimmed through a single book about it.'' In contrast to the words, Voldemort didn't actually sound very condescending, which made Harry feel a bit better.

''Okay, I'll try to follow instructions this time… So, how long will the result last for?''

''It depends. There is a limit depending on the exact type of resurrection: bodies can be raised indefinitely as long as the caster is alive. Anything that possesses either a soul or mind is trickier, although there are accounts of it working better again when parts of the same individual are used. Blood ties also play a role. The absolute minimum I could normally hold it for has been a few hours, the longest about a week. That does not take into account several factors that will be added this time, so my calculations can be inaccurate. Naturally, I can send them back at any given time.''

''Good,'' Harry whispered. It was comforting to know that Voldemort could control when they'd leave in case he felt like he couldn't handle it anymore. ''I think that was it then.'' He stood and followed Voldemort, holding up his wand to shine a bit of light in the dark corridor. The Dark Lord didn't make a habit of turning all lights on in the house. Harry had a theory of the man having developed night vision.

The night was just as dark as the interior when they stepped into open air and Harry dimmed his wand, only the stars giving off a cold brightness far above. Harry shivered, the heat of the day had made way for a cold breeze, which reflected in the way the crickets' cries had become scarce. Whenever he could, Harry had often fled under the cover of darkness during summer, to escape the Dursleys. Stalking through the night meant safety for him, not being found, being left in peace, so even when he entered the field and saw two coffins lying amidst the tall grass, he still couldn't shake the feeling of tranquillity that night time brought.

Voldemort walked through the narrow opening between the coffins, then turned around and kneeled at the wider, upper part. The white hands stood in stark contrast with the wood of the lids as they were placed flat upon either. A bright light flashed, a rumble sounded, and the lids slid off and tumbled down sideways with loud thuds. Harry crept nearer with held breath, afraid of what he was going to see. His heart skipped a beat when he gazed down on the corpses.

Fiery red hair was spread like a halo around his mother's pale face. In the other coffin, a slightly older version of Harry lay, hands folded around a wand on his chest. ''They look so…'' he croaked, trying to search for words. Logically, he knew that these people had been dead for almost as long as he lived, yet here they lay in front of him as if they were merely slumbering.

''Wizards perfected preservation, didn't you know that? No matter how much some of our kind wish to try and live an as 'normal' life as possible, the difference in how we are shown in death is striking. Decay will never touch them as long as the spells hold.''

''I hadn't expected that,'' he whispered, staring at them still. Only now did he fully realise just how young they had been. Hell, his dad's stubble even showed that he must have had trouble growing facial hair since it was quite patchy. Taking a deep breath, he tore his eyes away and took a step back again. ''What do I have to do?''

''For now, nothing but watching. Sit in between both coffins, that is the only place where you won't get caught up in the spells I set up. Do **not** touch the corpses. Also, you will need to be patient, most of this ritual will be done in a different dimension where you cannot reach, so it is well possible that it will look for you as if nothing is happening for extended periods of time.''

''What if something goes wrong?''

''Since you will not be able to judge in this what is an acceptable part of the ritual and what is not, I instructed Barty to look out over the field to keep watch from above. Now, sit.''

Harry did as he was told, sitting down exactly in the middle between the coffins, facing Voldemort so he could watch the Dark Lord as the resurrection rite was performed. The man raised his wand, and a sudden, strong gust of wind blew over the field, flattening the grass. Now his eyes were used to the darkness, Harry realised that the long blades of grass were cut short in wide lines across the field. From his position here, he couldn't make out exactly what had been done, but he was certain that, if he would have joined Barty and looked down from above, he'd see the geometric symbols that he now connected with Necromancy. As if accompanying the wind, flames started to flicker on the edges of the field, slowly at first, then speeding through the paths that had been created, in conflict with any physical law that Harry knew about the behaviour of fire. It wasn't entirely surprising: while most fields of magic utilised and bent the laws of nature, necromancy tried to break them, the reason why geometry was the primary tool of the Art. The shapes seldomly appeared in the visible natural surroundings, and only connected to the physical realm on a level often invisible to the naked eye.

With fascination, Harry watched as the fire burned its way towards the centre, a storm of flames spiralling around Voldemort, wrapping around the tall figure, who became a living torch with showers of sparks dancing across his robes and skin. The seams of his waving robes glowed a deep red, yet didn't burn to ash. Was this the Veil that would protect the Dark Lord's body? It was hard to imagine all necromancers relying on such a dramatic display of magic during their rites. Cadmus' book had described rituals to take place under the cover of darkness in cemeteries and on moors, where such an inferno surely wouldn't have been welcome.

Voldemort rose his arms, the long sleeves blazing with tongues of fire that curled around them, for a moment giving him the image of a phoenix on its death day, a picture that Harry found both fitting and hilariously disturbing when taking the man's history into account. Here was the one person alive who literally resurrected himself, and it was the same person that a group under the banner of a phoenix fought against. Harry shoved the hilarity of that thought to the back of his mind when all of a sudden, the Dark Lord collapsed, sinking to his knees and curling up against the ground. Only the wizards' previous words of staying put prevented Harry from instantly jumping up and running towards the huddled figure that resembled a burning pile more than a human being now. After the first moment of panic, Harry felt that Voldemort's magic hadn't wavered in the slightest, and he eyed the other with relief at that assurance of that he wasn't watching another corpse.

A rushing sound filled the air, which became louder and louder to the point of annoyance. Harry shook his head and blocked his ears against it, only to realise that it wasn't around him at all. The rushing came from within, as if it had wormed its way into his ear. ''What the…'' he spoke, rubbing his left ear violently, the rushing now accompanied by a vague, irritating buzzing undertone. As he was busy with that, the light shifted, strange hues visible from the corners of his eyes. Harry looked up and fell silent, hands dropped to his side as he stared up to the sky with open mouth. The stars had disappeared, an inky blackness in front of him, a starless canvas that spread far beyond where the horizon had been a second ago. And that light from the side… Harry carefully turned his head and stood, trying not to panic about the fact that he wasn't really standing **on** anything anymore.

Left and right of him were four moons of varying sizes that each spread out different hues from oddly compressed halos, their enthralling light calling to him from all sides. Harry raised his hand, only it wasn't his, familiar pale fingers spreading out and pointing at the smallest moon, which was almost hidden behind the hazy green ribbons that spread out like foggy tentacles from Fear.

Strange, raspy sounds came from Harry's -no, Voldemort's- mouth, and he could only decipher them through their shared minds. _''I call upon you, Glory, to aid in my conquest of restoring the wisps of the taken.''_ The words boomed through the empty space, chains of odd shapes appearing out of thin air_. ''For blood spilled in fight, bloodshed in night, blood shared through rite, I call upon my right: Lilium Aenean __F__ilius Heredis Terrae,__ Supplantator Figulus, I proclaim ownership. My pursuit ensues. Glory, grant me amorphousness.''_

The moons shifted, their massive bodies moving in a wide arch as the chains rattled and sped away. Pain started to build up in Harry's head and with a scream, he came to again in the field right before Voldemort's soul and mind split apart from each other.

Trembling and sweating, Harry sank down again in between the coffins, continuing to watch the flames that still swirled around Voldemort's form. It felt as if hours passed as he sat there. He was privileged to have witnessed something so deeply magical, but preferred to have his own feet on real ground again. Flying on brooms was one thing, soaring amidst an endless universe without aid was on an entirely different level of scary. All the Gryffindor courage in the world wouldn't make him want to experience that again if not absolutely necessary.

The wind swept up again, tousling his hair and making it hard to see as the black strands reached just past his eyes. An unworldly chill descended over the field, the flames dying down at long last, and Voldemort moved again, rising up from the ground. Beside him, two bright dots of silver light hovered, which had Harry hold his breath. Realisation hit with a shock. This light was familiar, he'd seen it once before, trailing from Sirius' open mouth as a horde of Dementors descended upon the man, attempting to Kiss him…

Souls. These were the souls of Lily and James Potter. Voldemort had done it.

Said Dark Lord moved towards him with deliberate, slow strides, one opened palm hovering over each soul as if holding them in place. Which perhaps he really was. Voldemort's eyes were glowing, though instead of the fierce red they usually had, the irises were a bright purple, the colour of all death magic. Upon reaching the coffins, the souls lowered, slipping into the corpses, which thrashed for a moment before lying still again. Harry waited for something **more** to happen, but it looked like that was all for now. Uncertain, he turned his attention to his Lord again.

~_Evan, rise, the time has come for your participation_.~

With unsteady legs – he'd been kneeling for who knew how long and with every move it felt as if a thousand needles stung his feet now – Harry stood, glancing down at the still face of his father, who lay to his right. Bony fingers curled around Harry's wrist and tugged at his arm. A quick flash later, blood dripped from a shallow cut. The droplets slid down his hand and fell, Voldemort having positioned Harry's hand so that it landed on the centre of James' forehead. '_'The soil you came from and returned to, the line that stretches in future and past, the cores which chose you, and the bringer of your doom, we beckon and bind. Your freedom is mine_.'' He repeated the action with Harry's left hand, and the Gryffindor stood entirely still, preferring to focus on Voldemort instead of his parents now, since he didn't think he'd be able to predict his own actions if they suddenly came to life.

Voldemort released him and took an abrupt step back, irises returning to normal. Or as normal as they would ever be._ ~Draw your wand~_ Harry did as told, firmly gripping the beloved holly stick, and at a gesture of the other, he moved to a designated spot, feeling tentative as he was left facing Voldemort. He'd often dreamed of a situation like this, standing opposite of the Dark Lord somewhere outside during the night, but those had always been nightmares in which Harry had been left bleeding to death.

_~I will harm you,~ _Voldemort spoke, his tone so neutral that it almost sounded as if he didn't care one way or the other. _~Defend yourself, attack me.~_

_What?_ Harry panicked, entirely unprepared for something like this. What was happening, why did Voldemort suddenly demand to duel him?

_~Trust me~_ the Dark Lord hissed, words Harry barely had time to register before the first curse was sent flying his way. Instinctively, Harry dodged as if it had been a blugder. From the exploding ground behind him, it had the same impact as one. He felt like he was back in the arena, avoiding dragon fire. Only, Voldemort wasn't as fast as the dragon, or as relentless for some reason. Instead, he waited for Harry to get back on his feet before sending the next curse, in a straight line that was incredibly easy to dodge again.

'Trust me', the man had said. 'Defend yourself'. Harry exhaled slowly, then stood up straight. This was no nightmare in which he had to run from evil itself, this was a ritual designed for higher magic than Harry could ever hope to perform by himself. Voldemort did nothing without a clear purpose, and by now, Harry really should know better than to judge the man by actions alone without recognising that there was a deeper thought behind it. Voldemort would never sabotage a rite like this to backstab Harry. Thus, when the next curse was sent, Harry stood up straight and countered it with the most powerful defensive spell he knew: a reflection arrow that was supposed to not only block incoming spells, instead sending it straight back at the opponent. Voldemort had given him permission to attack, after all.

The spell did not work as intended. Upon making contact with the unfamiliar orange spell that had been hurled at Harry, the reflection arrow seemed to explode, tendrils of bright gold shooting through the air like fireworks gone wrong. It took Harry all strength he had to keep his wand steady, which had started to tremble violently as if almost cracking under the pressure of the collision. Electricity raced through it, coming from a thread of spun light that had formed in mid-air. Beyond the golden light, Harry could see Voldemort, a mad grin spread across his face. The shaking increased, and Harry gripped the handle with both hands just in case, he couldn't imagine what would happen if this connection broke off. The brightness brought forth by the spell expanded as something on the thread seemed to splinter, fractures of shimmering **something** spreading out to form a cage over the both of them, with at its core a ball of spinning, intense light. A core from which music rose which deeply touched Harry's soul: a mixture of the unearthly song of a phoenix and the deep chants sung by Voldemort himself last Lughnasadh. It filled him with strange longing, the music tugging at his heart.

The centre decreased in size, taking the shape of sizzling droplets of pure radiance that started to travel across the beam that connected his wand and Voldemort's. The closer they came, the hotter his wand became, and Harry feared that he might drop it after all. Since he'd been given no further instructions, he kept fighting back, trying to channel all of his willpower through the wand. And it worked, the beads came to a halt before sliding into the opposite direction, ever closer to the tip of the white yew wand. Its owner was serious now, Lord Voldemort's eyes fixating on the beads of light and the trembling wood in his hand… the droplets connected, and a screeching sound was emitted from the wand, like a living creature being tortured. Harry saw shock and fear cross the other's expression for a moment, this was clearly not the expected result.

Then, smoke rose from the tip of the wand, taking shape in mid-air, forming bodies and faces. A large, bearded man that Harry didn't know, then Frank Bryce, the old Muggle caretaker of Riddle house. Barty Crouch Senior was next, looking as stern as if he were still alive, a young woman whom Harry had never seen before followed him. They started talking to him, words of encouragement as if they thought he was truly fighting Voldemort. Harry ignored them, waiting with bated breath. And then there they were. James appeared first, followed by Lily, and Harry stared at the grey, smoky figures of his parents, who smiled at him sadly.

''Harry… we've wanted to see you for so long,'' Lily spoke, her voice much stronger than he'd expected somehow. ''But why like this?''

''Mum,'' he breathed. ''Mum, dad…. Do you know what's going on, why you're here?''

James was the one to nod solemnly, while Lily turned her face away. It was like a stone sank in Harry's stomach. He needed to make them understand…

Voldemort broke the connection then, the already fractured light splintering even further. The ghostly forms thickened for a moment before most of them disappeared. Only his parents remained, crying out as golden ropes bound them tightly and Voldemort dragged them towards the coffins. Harry stayed behind, not wishing to interfere negatively, as much as his heart broke at the sight. The struggling spirits or whatever they were, were pushed inside, and the Dark Lord held them there, one hand on the forehead of each corpse.

''Come closer, Evan,'' the man spoke, looking over his shoulder. With numb feet, Harry followed the order, stopping at the side of James' coffin. The corpse inside was no longer lifeless now, trashing as much as those smoky shadows had. Abruptly, Voldemort made a circular movement on their foreheads, and they fell still again. For a moment, that was. Blinking slowly, James sat up, his light brown eyes coming to rest on Harry. Eyes full of life and astonishment. Behind him, Lily sat up too, rubbing her arms.

''It's cold,'' she muttered. ''So very cold.'' Her head made a strange, twitching movement, but then she too looked at him, and the woman's eyes widened. ''Harry… Harry, my baby.''

Harry stood entirely still as his parents clambered out of their coffins and reached out, strangely cold hands grabbing his. He had to remind himself that this wasn't real. But they** looked** so genuine. Instead of answering their quiet muttering, he turned a questioning gaze on Voldemort, who was watching his creation with fascination. ''Did it work as you intended?'' he asked.

''Better,'' the man muttered. ''Much, much better. Naturally, we retrieved the real bodies. I also found the correct souls and was able to properly claim them, which is already further than I ever went in necromancy when it comes to resurrection. More than that, I retrieved an echo of their Mens. The results is… unique. Since you asked, I will not claim that these are your real parents. Their minds are but a shadow of their original ones. Still, they have memories, and awareness of what is going on around them.'' He strode closer, and both Lily and James stepped away quickly, taking a defensive stance, eyeing him with suspicion.

''Voldemort,'' Lily breathed. ''You monster, I know what you have done. For your own amusement, you have even twisted the deepest wishes of the child **you **orphaned.'' She whirled around and faced Harry. ''My son… this creature, this **thing **is not your friend.'' The desperation in her words was real. Everything about them was real. His lungs refused to work anymore as he stared, stared in the eyes of those who had given their lives for him to live.

''I only wanted to speak to you again,'' he whispered. ''Leave him out of it. If you really know something about what went on in the world around you during your death, you should have realised that I'm not a prisoner here. Please understand, I** needed** to see you.''

James returned to Harry's side and put both hands on the teen's shoulders, a searching gaze in his eyes. There was something in the depths of hazel, a warmth that the dead should never possess. In that moment, the barrier that Harry had built up for this moment fell away completely with the realisation of who stood in front of him. Trembling, he reached up and hugged his father tightly. It didn't matter that James was cold, it wasn't even anywhere near the iciness of Voldemort, and** he** was alive.

The Dark Lord walked towards the very edge of the field, and while Harry imagined that it was only to gain an overview of the situation and observe better, he was glad for the privacy it gave them.

''We don't have long, I can feel it,'' James whispered in his ear. ''Already, this body is rejecting the impossible. This dark magic goes against the nature of all things and tramples on the order of life. But Harry, I want you to listen to me well. I remember being James Potter. I also remember being dead. You're my son, there's no doubt about that. I wish things had been different, that we would have been able to be there for you. Considering how life treated you, I'm amazed at how kind and caring you still are.'' Another hand landed on Harry's shoulder while his father's words tumbled out of James' mouth with a speed that betrayed his anxiety. Harry loosened the embrace slightly to look over his shoulder, taking in the sad gaze of his mother.

''James is right. I got a bit carried away. When alive, we chose our path, just like your godfather did. Now, with the knowledge of the beyond, I realise that it may not have been the right one. But beware Harry, the greater good can cost terrible sacrifices that are not always necessary to make, even if those you trust claim it is so. Dumbledore learned that a long time ago and is still blind to it, take care that the man you chose to believe in does not fall into the same trap. Never follow uncritically.''

''You say you have knowledge from the beyond…'' Harry hesitated, storing their advice to ponder on later.

''Vague feelings of** knowing** things that contrasts my memories,'' Lily spoke, her voice sounding further away than before. ''The soul moved on, the memories remained on this plane, both are fighting for dominance now. I did what I thought was right as a young girl, standing up against violence and tyranny. My soul has touched upon magic beyond this dimension though, and knows what Magic and her Lords want, what our kind needs here and now.'' She gently turned him around, small hands cupping Harry's face, a hint of a smile on her lips. ''Do what you think is right, Harry. You struggle between wanting to grow and thinking you'll disappoint people if you change. Don't forget that people always change, they have to, to develop. So seize the opportunities you have and become great. Just promise me to not forget to be kind.'' He nodded mutedly, his vision becoming blurry with tears. He'd never even known how much he needed to hear this.

''He can be lucky to have you at his side,'' James muttered, hugging him tightly again. ''As much as I personally want revenge on him for killing my wife and so many others, there is too much at stake, and you'd get hurt in the process. Stay safe, son. And don't let others manipulate you.''

''I have his soul in my head,'' Harry whispered to the both of them. ''I try not to think of it too much, pretend that it's nothing more than strange magic that binds us, but I have the soul of your murderer in my head and I still don't know how to deal with that, even after seeing how he really is.''

Neither of them spoke for some time. Then James said: ''He may be our murderer, he's also far more than that, loathe I am to admit it. As long as you are in control, it will be alright. Also, he may not know it, but this link and Lily's sacrifice also worked against him.'' Harry raised his head and looked at his dad, frowning.

''What do you mean?''

''Love **is** the strongest magic there is. He tore his soul apart and put it in cold, unfeeling things. Until a piece latched onto you, a baby protected by the love of its parents. A baby that grew up to become so very different from the one who this soul once belonged to. This sliver of Voldemort's essence changed with you son, it received all the emotions you have, for the first time truly feeling. Just think on the consequences and possibilities of this now that you share minds and he has your blood. He's not the same man as he was thirteen years ago. He even did not hesitate to entrust yet another piece of his soul to another living being by using his familiar. A move that would have been unthinkable before.''

''I don't think you're completely right,'' Harry objected. ''I've seen some of his memories and heard of his background. I've been in his head a couple of times. He could feel before all of this happened.''

''To an extent, not on the level he is now. You are good for him Harry. Be careful to not make him realise that too soon.''

''Why not?''

Lily sighed. ''Because Tom Riddle always became obsessively possessive of anything that could further him in any way. You have seen the good sides of Voldemort that many never will: he is patient, passionate and can even be caring to a certain degree. Do not let it distract you from the fact that he is also still selfish, arrogant, and cruel. Both our souls and minds have gathered much knowledge about him, and if I have deduced anything, it is that you should beware of his ugly sides. He** will** use you if it suits him. It is a mercy that until now, his plans are agreeable enough for you to go along with them of your free will.'' Harry found it rather odd that his dead parents knew so much about Voldemort. On the other hand, the man had killed them, so maybe the dead liked to keep an eye on their murderers. Or maybe they had worried about Harry. Asking was of course an option, but what if the answer was one he didn't want to hear, one that would remind him too much of just how far gone Lily and James really were?

''I'll remember it,'' he promised, more to please them than anything else. If Voldemort had wanted to use him, he'd have had the opportunity to do so a dozen times over. That didn't mean that Harry wasn't** wary** of the Dark Lord, but not for this specific reason. Voldemort had even offered an out of this mess altogether, it was Harry who had insisted on helping. Now he got what he gave.

''It's time, dear,'' his mother whispered, her hand cramping on his shoulder for a brief second.

''Already? It's been only minutes!'' he exclaimed.

''It is… strenuous to keep together and of clear mind,'' she admitted. She looked like it too, her face wrinkled in a grimace of pain. She grabbed one of his hands tightly. ''Give this to Severus, please. Tell him it is a reminder that I **am **always watching, and he had better fear my wrath if he does not move on from bitterness. Be brave, my Harry. I'm so proud of you.'' Harry's words of goodbye were left stuck in his throat, as Lily already collapsed, the drops of blood on her forehead glowing and expelling the bright light that was her soul from it again. Strands of now shapeless grey smoke drifted towards the sky. A corpse was all that remained once more. A corpse, and a half-gilded lily in Harry's hand.

''We love you,'' James murmured, and Harry clung to his father, terribly afraid of the inevitable now.

''I love you too,'' he said, or tried to. Barely more than muffled sobs came out. ''Will I see you again?''

''Not like this, our memories were stored in Voldemort's wand, and will dissipate now. I do not know if we can ever speak again to you. I am grateful that-''

The body slumped in Harry's arms, and he carefully sank to the ground with it, shaking with tears of sadness and rage.

He cried out into the night, having lost his parents a second time.


	40. Full Rotation

''My mother told me that her mind and soul were struggling to process information,'' Harry spoke in a monotonous voice that betrayed none of his emotions. It had been three days since the ritual, three days in which Harry had holed himself up in the dingy room that he slept in. Against all of his own expectations, he'd needed both space and time to grieve for people long since dead. Voldemort, unsurprisingly, hadn't liked it. If not for the Dark Lord literally dragging him out of his bedroom by the back of his neck like a cat, Harry would have sat there for a good few weeks still. Yet even the hollow pain in Harry's chest couldn't overshadow the onslaught of feelings that he received from Voldemort's end of their strange mental connection. Harry's behaviour had irritated the man to no end, who wanted nothing more than to painstakingly discuss every part of the performed rite.

''That is not exact enough!'' the man exclaimed. ''How? How did these memories clash? What information was stored in their souls?''

Harry took a deep breath. They'd only just started this conversation and he was already so very **done **with it. ''I don't wish to talk about them anymore,'' he said through clenched teeth. For every time the Dark Lord took the names of his parents in his mouth, the wound ripped open a little bit further again. Their corpses, collapsing on the ground, swam in his vision. That the one who was to blame for their demise in the first place now tried to hound him for answers, didn't sit well with him. Somehow, Harry had imagined this all to go very different.

''You got too attached.''

Harry glowered at the sneer he was given. It wasn't as if he could deny it either. ''And what if I did? Those were my parents! I don't care how impossible that is supposed to be**, those were my parents**!''

Voldemort merely scoffed disbelievingly at the statement. ''I grant you that those were their real bodies and souls, but they were not truly there. Their minds were muddled since the memories were but a recreation caused by a reversal spell. Their last thoughts and memories in the moment of their deaths were all that should have been left, I cannot believe that something like that would create an actual cohesive mind. No matter what you think, necromancy is an Art that is part illusion and part wishful thinking. After death, there is nothing concrete that remains of a person. No will, no chance to return or move on to some mysterious better place. Why else would so many try for immortality?''

''Because they're scared of the unknown,'' Harry flat-out said. And now Voldemort couldn't deny it, for they both knew how much Harry had seen of his mind.

Naturally, Harry should have known better than to think that a man this self-centred wouldn't still try.

''It is the only way to never lose influence.''

''Funny, humans as a whole actually developed something nifty for that. It's called offspring.''

To his frustration, Voldemort didn't bite at the sarcasm. Instead, the older man leaned back in his chair, entirely relaxed, from his loosely crossed legs to the languidly positioned arms on the arm rests. The only part about the Dark Lord that didn't look at ease were his eyes, a sharpness in them that made Harry avert his gaze. ''We come to nothing with bickering,'' the Dark Lord finally spoke, entirely too softly.

Those had not been the right words to say. A red haze entered Harry's field of vision, and as he sprang up, a hot anger bubbled through his entire body. ''I DON'T CARE IF WE COME TO NOTHING!'' he yelled. ''I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ANYMORE!'' Rage mixed with grief, and Voldemort was the perfect outlet, Voldemort, who was the cause of all the bad things that had happened in Harry's life. Voldemort, the smug bastard who had ruined his childhood, who had instilled fear in him that had erased some of the wonders about going to Hogwarts, who had used him in obscure rituals and kept him prisoner… Who just sat there and stared as Harry's world collapsed.

''It is obvious that you care very much,'' the Dark Lord spoke in an exasperated tone. ''So stop lying to both of us. I offered to show you any magic you wished for, this was your wish and I fulfilled it to my fullest capabilities. You're ungrateful and far too dramatic. Either take this seriously or leave.''

The cold words cut straight through his fury and Harry deflated, left standing in the middle of the room like a fool. He** had** been the one to ask, and to have his nose basically rubbed into the fact that this was all his own fault somehow cleared his head. The whole thing of pushing the right buttons went both ways, it appeared.

_~Evan,~_ the man hissed softly, holding out a hand. Carefully, Harry came closer and took it, the pale hand holding his as if Harry was brittle and could fall apart at any moment. He'd never imagined that Voldemort's grip could also be so strangely tender. Usually he found those skeletal hands around his throat. Glittering, ruby eyes searched his face. _~This has caused you grief, which was predicted before. Focus instead of what else it all gave you. A taste of power, a last conversation…~_ Harry calmed down, pleasant sparks of magic travelling up his arm. No wonder that so many had flocked to this man in the past despite his oftentimes cruel methods. He knew how to choose the right words. Harry allowed himself to give in, just this once choosing to follow the allure of comfort instead of defiantly resisting it. He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.

_~I saw the other side_~ he spoke, desperately trying to focus on something else, something that wouldn't involve feelings. Voldemort had wanted to talk about the ritual so badly that this was the only way Harry could be certain that he chose the right topic _~Was that intentional?~_

Voldemort raised his eyebrow. _~The other side?~_

_~The… the Black Cosmos. I saw the moons, I was you until your soul and mind split apart.~_

The Dark Lord's aura shifted, and Harry was wrapped in hungry curiosity that made him shiver. _~That is… interesting. You shouldn't have been able to. Even though our minds are linked and occasionally the connection destabilises, it shouldn't allow you to follow me into the realm of the dead. I will need to look further into that.~ _

''What did the spells you speak mean?'' he asked, to try and distract the both of them. ''The Latin parts. And why was there a distinction between English and Latin mentally anyways, when you were clearly speaking a different language entirely?'' Maybe he was being a bit too detailed with his questions, especially since the actual answer didn't interest him** that** much to be honest. He just hoped that Voldemort would start one of his usual teaching-rants, which was the state that Harry generally preferred. It meant less being cursed, and more ability to relax as he listened to that silky, low voice. He wasn't disappointed.

''Because I mentally made a differentiation. Those were the true names of your parents, not spells. Names hold more power than modern mages recognise, one reason why I changed mine. One holds the most power over another person when breaking down their names to the etymology of it, the pure origins, to truly** understand** the meanings behind them.'' During the explanation, Voldemort released Harry's hand again, and with a pang of loss, the teen returned to his seat, calmed down enough by now to continue the conversation. While it didn't erase the grief, his anger was gone, and perhaps talking about the ritual was better than bottling all of his feelings up.

''And why Latin? Couldn't you just say the name origins in English?''

''What language the true names are best spoken in depends on the caster. For names I generally prefer to translate it to Latin because I connect that language most with magic, as most spells that are used nowadays are Latin in origin. Also, as you may have noticed from the book I gave you, the foundations of the Art in the form I use, come from Ancient Rome and Greece, so one of those languages was favourable. Since there is no accurate information left on what Ancient Greek sounded like, Latin was also there a logical choice. Magic is often about one's own perception, certainly when it comes to something as versatile as language. Theoretically, all spells could be spoken in English when the brain makes the proper connection to activate one's magical core. With using another language, especially a dead one, it is far easier for the mind to distinguish it as something that is supposed to use magic.''

''So what are their true names?'' he asked, with real interest now.

''For your mother, Lily Jasmine Son of the Heir of the Earth.''

''Son?''

''Evan used to be a first name for males, Evans became a last name that just means 'Son of Evan', and was then passed down to both genders since that is how last names work. That doesn't change the original meaning. Your father's name is less complicated and literally means Usurper Potter.''

''So mine is just Lion Potter then…''

''True, Black told you that, didn't he? Your parents certainly were rather obsessed with their Hogwarts house…''

Harry raised his eyebrows at Voldemort. ''Your Horcrux made a whole show of being the 'Heir of Slytherin,'' he pointed out. ''And I doubt any other member of your House made a point of having gigantic snakes as companions.''

The Dark Lord bristled: ''I am proud of my family line, not of the fact that it was a Hogwarts House. I only spent 7 years of my life there.''

Ah yes, Voldemort definitely wasn't obsessed with Hogwarts, Harry thought, and then wisely kept that to himself.

''You just mentioned you use a form of Necromancy… there are different ones then?''

''The form of Necromancy that remains in Britain is the form established in Rome and Greece. The Celts also used the Art, but no written text survived from that time to describe any of the practises in detail, same with many other Germanic tribes. Other, completely distinguished forms that we have surviving knowledge about come from Egypt, China and former Persia. More certainly exist, carefully guarded by their respective countries, which is understandable. I relied predominantly on information I could find in Hogwarts and what I came across during my travels through Europe, which was all derived from the Classic rites. I have looked into the other forms, but found them unsuitable to my style of magic.''

''So…'' Harry hesitantly said, remembering what they'd been talking about before he'd blown up. ''You do not believe that what I saw that night were my parents? Despite the way they acted?''

Voldemort considered it, tapping his wand against the chair again as he was wont to do. ''I am willing to, for the sake of a theoretical conversation, consider the standpoint of this having truly been your parents. In which case, a full resurrection worked. Following that hypothesis and taking into account the fact that one's soul is inherently linked to one's magic, which is in turn accessed by the mind, they should have been magical.''

Harry's first, instant thought, was that this meant he had irrefutable proof then for Voldemort, for the lily with gilded tips he had received couldn't have come into existence in any other way, the corpse only had had her clothes and wand on it. That was immediately followed by an instinctive wariness, the words of his parents echoing through his head still. Could he really trust Voldemort? Should he tell the man that the impossible had been achieved? Who knew how a Dark Lord with near limitless power, who was already known for using the dead in his armies, would utilise this information. Then again, Lily and James had only been able to come back due to an incredibly specific and lucky meeting of circumstances. It would be damned difficult to reproduce. The ties that ran various ways, the fact that Voldemort had killed them and that their son had willingly offered blood. That strange spell that had bound his and Voldemort's wands to draw out the minds…

''Well?''

He had just trusted Voldemort enough to take the offered hand and had not been let down. Maybe he wouldn't be now either.

''Give me a minute,'' Harry spoke without further explanation, jumping up. Under a cloud of vague disapproval – most likely due to his lack of etiquette again, etiquette Harry didn't give a flying fuck about right now- he bolted from the room and went to his own. The flower he'd received was far too delicate to carry around all the time, as much as he wished to do so. Instead, he'd placed it in the drawer of the old nightstand. With utmost care, Harry cupped the flower, which hadn't wilted in the slightest these past days, proving once more that it really was magical. He wasn't sure how it was still there, he'd read that conjured items disappeared upon the caster's death. Harry held it to his chest for a moment, where his heart beat erratically. Surely, his parents would be forgiving even if the trust he showed now would be misplaced in the end.

He carried it to Voldemort as quickly as he could, the fragile, gold-dipped petals shimmering as he placed it in the Dark Lord's opened palm.

''My mother gave me this, right before she…'' the words stuck in his throat, and Harry swallowed down the lump that suddenly blocked it.

Wordlessly, Voldemort studied the flower with narrowed eyes, casting a few pastel-coloured spells on it, which told Harry that they were diagnostic of nature, an observation that caught himself off guard for a bit. He hadn't realised just how much he'd learned within these few weeks that Barty had started training him daily. ''The time of creation corresponds to the ritual,'' the man deduced. ''As does the signature feel like Lily Potter…'' The red in Voldemort's eyes glowed brighter, a feverish gleam in them. ''If she had access to her magic, then the core was there and properly linked, so her soul and mind must have formed a temporary connection again with each other and the body,'' he whispered, standing up and pacing the room, the lily pinched in between two fingertips, the pink veins in the petals visible in the light that came from the fireplace, which was once again lit in mid-summer. ''Each theory comes to the same conclusion, which means...'' Abruptly, Voldemort turned and strode out of the room, Harry following at a slight distance. They didn't walk far, only going into the adjoining study, where Voldemort pulled forth several books from a trunk that looked far too small for all of them. Harry** had** to learn how those expansion spells worked one day.

''Don't destroy it for experiments,'' he pleaded. ''I was asked to give it to Snape.'' At the mention of the potion master, Voldemort abruptly stopped flipping through books and looked at Harry again.

''Severus? A message?''

''It sounded more like a threat, something about him having to fear my mum's wrath if he doesn't move on.'' Harry grimaced, the fact that **Snape** of all people had pined after his mother was still not something he liked to think about, even now he had had about a year to come to terms with it. He'd hoped that the topic would never have to come up in any conversation with his hated professor. Fate didn't let him dance around it much longer now…

Voldemort looked torn for a moment, his magic lashing out and giving Harry an uncomfortable feeling. The book was slammed shut and the man started pacing, the lily lying forgotten on the desk. ''So she expressed a wish… a will…'' he muttered, the strangest grimace on Voldemort's face. He turned around to Harry and grabbed the teen's shoulders harshly, not seeming to notice it. When he spoke again, it was with a sense of pride and awe, his volume rising with each word. ''This means that we went beyond the limit of any known magic! We rewrote the history of the Art tonight! Thousands of years, necromancers have been searching for true resurrection, and we made this happen!'' Before Harry could reply, the Dark Lord released him all of a sudden, taking a step back and turning around. ''But then all of my previous research,'' he muttered, barely audible. ''All of my beliefs about the afterlife… were incorrect?'' A couple of books on the desk started to tremble as if a low earthquake had hit the building. Without a care for his own safety, Harry reached out and grabbed Voldemort's wrist.

''I don't know much about death, I admit,'' he started, wishing that Voldemort would turn around and face him, a wish left unanswered. ''However, much of what you've told me hasn't changed I think. Even if the dead can come back to life, they are usually split up since their soul moves to the Black Cosmos right? And their minds… you only were able to retrieve their minds since you were the one to kill them. You called it an echo… If that is the only way you know of, maybe the rest of the mind really is lost. There isn't enough information here on what is the truth.''

''Yes… that must be it.'' The other straightened his shoulders and broke free of Harry's grasp, rubbing his wrist. When he turned around again, the serpentine face was completely blank. ''Only select memories were called forth. I jumped to conclusions.'' As he moved and sat down again, Harry found that Voldemort suddenly looked closer to the actual age he must be. ''So what was this about Severus? Lily Potter ordered you to give him a warning? Despite knowing full well that in order to do so, he will need to know how you communicated with her?''

''I've no idea if there was a lot of planning behind it,'' he admitted. Not everyone tried to think five steps ahead after all. ''She asked me in her last moments, I can't say if she thought through all the consequences.'' Because now that Voldemort mentioned it, Harry found that it was true that Snape wasn't a man to just accept threats or warnings lightly, certainly not if it came from one of his most hated students. He would surely get to the bottom of it, and that included finding out about the necromantic ritual and in turn, about Harry's contact to Voldemort, the Dark Lord that Snape had once served and then denied loyalty to towards the Ministry.

''Severus hid like so many others,'' Voldemort darkly spoke, ''But worse than many others, he did so behind Dumbledore's robes, working for my nemesis. He attempted to sabotage Quirrel and was incredibly suspicious of Barty. I did not contact him before to avoid informing a possible spy of my return, one so apt in Legilimency and Occlumency that even I could be possibly fooled by some of his acts. Do the dead know more than I?''

''Snape always was strange in my opinion,'' Harry said. ''Honestly, I thought he was secretly on your side all along and that he was fooling Dumbledore. He definitely doesn't agree with many of Dumbledore's policies at Hogwarts and thinks everyone who is not a Slytherin is worthless.''

''I informed him of that the prophecy spoke of the Potters, that I would kill Lily Potter. I knew that the bothersome emotions that tied him to your mother would make him run to the other side if I just went ahead and offed her, especially since he was the one to bring me the prophecy.''

''You offered to spare her though, on his request, right?''

''Certainly… but he does not know this, does he? You mother refused to move aside several times and I struck her down. Then I died and haven't spoken to Severus other than in disguise. I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore guilt-tripped him into doing his dirty work while Severus believes that he is doing the right thing in hating me. Although, as I said last time this topic came up, Severus might have had many other reasons for staying there. I cannot be certain of his views until I confront him. Since I am not in need of a potion master at the moment, I found it unnecessary until now. Severus has no political power and barely moves beyond Hogwarts.''

''He might be a member of the Order of the Phoenix though,'' Harry suggested. ''The teachers at Hogwarts are those who are closest to Dumbledore, and Sirius has told me a bit of the previous Order. Then too, several teachers were members. I imagine that Dumbledore tried to recruit more of them this time around, and Snape wouldn't be in a position to decline if Dumbledore is protecting him.''

''A sound line of thought,'' Voldemort mused. ''Perhaps… it certainly would be an asset to the Dark to have such a talented dark magician back in my ranks, especially one who could give me information about the organisation set to hinder my progress... yet the risk remains that I would invite a double spy. Revealing myself would give Dumbledore irrefutable proof of my return if Severus runs back to him. Secrecy spells can only do so much when it comes to a creative mind like Severus'. On the other hand, incurring the wrath of the dead by ignoring their wishes is nothing any intelligent necromancer would do either.''

''Maybe combine the two,'' Harry suggested. It pained him to part from his mother's flower, though it might be the only way to find out where Snape stood and honour his mum's wish. Harry personally had no desire to see the bitter git any more than he already had to at Hogwarts, so he'd gladly leave it to Voldemort and avoid any conversations with Snape where he'd have to spin uncertain half-truths. If Snape truly was apt at Legilimency, he didn't stand a chance in the first place.

''Give him your mother's gift and her message?''

''Exactly. Maybe also tell him about that you tried to spare her. To be honest, I detest Snape, but if you think it's better for the Dark side as a whole to have him as your follower again, this chance is better than many other moments.''

A smirk played at the corners of Voldemort's mouth as he looked at Harry. ''I think I appreciate your cunning side a lot more than your brash one. I shall attempt to still contact him today. Should our conversation take a positive turn, I can… **invite** him to stay over for Lughnasadh tomorrow. Perhaps one of the ancient celebrations and contact with a few fellow Death eaters will strengthen his ties to the side he turned his back on for so long.''

''And if it doesn't go well?''

''Then he'll be the second potion master for me to kill this year.''

XxX

The fireplace flared up with emerald flames, and Snape quickly drew his wand, instantly on alert. Few knew of his home in Spinner's End where he spent his dreary summers brewing potions. Was it Dumbledore again, trying to convince him to move toBlack's house of all places? ''I said** no** Albus, for the thousandth time,'' he sneered when a figure with long hair appeared, hunched over in the flames.

''Albus? Are you trying to insult me, Severus?'' Lucius Malfoy haughtily spoke as he straightened his robes and flipped his hair back.

''Lucius, I thought it was that meddlesome fool again,'' he sighed. Severus didn't bother with trying to question Lucius' identity: precious few indeed had this address and an access to the floo, and no impostors would have been able to recreate the link that had been branded into the both of them. Even now the Dark Lord was but a mere husk, their Marks recognised each other as fellow Death Eaters, burning slightly as soon as Lucius faced him. ''What are you doing here? It's unwise for me to have contact with you. Karkaroff was enough of a bother, following me around and trying to talk to me at the most inconvenient moments possible…''

''Unless the Headmaster of Hogwarts is putting his crooked nose in your business each moment of the day, I doubt he'll notice when you receive visitors in your own home, my friend.''

''So why are you here?''

''There is a slight crisis and I have no further time to explain. Grab an extra robe and a couple of healing potions.''

Severus' mouth twisted further into a sneer. ''You know very well that I can't do hippogriff dung with the term 'healing potions'. Specifics, Lucius, I'm not taking my entire collection with me.''

The blond man waved impatiently. ''Blood-replenishing, possibly something to repair tissue and bones. A pepper-up and pain-relievers, those kind of things. By Morgana, I'm no Healer nor expert in potions Severus, I don't know what is all necessary.'' Without a word, Snape went to one of the cupboards and started pulling a few vials out. A feeling of discomfort settled in his mind, and he decided to keep his guard up. This was undeniably Lucius, so why would his old friend lie? For he had no doubt that the other was lying, no-one needed so many generic healing potions, certainly not Death Eaters, who had all been trained to at least perform basic healing spells for first aid in battle. Nothing that these potions could do, apart from perhaps blood-replenishing, was something Lucius couldn't have achieved with spells.

From experience, he knew that no Malfoy who was worth a damn would ever admit to being untruthful. There must be a reason, there was** always** a reason, and the easiest way to find it was to play along. Whilst preparing his bag, Snape threw in a couple of extra ingredients that might come in handy: an antidote against Veritaserum, a bezoar, and a couple of focusing crystals that he could use to enhance his Occlumency shields. He wasn't about to walk into a trap unprepared. He was stopped by Lucius as he walked back to the fireplace.

''I have a Portkey,'' his friend spoke, voice tense. Fantastic, so the location was most likely unplottable and cut-off from the outside world. He gave Lucius a** look**, to which the man merely replied by raising his chin just a tad higher. Severus accepted the Portkey, which was thankfully not one of the pieces of muggle trash that the Ministry littered around, instead a stylishly cut dragon figurine of onyx. It was so typically Lucius that Snape could imagine it normally having a trophy spot in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. It was slightly calming to know that either Lucius had created this portkey himself, or had entrusted the person who had with such a prized possession. It lessened the chances of his friend having been threatened into luring him somewhere with this.

''Ready,'' he spoke, and Spinner's End disappeared in a blur. The moment they landed, Snape was on high alert, looking up at the building in front of them. It was an old, Muggle-style Victorian house, and as he turned around, he saw that it looked out over an ordinary village. In contrast, there was nothing at all Muggle about the garden, which was filled with dozens of florae used specifically in potions, from clusters of motherwort to tall asphodel stems. A bit further to the side of the house, he even saw a Wiggentree surrounded by hissing cobra lilies and a couple of flutterby bushes. It was clear that the owner of this home knew what they were doing. And by the strange shimmering in the air around them, it looked like the house was hidden in some way, so the Muggles wouldn't notice the odd garden.

''Severus…'' Turning around, he noticed the concern in Lucius' eyes. ''You did not lose the old ways, did you?'' he whispered urgently.

''This is hardly a topic to be discussed so openly,'' he hissed back.

''Openly?'' the blond laughed, a slightly shrill tone in his voice that made Severus wish he was back home already. ''Dear friend, I was asked to bring you here to show you the truth. Our Master is not as dead as many would have you believe.'' A wicked grin spread across Lucius' usually so schooled features. Instead of mimicking any of the portrayed feelings, Severus just felt as if ice flooded his veins.

No, it couldn't be… ''The Dark Lord is…?'' he rasped, looking up to the imposing house, suddenly far more afraid. None of the items he'd taken with would do him any good if **he** was the one to have sent Lucius.

''Yes, he's risen again,'' his friend confirmed with an awed whisper. It was clear that Lucius was ecstatic about it for some reason. Severus hadn't expected that, for the entire Malfoy family had managed to talk and bribe their way out of persecution, he'd been certain that this would not look favourably to the Dark Lord, should the man ever return. Speaking of which…

''What do you mean with 'returned'?'' he asked, grabbing Lucius' arms, staring directly in steel grey eyes to pick up on any hint of untruthfulness. ''I know he never died, but you make it sound as if he… regained a form.''

Lucius impatiently shrugged him off. ''He did, last year already. If you stayed true to our beliefs, you should be more than happy to hear about it. Don't tell me that Dumbledore really did butter you up.''

Severus snarled: ''Don't insult me! It was convenient to me that he believed my story of being remorseful, that is all. Throughout the years, I have not let my Slytherins stray from the path of Magic.'' The other seemed satisfied with that. He was safe for now, but as they moved towards the front door, his guts twisted unpleasantly. Would the Dark Lord just welcome him back? No, that was laughable… Certainly, he'd never been firmly on Dumbledore's side either, detesting the old manipulator for using his guilt against him to bind him to Hogwarts. As if having to protect James Potter's spawn wasn't enough, he also had to run whenever Dumbledore wanted him to, always bound to the whims of the one who kept him out of Azkaban. Had that damned unbreakable vow not been there, he'd long since moved on, perhaps gone to a faraway country where neither the ghost of the Dark Lord nor Dumbledore would ever find him.

Severus had even been pressured into joining the Order to 'increase his standing' despite feeling like he had nothing at all in common with the other members. All those years ago, he'd gone to Dumbledore in a fit of desperation, that didn't mean that his personal grief and vengeance somehow erased his favouring of the Dark Arts or his belief that Muggles were far less than mages. The only good thing about that was that he could use that fact as leverage now if it came to having to defend his life. And if he would be allowed to live… then what?

The house was empty as they walked in, and smaller than he'd expected, no expansion charms had been placed on any of the rooms he could see from here through open doors. It was also eerily silent, only a vague humming coming from the walls itself, which was more a feeling than a sound and which he knew instinctively to originate from the Dark Lord himself. So his Lord's magic was this powerful already? He was doomed…

''Go upstairs, then it is the first door to the left,'' Lucius spoke. ''I have to return home. Severus… good luck.'' He was left standing in the dark, at the bottom of the stairs, his friend hurrying out as fast as he could. If he'd survive this encounter, Lucius neck wouldn't… He closed his eyes and stored away all unwanted thoughts and memories behind a maze of doors and walls. No emotions of that showed on his face as he knocked on the door behind which the Dark Lord sat, nor did he betray anything when he was called in by a voice he'd hoped to never hear again. Stiffly, he walked in, met with an overwhelming heat. What moron would start a fire on a day it was thirty-five degrees out?

''My Lord,'' he spoke, managing to keep his voice even, sinking to one knee as was expected, eyes trained on the floor until spoken to. If there was one thing Severus was good at, it was having absolute control over his own body and mind. An iron discipline was what had enabled him to return home those dreaded summers to his abusive father, and was what had kept him alive there. This was no different: another cruel man, playing his cruel games, ripping loved ones away from family after family. Severus would see Voldemort destroyed if it was the last thing he did, all the while suppressing his bloodthirst, raging grief and hatred. It wouldn't do to show how intensely he wished to destroy Lily's murderer. Merely killing him wasn't enough… Oh, how he would ensure that this man he once worshipped would see life unravel, how he'd howl when noticing how Severus had subtly torn his world down. Perhaps the only good thing about having to protect the Potter brat was that in aiding the Boy-Who-Lived, he'd cause the destruction of the true villain.

Rustling robes came ever closer, unnaturally white feet entering his line of vision. Without hesitation, Severus reached out and grabbed the hem of Voldemort's robes, kissing it in a show of deference. Yes, he'd play his part well, the way he always did.

''Rise, Severus.''

He complied, staring straight into red eyes that had more than once haunted his nightmares. There was no use in trying to avert one's gaze from the Dark Lord, it would only be taken as a sign of weakness. Voldemort looked as terrible as the last time they'd met. Apart from the man's frighteningly unnatural eyes that showed more than anything the extent to which he'd delved into dark magic, the Dark Lord had papery white skin, a serpentine nose that was almost, but not quite flat, and a gaunt, skeletal frame that even robes couldn't hide. It didn't help that Voldemort stood at 6'5'' and towered over Severus, who was by no means small himself. ''You look well, my Lord'' he simply spoke.

''No need for flattery, my slippery friend.''

Severus chose not to answer that, for whatever he'd say, it would be wrong. He hadn't searched for his master despite having more evidence than any other Death Eaters of the Dark Lord's continued survival, and had even hampered his early return. If Lucius had spoken he truth, the resurrection had already been last year, and Severus only heard word of it now, which was very telling. He wasn't trusted in the least.

''I am certain that you have many a question, Severus. Speak.''

''Why did you summon me, my Lord?'' the unspoken 'why **now**' was apparently clear enough, for the Dark Lord answered:

''I did not find it favourably to inform you of my return any sooner. After my death, I lost precious time… I have been busy in the past year with research and expanding my network. Now however, I find that Dumbledore is trying to revive his little rebellion group. And who do I find among those annoying insects? You…'' Snape inwardly cursed whoever it was that had opened their damned mouth. It had to be Mundungus, he was sure of it.

''The Headmaster was the one to keep me out of Azkaban, I found it a better strategic move to start working at Hogwarts and continue developing my potions than to have my sanity sucked out of me by Dementors. I grew rather close to Dumbledore during this time, and he trusts me as much as other teachers. When he offered me a spot in the Order, I found it would be unwise to refuse. Despite his trust, he has to date rejected me in the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and my contact to my colleagues is not favourable. There is suspicion among them that I never relinquished my old ways.''

''And I have a suspicion that you might have,'' Severus looked up to his Lord, who had moved towards a large chair that was turned away from the fireplace to face him. He frowned slightly, having expected having to play word and mind games. It was unusual for the Dark Lord to be so direct. ''Ah, were you expecting something different? Come now, I think we both know that it would have the same result… You give me a brilliant story of how your actions until now were only to support my cause in the end, I do not believe you and demand to see your mind, you give up enough precious information to make it believable and earn your spot at my side back, then I find out at one point that you were not so loyal as I believed after all… Had things not gone as they did, perhaps it would have even worked. But fate is not in your favour today, Severus. I have been reminded too often over the past year of what truly motivates your actions. Lily Potter. Or should I say, Lily Evans? You never really recognised her new surname, did you?'' The name was but a mere whisper that echoed in Severus' mind, yet enough to make his so carefully crafted mask crack. He knew he'd shown too much when his Lord chuckled darkly. ''Ah, there is that burning spark of hatred that I've been waiting for. Do not think that even you can fool me, I know your heart.''

With as much dignity as he could muster, the potion master rose from the ground, positioning his cape so that it would be easy to grab his wand, should the need arise to duel for his life. Blood-red eyes followed his every move, the serpentine man alike a predator searching for the perfect moment to strike. ''If you know as much, why the charade?'' he asked, head held high. A Slytherin he may be, Severus Snape certainly wasn't a coward.

''You swore your loyalty to me, no matter what. I branded you as mine, yet the instant I died, you ran to my greatest enemy. Do you think that would have no consequences?''

''You promised to spare her,'' he accused the Dark Lord. ''Why would I uphold my faith in a man who breaks his promises so easily?''

''I tried.'' The words were spoken with no emotion, no regret at all.

A cold fury burned through Severus' body. ''You are the most powerful wizard that walks this earth, I refuse to believe that you couldn't have spared her if you'd wanted to.''

''True, but she was being more bothersome than I had anticipated. I gave her two chances to step aside, two more than I would have given anyone else. It was more than reasonable to strike her down after she threw my mercy back at me.''

''Why would I believe you?'' Severus spat. In a flash, a bone-white wand was pointed it at him, so he calmly stepped aside to avoid the curse thrown his way. With his opinions already revealed by whatever information the Dark Lord had received before, he wasn't going to just take a Cruciatus curse.

''Harry Potter survived by her sacrifice. Do you think no other parent threw themselves before their child? A true sacrifice needs to come from someone who could have lived and actively chose to die. Ironically, had I not attempted to honour my word to you, Harry would have died that night, and I wouldn't have lost twelve years of my life!''

A sense of satisfaction settled in. So his attempt to save her had in a sense made Lily responsible for the peace they'd had for over a decade now. Even if he wouldn't survive this night, this knowledge would make his death a little bit more peaceful.

''Yet that wasn't the end of your beloved Lily. Not quite.''

Shock and disbelief battled for control as the Dark Lord, with a sinister smile, reached inside his robes and withdrew a white flower with slightly pink veins. Severus was frozen like a statue as the man stepped closer and offered the lily on an opened palm. The magic that exuded from it was unmistakable. Not even a Lord would have been able to imitate that signature… ''It can't be…'' he breathed, staring at the flower, this gift from the devil.

''Lily lived, if only for a few minutes more. I am a necromancy master, didn't you know that? Her last thoughts before vanishing went out to you. Take it.''

It had to be a trap. Even when summoned, the dead didn't just conjure items. They barely spoke coherently when properly summoned. Despite all those rational thoughts shouting in his head and warning him, Severus still mechanically reached out to pluck the flower from his Lord's palm, cradling it in his trembling hands. His Lily had always had an affinity with nature. Most of her accidental magic made flowers bloom out of season, and it had become a signature of her to leave around conjured lilies exactly like the one now in his hands. Once, she had even made one appear in his bedroom in the Slytherin dorms, and she'd always refused to tell him how. ''Lily…'' he whispered to it, soaking up the warm magic of which its absence had left him cold and dead inside.

''The dead are oftentimes far more insightful than they were during life. Her exact words for you were: 'I am always watching, and you had better fear my wrath if you do not move on from bitterness.' She was not very happy with how you treated her son, I believe.'' Coal black eyes snapped up to meet his Lord's.

''Why did you summon her of all people?'' he demanded to know.

The other clacked his tongue in disapproval. ''Not summon, the word is resurrect, Severus. A full resurrection I might add, if only for a few minutes. I do not believe that I owe you an explanation for my actions, although you will find out yourself if you stay here and participate in the harvest feast tomorrow.'' He must have looked rather confused, for his Lord continued: ''I was thinking of whether it would be more beneficial for me to kill you, and the scales tipped in favour of that until I spoke to Lily Potter… The dead seem to think you have a future if they are giving warnings to change your ways. Only a bumbling fool would outright ignore the wishes of the deceased, for they have strange powers that the living should not play with. As such, combined with a number of other reasons that I might reveal to you in time, I will allow you back at my side. Of course, should you show **any** signs of betrayal, I will be more than happy to dispose of you in a way that would make you eligible to join the Headless Hunt. It might encourage you that your dear Lily has admitted that it was foolish to thwart my efforts and fight for Dumbledore instead during her lifetime. If only she'd realised that sooner… Imagine the life you could have had. That** she** could have had. But for you, Severus, it is not quite too late.''

Severus was, for the first time in years, absolutely torn on what to do and think. The wild claims of having resurrected Lily for unknown reasons, the flower in his hands that could only have come from her, the warning that sounded so much like her, it all was too much to instantly dissect. The only reason he had ever defied the Dark Side was because of his dear Lily… And if even a tiny part of the information he received now was true, she was pushing him in the direction of the Dark lord again. No Unbreakable Vow could keep him from following her wishes. He didn't move this time when Voldemort slowly pointed his wand in between the centre of Severus' eyes.

''You have a choice to make. I suggest you make it fast.''

He didn't need to ask what the choice was. As calmly as he could muster, Severus spoke: ''Cruciatus.'' If he wanted to get to the bottom of this, he needed to live, even if that was bound once more in servitude.

''Welcome back, my friend,'' the Dark Lord spoke with a grin splitting his terrible face. ''_**Crucio**_.''

* * *

Upon the weathered stone tiles, in between plants and cracked pots, stood five imposing people in a half-circle, their garments all black and heavy, most having little decoration. Harry recognised two, and both were people he had harboured a great dislike towards ever since meeting them: Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. Their presence should have taken away from the comfort Harry usually found in the warm, earthy-scented veranda. In fact, quite a few things that had happened here should have taken that away a long time ago, and yet it was as inviting and musty and homey as ever. He imagined this was how Neville felt when entering a greenhouse, the clumsy Gryffindor always took in a deep breath whenever entering the ones at Hogwarts despite the many accidents that had happened with vicious plants. Harry felt much like doing the same here upon entering each time and now was no different. Harry ignored the miniscule frowns and raised eyebrows he received. If they all thought he was crazy, he couldn't care less. Snape's opinion of him could sink any lower anyways.

Speaking of Snape, considering that the man supposedly hadn't even known that Harry was here until this very moment, the man sure schooled his expression well. Harry couldn't pick up anything from his potion professor, not even the slightest hint of surprise. Yesterday had been… strange. For once, Voldemort had actively invited Harry into his mind, and the teen had witnessed the entire conversation through the Dark Lord's eyes, unable to influence it. In his opinion, it was a surprise that Voldemort even still** had** followers if this was how he treated all of his Death Eaters.

Apart from the changes in everyone else's expressions, they also looked a lot more neutral than Harry had imagined. Meeting Death Eaters for the first time -even if he'd never known them to be so apart from Barty upon meeting- had always been with an instinctive animosity on both sides. Pettigrew had been unsympathetic, Malfoy had acted cold, Karkaroff had been a strangely unpleasant individual and even around Quirrel, Harry had had a feeling of discomfort. Not to even mention Snape. All in all, the ones Harry had met either disliked people affiliated with him or somehow blamed a teenager for their Master's demise and their friends' imprisonment. Now, he saw something else in the eyes of those new faces: curiosity. The lack of hostility was honestly throwing him off. Was he supposed to say hello to them or..?

''Evan!'' Barty shouted from behind. ''Don't think you can just sit on your arse already and relax with our guests, we have prep work to do!''

''I'm a guest too if you recall,'' He shouted back, grinning slightly at the whining noise he received in reply.

''Please release me from some of the five thousand tasks I've been given?''

''Hold on,'' Harry sighed, and turned around again without saying a word to the other 'guests', who didn't seem inclined to help. Which honestly wasn't fair on Barty, they all were Inner Circle Death eaters, just because Barty was here regularly didn't mean that he had a greater responsibility to take care of Voldemort's orders than the rest of them. ''Five thousand sounds a bit of an overstatement,'' he commented as he popped his head around the corner of the kitchen. ''Besides, we've got five of your buddies here who are to partake in the celebration with us, why are they just standing around in expectation?''

''Because they think they're too good for it and forget that they'll displease the Dark Lord with their behaviour. As I don't feel much for allowing them to suck up to him in any way, I'm not reminding them.''

Harry snorted. ''So basically, you get all the rewards for the work?''

''You too now,'' Barty smirked.

''I'm **eternally** grateful that you're letting me help with chores,'' he snarked. ''It is** so** much better than enduring the Dark Lord's wrath. Which I somehow still manage to do on a daily basis so I'm not sure why I'm bothering.''

''Evaaaan.''

Harry sighed dramatically. ''Everything for my favourite Death Eater. Why are we starting this late with it anyways? I was told to hole up in my room all day before, I had expected something to be done already during that time.''

''I did do something, I played host for our other 'guests' and managed not to curse any of them, which is quite a feat if I may say so. Snape especially just kept sulking everywhere. He was a bad colleague, and is even worse as a fellow Death eater. And if you have to know, since you are an unpredictable ball of emotions, our Lord wanted you to stay up in your room to not start beef with the others too early.''

''Hey!''

''Secondly,'', Barty continued, raising his voice a bit to talk over Harry's protesting noises. ''I also needed to prepare some things for you as well. Since you locked yourself in the past days, we couldn't celebrate your birthday before. It's Lughnasadh today, so we don't have time now. There is something planned for you tomorrow instead, just a heads up. Happy Birthday.''

Somehow, Harry had completely forgotten about his own birthday again. It was touching that Barty had thought of it. He didn't especially care about it not being celebrated today, he knew by now that it was important for the Sabbats to be celebrated on exact dates and times. ''Thanks,'' he mumbled. ''So, should I get some wheat again?''

''Barley specifically. The hot summer made it ripe enough that we do not even need to ripen it further with spells like last time. Do try to not be seen, there might still be some farmers in the fields at this time. The Muggle harvest feast is only tomorrow so I'm sure they're still working. After that, we need to find or produce enough clean bowls and cups for everyone, make spell bottles, slice apples, clean the veranda up a bit more, set up the cauldron, and during all that somehow manage to keep Nagini from biting anyone.''

''Nowhere close to five thousand,'' Harry teased.

''That snake alone is at least half of all the effort and worth over two-thousand other tasks!'' Barty protested.

''Yes yes, I'll get her off your hands when I get back, I'll rely on you to do everything else. Although I'm rather hungry, and since last time we only ate that bread during Lughnasadh, maybe I should prepare some dinner for everyone?''

''Sometimes I think you were sent by Merlin,'' Barty spoke, sighing in relief and patting Harry's shoulder. ''I'll get to work then, I want to be done by the time our Lord gets back. He's in France.'' The meaningful look that was thrown his way not only told Harry that the Dark lord was still at work, but also that Barty didn't trust any of the other Death Eaters who could possibly overhear their conversation, with that information. Harry supposed it made sense, even if Voldemort had informed some of them of his take-over of the newspapers, he certainly hadn't told Snape yet. Harry decided to first ensure that Nagini wouldn't run rampant. Not that he cared much for her biting anyone since he didn't like anyone currently here apart from Barty, but he would hate for others to upset her. It took a while to find the serpent, who had curled up in the living room and was hissing in displeasure over having so many people here.

_~I'll keep you in the kitchen with me~_ Harry hissed to calm her down. Then, he got an idea. _~I would really like it if you could help me with one little thing before.~ _

She swished her tail a bit, then rose from the ground. _~You make master more agreeable, so I will help you, little one. What do you need?~_

One minute later, he casually walked over to the veranda, from which rather distraught sounds came. Harry opened the doors and gleefully took in the sight of five grown men trying to avoid the playfully snapping fangs of Nagini_. ~That probably scared them enough. Thanks a lot, they won't give me any trouble now,~_ he spoke, making sure that he was speaking a tad louder than necessary so they would not miss the Parseltongue. By the stumped looks of the Death Eaters he hadn't met before, they hadn't known about his ability. Good. As even Snape didn't know the reason for him being a Parselmouth, all of the theories they could come up with would probably earn him a bit more respect. That would make interaction a whole lot easier.

''Gentlemen,'' he spoke in English once Nagini had returned to him and had draped herself partially over his shoulders. Harry tried his best not to struggle to keep upright. How the fuck did Voldemort make carrying a 30 pound snake look like a breeze? ''I am not sure why you are all standing here, there is a lot to do in means of preparation, and the Dark Lord won't return for a while still. Since Barty needs to clean out this room, I kindly ask you to at least move your hanging around to the living room. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes.'' He sighed softly in relief when Nagini decided that she would rather slither on her own, and he led her to the kitchen, where Barty was watching him with a roguish grin.

''How Slytherin of you,'' the Death Eater commented. Then, he dropped his voice a bit. ''I sense that dear Severus has a million questions for you.''

''I can imagine so,'' Harry shrugged. ''I don't particularly feel like humouring him. Besides, from experience, whenever he has something unpleasant to say to me he'll try to catch me alone. With this many people to overhear a conversation, I doubt he'll sit me down for a talk. Also, I have Nagini here with me and by his reaction before, he isn't any fonder of her than anyone else here.''

''Aren't you interested in what he has to say?''

Harry frowned as he started preparations for dinner, figuring that the later he went to get the barley, the better, so it would remain fresh. After peeling the first few potatoes, he had sorted his own thoughts on the matter of Snape enough to give an explanation that wasn't an incoherent mess of thoughts and feelings. Pausing with his peeling, Harry cast a few silencing barriers, then started speaking, all the while continuing with cooking. ''You told me before that he was horrible as a colleague… imagine him as a teacher. Even when I completely leave out the grudge he has against me for looking like my father, which is dumb in itself, he is a straight-up arsehole at school. He tried to poison Neville's pet as punishment for getting a potion wrong, he blatantly ignored complaints of Gryffindor students when Slytherins tried to sabotage our potions, he looked straight at Hermione when she'd been hit in the face by a curse from some bullies and had the gall to say there wasn't anything wrong… And those are his 'petty teacher' moments with only one out of dozens of classes. He's also made sure that Lupin got fired by 'slipping up' about him being a werewolf, actually leading to the creation of an anti-werewolf law last year that made it** even harder** for an entire subspecies to find employment, and he did all that because Lupin was part of the group that used to pick on him at school. I'm not saying that it was good of my dad and his friends to bully Snape either, but I am not going to make Malfoy's life hell when we're adults just cause he was mean to me at Hogwarts.''

''How do you know that they used to bully him?''

''Sirius admitted that. I spent the Easter holidays at his place, remember? To avoid talking about Dumbledore and all that stuff, he talked almost non-stop about my parents and what kind of things they got up to at school. Snape… came up in conversation and I wanted to know why he hated Lupin so much especially. The usual racism regarding werewolves didn't make much sense since Snape adores everything about dark magic. Turns out that Sirius and my dad played a prank in which they wanted him to see Lupin in werewolf form. Sirius was rather fuzzy about the details, but in the end my dad decided not to go through with it and got Snape to safety. Dumbledore once told me that my father saved Snape's life, I suppose that must have been when.''

''Not much saving going on if you prevent a person from walking into a trap you set,'' Barty commented.

''As I said, details were fuzzy, so I have no idea what exactly transpired. It was still enough for Snape to eternally hate Lupin, who wasn't even in on the prank. Speaking of holding grudges, getting Lupin fired wasn't enough, Snape tried to get Sirius kissed by Dementors, while knowing very well that he was innocent of the accused crimes. Eternally damning a person's soul sounds rather extreme to get back at a childhood bully. I wouldn't even wish that on Dudley. My Aunt and Uncle maybe, but not Dudley.'' Harry sighed deeply. ''So to sum it up, I have no positive experiences with Snape. He likes to belittle and traumatise children, is extremely petty about things that happened a long time ago, and it sounds to me that from hopping to our Lord's side to Dumbledore's and back again, he is rather untrustworthy too. His one redeeming factor is that he tried to save my mother, and even that is questionable. He had no problems with the prophecy when thinking it was about some faceless family instead of my mother. He didn't even have a problem with my dad and me being killed, only her. I honestly don't know how he and my mum ever became friends in the first place.''

''Childhood connections can do a lot,'' the blond spoke up. ''I never really got it either though. When I was at school with them, Snape already hung out with a lot of people who were looking forward to becoming Death Eaters. Not that I think that's a bad thing of course, but it's strange since a couple of them were rather high on blood purity, and Snape bullied a lot of Mudbloods, throwing slurs at them and such.''

''Sirius told me that he was the kind of person who put down Muggleborns, made an exception for mum because he thought she was special, and then expected her to be grateful for the fact that she would be spared while he wanted to see all others like her dead.''

''Don't forget that Black has an agenda too. Sure, Snape isn't the most pleasant person, but everyone on the dark side knows that even Mudbloods are necessary. We're too small of a community already to not acknowledge that those born from Muggles are still magical people and thus belong to our kind. We can't just kill 'm.''

Harry threw him a hard look at that. ''It's true that that is the Dark Lord's opinion now, but he used to think all Muggleborns were better off dead as well when he was younger, and that line of thought is still very present in Pureblood circles, you should know that. Draco Malfoy was bragging about how he hoped Hogwarts would be rid of all Muggleborns when that basilisk ran loose.''

''Draco Malfoy is a child-''

''- who parrots his parents' opinions. One of those parents is standing in the next room.'' Harry finished. Barty shut his mouth with an audible clack. ''We still have a lot to work on,'' he continued. ''And hardly anyone seems to give a damn about Muggleborns, other than when trying to force them into some sort of lower status. I know now that there is an entity of Magic, so I refuse to believe that when she granted Muggleborns powers, she wanted them to be treated like outcasts. We're all one kind.''

Barty gave a noncommittal hum that Harry didn't like in the least. Sometimes Harry tended to forget that, as great as Barty could be, he also worshipped Voldemort to a fault, the same man who would have liked to keep Muggles as slaves if he had it his way. The teen chopped his onions a bit rougher than before. Getting the mood, Barty snuck out without another word and didn't show his face until Harry set a heavy pot of stew on the dinner table. The atmosphere during food was rather unpleasant, everyone completely quiet. More than once, Harry caught eyes flickering his way and then being cast down on the plates again. His scare tactic had worked even better than he'd hoped for. Barty was also unusually quiet.

A surge of magic went through the air and Harry looked up, his skin suddenly covered in goose bumps. It looked like the others hadn't noticed yet, only Snape giving Harry a strangely piercing look. It took a good minute before Voldemort entered the house, which was when Barty perked up, also finally having noticed their Lord's presence. The rest of the Death Eaters moved one after the other, one rubbing his arm absentmindedly, another having his eyes trained on the door that led to the hallway. Harry tried to take note of all reactions and how fast they were in sensing Voldemort's magic. He'd learnt that sensing magic was generally a rather rare ability. It only became easier to notice the magical signature of a person when being very close to them over a long period of time, or, like in Voldemort's case, when they had power in spades. And even then, it looked like some people were a lot better in picking it up than others. Harry didn't believe that he was especially apt at sensing magic if he was honest, the only reason why he was so affected by the Dark Lord was due to the many accidents and rituals that bound them.

''My followers, it is good to see you all gathered here,'' their Lord spoke upon entering, taking them all in with a taxing look. ''I hope that you all made yourself acquainted with my youngest… guest?'' Around the table, guilty looks were exchanged, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. ''I see…'' Voldemort whispered, walking around the table, placing his cold hands on Harry's shoulders ''None of you thought it strange that I housed Harry Potter? None of you thought that surely, there must be an extraordinary explanation for why I trust the very person who was the reason for my demise thirteen years ago, to be present during such an important evening?'' Harry tried to concentrate on the faces around him rather than on the weight of Voldemort's hands, which was incredibly difficult since one of the man's thumbs brushed against his neck rather than the fabric of his robes. In a twist of irony, he was saved by Snape, whose blank face broke for a second as the surly potion master's nostrils flared and let out a barely audible noise of disapproval. ''You have something to say, Severus?'' Voldemort spoke, instantly fixating on the bat-like man, leaning over Harry a bit.

Harry had to give it to Snape, the way the potion master caught himself and straightened to look Voldemort flat in the eye was not a feat many could have accomplished. ''Apologies, my Lord, but Potter has never shown a single sign of being extraordinary in anything but dumb luck and Quidditch. He is a bad student, incredibly rude and arrogant, always sees fit to break the rules… I find it hard to find a reason why you think his company is suitable.''

The Dark Lord let out a chuckle, while Barty, from the other side of the table, started growling quietly. ''Were you** absent** during the Triwizard Tournament?'' Voldemort spoke in a ridiculing tone. ''This boy mastered a bardic spell to calm a dragon, learned two ways to breathe underwater in the span of barely four weeks, one of which was the Rite of Weaving, and conquered a maze filled with creatures and spells designed for students who are of age. If he does poorly academically in your class, Severus, perhaps you should look at the teacher first.''

Harry would have laughed at that, if it wasn't for the fact that Voldemort's fingers now applied more pressure to his shoulders and even if he could have been oblivious to the gesture, the raw possessiveness that bombarded him through the link certainly didn't leave much room for doubt. For whatever reason, the Dark Lord very much disliked Snape's critique. ''Apart from Bartemius, this child did more for me than any of you combined,'' Voldemort snarled, magic spiking, and some of his followers seemed to shrink a tad in their seats. ''His actions are the reason I stand before you today as powerful as I am. So don't you** dare** belittle him when you haven't shown a **fraction** of the loyalty or effort that he has. What. Is. it, Lucius,'' he hissed at Draco's father, who had risen from his seat.

''I would like to agree with you, My Lord, and bid Severus to rethink his opinion. Upon first meeting Mr. Potter a few years ago, I was disappointed in what I saw: it seemed to me that Dumbledore had crafted a perfect loyal soldier just like Mr. Potter's parents had been. But my son informed me of Mr. Potter's changed behaviour at Hogwarts. He struck a deal with Draco, who aided him with the Rite of Weaving which, as you all know, is one guarded by my family. I was amazed at the potential and growth.'' He nodded and sat down again, averting his gaze from Voldemort's narrowed eyes. Harry hadn't really gotten the idea until now that Mr. Malfoy thought any better of him, the man certainly hadn't been friendly at Easter. Was this merely an attempt to suck up?

''If I may say something,'' Harry spoke up, a tad annoyed, especially addressing the people he didn't know yet. ''As much as I appreciate all of you discussing my character and abilities, I would prefer to get to know you myself rather than have your opinion formed from hearsay. So hi, you all know my name, but I much prefer to go by Evan while I'm here due to the load of baggage that hangs on the name Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and all that. So yeah, just Evan. Questions? Other introductions?''

The other Death Eaters kept quiet for a while, looking at their Lord for a reaction. Harry couldn't see his face, only picking up on that his mood had calmed down again. With a last brush of icy fingertips, Voldemort moved away to the only empty seat left, the ladle in the pot of stew magically filling up his plate. A few moments in which the Dark Lord completely ignored his followers later, one of them dared to speak up, addressing Harry. ''My name is Yaxley. Proudfoot here and I both work in the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law, I in the Administrative Registration Department, he in Department of Intoxicating Substances. We've both fought during the War.''

Proudfoot nodded and added: ''I also have some friends in the department of Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and help out there occasionally when there isn't anything to do in mine. Which is quite often, we only regulate the sale of alcohol and certain potions. It's been pretty useful since I can falsify evidence that might point in the direction of one of our friends. Every year there are a couple of searches for dark artefacts in random homes.''

''I see,'' Harry spoke. ''I don't know an awful lot about dark artefacts to be honest, I've been focusing on practical spells and rituals.''

''You should visit Borgin and Burkes one day,'' Malfoy spoke, actually looking interested. ''Borgin is a bit stingy, but he has a decent selection.''

''Oh, that place,'' Harry frowned. ''To be honest, I was there once. I had a Floo accident, hid in the shop and spied on you and Draco. It might be good to visit as an actual customer one day though, I couldn't see much from that closet.''

Malfoy looked very indignant at that, then carefully asked: ''So you had evidence of my buying dark artefacts? And didn't report it?''

''I was barely twelve and had no idea how everything worked,'' Harry said. ''Nothing about legal issues is explained at Hogwarts and I grew up in the Muggle world. So even if I would have known that it was illegal, I didn't know how or where to report it. By the way, if one isn't allowed to have dark objects, why is there a shop that specifically sells it? Wouldn't it be easier for the Ministry to forbid selling the stuff rather than for people to buy or own it?''

''Technically, it is forbidden, which is why Borgin has a couple of contacts in the Ministry who tell him when there are shop inspections coming up. Most of what is on direct display isn't harmful or cursed, that is all in the back and he gets rid of it at convenience. Officially, he runs a shop for curiosities and artefacts, not specifically dark ones, even if all of his regular clientele knows better.''

The conversation continued for a bit, the last Death Eater also mingling after a while. He turned out to be one of Voldemort's original followers who had even gone to school with him, Rosier. There had been a different Rosier too in Voldemort's ranks, the son of the Death Eater present now, who had been killed by Alastor Moody's hand.

''Whatever happened to Moody?'' Harry asked Barty. ''Dumbledore said they couldn't find him.''

''Since I knew that my time at Hogwarts was limited, I relocated him to just outside of Hogsmeade. As soon as I was gone and didn't need Polyjuice anymore, I killed him. We don't need a fanatic ex-Auror to bolster the Order's ranks,'' Barty confessed, not sounding the least bit sorry. ''Moody was responsible for the demise of several Death Eaters. He didn't really believe in imprisonment and preferred to 'execute' people by himself instead of waiting for trials, which also cost a few innocent lives.

Harry couldn't really find it within him to mourn the real Moody. He'd never met the man and from what he heard now, it wasn't a loss.

As the evening slowly set in, Harry excused himself soon after a bit of small talk, leaving the dimensional bubble to scavenge the fields for some barley. He didn't see as many farmers out as feared, it looked like the regular working shifts were over. Following the same dirt path as last year, he reflected on the differences. This summer was most definitely a lot hotter, the heatwave holding all of Britain in chokehold. It appeared that they never had normal weather, it was either this or constant rain… He should start looking into weather magic at one point to counter that. Harry rubbed his neck, very glad that this time he wasn't limited by the invisible choking magic that Voldemort had been so fond of last year. Clearly an improvement.

He retrieved a bundle of barley without much difficulty, only encountering one lonely farmer on the way back, who ceased his suspicious look after Harry gave him a confident nod and strode past as if he belonged. Everything else had already been prepared when he got back, so he lounged in the kitchen with Nagini until it was time. A knot had formed in his stomach during all the waiting. Would it be as magical as last time? Or had his mind only tricked him into thinking it had been amazing and would he be disappointed now? Would he stumble over the words of the verse he had written to not stick out like a sore thumb?

With these nervous thoughts buzzing in his head, he sat down on the now grass-covered floor of the veranda in between Barty and Rosier, facing the wide-open doors to the field in the back. Harry swallowed heavily as he looked at the two large rocks to the side, the only decoration he'd found to mark the new graves of his parents. His last deed before retreating in the bedroom for days had been to spend the rest of that night digging with a rusty spade he'd found in the tool shed of the house. Barty elbowed him in the side all of a sudden and whispered: ''You look like you're about to puke, kid. Come on** enjoy**, there are no expectations on you here, not now. Just let go.''

At that, Harry managed to relax a tiny bit, concentrating rather on the smell of cinnamon and apple in the air than the people around him. Through the glass ceiling, he could see that the sky was slowly turning from azure to ultramarine, though the layer of various lichens that covered the glass panes made it impossible to clearly see if there were any stars already visible. Around the room, the candles flickered to life and the cauldron melted as Voldemort closed the circle. The veranda suddenly looked a lot smaller than the impression Harry usually got now it housed eight people. It might have been better to do it out in the field instead. Barty was entirely to blame, who hadn't wanted to deal with any insects. Harry took the slice of bread and glass of whisky offered to him, once more slightly annoyed by how often alcoholic drinks played a role in these things. He didn't** like** the lack of control that was always the result, legal or not. He should find out a way to decline this politely. Having a clouded mind was alright when it was just Barty and Voldemort, but not with strangers. A second later, that thought brought about a whole internal debate as to **why** Harry felt comfortable enough around a Dark Lord who was feared enough by all that even his name was forbidden, to get smashed with him.

_~You should heed Barty's advice and relax,~_ The man in question hissed, leaning forward. It did not help that they were sitting exactly opposite each other, and due to the cramped space not even that far away. Usually during rituals, Voldemort was standing or kneeling. Now, his pose was relaxed, sitting on one folded leg and having the other slightly outstretched. As Harry looked at the man, his eyes were drawn down towards the perfectly smooth, white leg where the fabric of robes fell away.

Hastily, he looked away without answering as a strange hotness overcame him, so he instead concentrated very hard indeed on the delicious bread in his hands, taking small bites to make it last longer. For a second, he actually debated whether or not to down his glass in one shot to overcome the weird confusion he felt, for which no explanation came to mind. Then, he finally calmed completely as waves of magic rippled through the air. Somehow, it was so much easier to breathe, and Harry closed his eyes to ride on the thrums of energy that enveloped all of them. All worries he had fell away, Voldemort's magic for once not being suffocating as the Dark Lord channelled his powers in a more positive way. It was clear now why the man had complained last time about being limited by the rudimentary body in more than physical aspects. Harry was vaguely aware of that Voldemort was singing the same chant as back then, but instead of hearing the words, it called visions to his mind of golden fields, blood-red skies and people who marched as one, twisting and turning in a strange dance under moonlight. A scythe rose and left were dry brown stalks that covered the lands.

As the dream-like state faded, others said their part, calling out to their ancestors and thanking Magic. Some sang, others spoke. Snape merely said a few sentences about letting go, which Harry found all too ironic. All of a sudden, it was his turn and the words just flowed out. To spare everyone his horrible singing voice, he'd gone for a short recital as well of a Lughnasadh chant that he'd put together from various traditional verses he'd found in books borrowed from Voldemort. It had taken a while since he had tried to combine it with Arithmacy to get two separated four-line verses of eight words each. Taking a deep breath he spoke, voice slightly shaky:

_''Golden sheaves born of sacrifice_   
_Raising our hands with wand and scythe_   
_Ready to start, to turn the wheel_   
_Heigh for the honour of Magic_

_Praise the mother, her blazing hand_  
_Runs over and takes this heavy land_  
_Then heals, the wheel has spun around_  
_Heigh for the honour of Magic'_'

Harry breathed out slowly when the last word was done and as he looked up, a rare smile played at Voldemort's mouth, gone as soon as Harry blinked, the man entirely concentrated on Rosier now, who had started a low song about blood on fields as soon as Harry had finished. To not have to think about all the strange signals he received by both the man's actions and feelings that were woven through the pure magic that still filled the room, Harry finally gave into the whisky, trying to block out the fact that there were any other people. This time, he knew that it had to be laced with some additional potion of sorts, for none of the drinks he'd had at Hogwarts made his head fuzzy this instantaneously.

He listened to the voices of the other Death Eaters, at one point lying down and just enjoying the atmosphere. This, he thought, was what home was supposed to feel like. Hogwarts would always be his first home, true, and it certainly provided shelter, comfort and friends during the year. Yet it also would never be completely separate from that feeling of school, teachers, restrictions and homework. Here, as he lay back on the grass-covered, weathered tiles and stared into a sky that became ever darker, listening to the sounds around him of celebration as the others paid homage to the gift of Magic, he felt truly content. Wanted.

_''We offer your own fruits, so that the next generation can grow,'' _ _Voldemort spoke, his voice far away. _ _''We offer your gift, so that you may spread it further, w_ _e offer our results of the skills and grain you granted us, so that we may live and enjoy life.''_

Harry was enjoying life to its fullest right now.


	41. Happy Birthday

A soft bed, sweet smells, light shining through fluttering, half-transparent curtains. All that, Harry's senses registered when he woke, and all that sent him in such a state of alarm that he practically bolted upright. Where** was** he? Stumbling out of bed, Harry threw on some robes that lay folded on a wicker chair in one of the corners of the room, trying not to think about the fact that he did not own these robes and neither did he own the sleepwear he had on. In utter confusion, he walked over to the window, which turned out to be two glass doors leading to a small balcony from which he could look out over a larger village bordering on a forest that stretched as far as the eye could see

Sensing no immediate danger, Harry located his wand, which he had apparently knocked off the nightstand in his haste, for it had rolled onto the floor now. Apart from his wand, there were none of his personal belongings in sight, so he made a quick search of the room, after which he drew several conclusions. Firstly, it appeared to be a hotel room of sorts, for it had the same kind of small soaps and scent bottles in the bathroom that he had used during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron -only the quality here was ten times better, which admittedly wasn't hard- and secondly, by the labels on those bottles, it was clear that he had somehow ended up in France. He almost cast a tempus out of habit, then froze before even raising his wand fully, realising that if they'd moved someplace else, he had no guarantees that they were under protective wards. Instead, his eyes fell on a flowery calendar that hung on the wall, and Harry was relieved to see that it was the first of August, so he hadn't been mysteriously out for weeks or anything of the sort.

It was time to see if there were any people around here to talk to. Which was going to be 'fun' for someone who didn't speak a lick of French. Harry really wished sometimes that Hogwarts would offer some practical courses such as languages. Even at his primary school, they had had books in German and French in case any of the children would be interested in them, even if it wasn't actively taught.

Upon exiting the room, Harry stood in a corridor with several more doors that looked alike his. Suspecting they may be for other guests, he ignored them and went down a narrow flight of winding stairs, ducking his head a bit to not bump into the many dried flowers and herbs that hung from the ceiling.

''Ah, Mr. Potter, I assume?'' he heard as soon as one of his feet touched the ground floor. ''Welcome, the breakfast hall is in the back, I believe that your friends have already started.'' He looked up to find a friendly, round-faced man standing behind a counter, dressed in shades of mauve and midnight blue robes that would have made even Dumbledore jealous.

''My… my friends?'' Harry asked, on one hand relieved that the man spoke English -and quite well at that, he barely had a hint of a French accent- on the other even more confused now.

''That must have been a great party,'' the man winked. ''Well, the harvest season started, I can't blame you. The English always get ahead of themselves with that one, a day too early!'' He winked again, giving Harry slight Lockhart vibes.

''I… I didn't catch your name,'' Harry spoke, still feeling entirely misplaced here but figuring that being polite could never hurt.

''Ah, my name is Yues Le Gall. I own this humble place. It is an absolute pleasure to have the honour of having **the** Harry Potter under my roof, I tell you!'' he flashed a genuine smile, even though the words made Harry slightly uncomfortable. From the way most of the Beauxbatons students had treated him as if he were air, he hadn't thought he'd be famous abroad too. Voldemort's rule had only stretched across Britain after all…

''Thank you,'' he mumbled, then hurried into the direction Mr Le Gall had pointed to before. As soon as he entered, he seemed to automatically gravitate towards the one familiar man in the room.

''Good morning,'' Voldemort spoke, dark brown eyes looking up at Harry. ''Take a seat, Barty will be here again shortly.'' He made a vague gesture to the side of the room, where a man was scuffling who didn't look anything like Barty. Not that Voldemort looked like himself, he'd taken the appearance of Noctua again.

''Should I know what is going on?'' he asked hesitantly. ''Or do you relish in my confusion?''

''I do find it amusing,'' the other answered with a chuckle, then took a long sip from his coffee. ''Why do you not tell me your theories about it?'' Harry stared at the other for a moment, then sat down and frowned. What **were **his own theories? A strange kidnapping as he had thought before was out if Voldemort and Barty were here. But what other reason could they have to be in France?

''Since you look like that,'' he started, dropping his voice slightly so none of the other guests could overhear, ''I assume it is about business. You said you wanted to start with Fleur's article first, are we here to gather information?'' Voldemort nodded, then still gave him an expectant look. ''Okay… so, maybe either Fleur or some other victims of that trade system live close by here that you want to interview.'' Another nod. ''That doesn't explain why you brought** me** along. You gave me an entirely different topic. You want me to be here to get others talking?'' he guessed, remembering how even Mr Le Gall had reacted to him.

Voldemort sighed deeply. Just in that moment, Harry's neck was tackled from behind as he was pulled into a far too strong hug that made him choke more than anything. ''You're awake!'' Barty enthusiastically said, causing a few disturbed looks and muttering from people all around. ''Finally! Happy birthday!''

Before he was fully recovered, the Dark Lord spoke: ''I did not bring you here to do anything for me, I thought to combine work and pleasure since I had planned to travel here at one point this summer. You have never been abroad before, have you? This town is well known for its magical sites.''

Harry was slightly baffled, not knowing how to reply to that. Here he had been trying to think of what in the world Voldemort could want from him here… and for once, it turned out that there was no greater plan than a birthday trip the others had thought he'd enjoy? ''I…. that's rather…. unexpected from you,'' he stammered. ''Thank you. Really.'' Outwardly, he only received a grunt in reply, but a wave of a sort of content pride reached him. ''So where are we exactly?'' he asked, decidedly more excited.

As Barty plopped down on the seat next to him and started shovelling food on all of their plates, Voldemort answered: ''The village Brecheliant_,_ which lies next to the forest with the same name, although its official name on any map will call it either the forest of Brocéliande or Pampoint forest since that is how Muggles call it. It is said that this is where Merlin died. While unknown whether this tale is true or not, his memorial site is located in this forest, on the exact border of its Muggle and magical part.''

''Border? Dimensional shifting again?''

''Yes, although not fully, more like is the case with Diagon alley. There are multiple points of entry, apparating or portkeying in is possible and the sky is still free when going outward. This unfortunately means that the forest fire that happened in 1990 also affected this part of the forest since it travelled through several entryways. Naturally, the magicians on this side could quell it far quicker, so more of the forest is left in this dimension. Enough to not build a statue for the fire like the Muggles did.''

''I never realised that there was a memorial for Merlin,'' Harry commented. Besides the Founders of Hogwarts, Merlin was **the** most famous historical wizard in Britain. Even Binns had devoted a class about the life of Merlin, a welcome change from the Goblin wars. Harry could still barely believe that the man had really existed. Before coming to Hogwarts, he'd only heard of Merlin at his elementary school where they'd watched a movie about Camelot.

''It will be first on the list, we have a couple of hours here before I need to leave. Ms Delacour lives in Rennes, which is a short trip from here. You may either stay here with Bartemius or accompany me to Ms Delacour and a few other people I wish to interview. The article should be ready for print next week.''

Harry considered, then said: ''If we already spend a while here, I'd like to come with, it would be nice to see what Fleur is up to.''

''Perfect,'' Voldemort all but purred, and Harry somehow got the feeling that, although he had been left the choice and this was supposed to be a birthday trip, he'd still been roped into following the Dark Lord's exact plans. He didn't honestly care all that much. He'd still been outright offered the option to choose instead of somehow being forced or tricked to agree to help with whatever Voldemort had plotted.

It was an absolutely beautiful day outside, and while they were walking through the sunny, narrow streets of the village, Barty explained what had happened since yesterday. Harry had completely fallen asleep at one point and had been protected by Nagini from anyone who came near. Proudfoot and Malfoy had had some arguments about work that were broken off by a few rather painful-sounding spells from Voldemort, Rosier had burst out in song and wouldn't stop until someone magically silenced him, and Snape had left as soon as he could. As they'd planned on going to France the following morning, they decided to leave early while Harry was still asleep since he always reacted so badly on magical travel when awake.

''And what's with the robes?'' he asked, holding up one of the long sleeves of shimmering, dark blue fabric.

''You didn't have anything decent in your trunk, I checked,'' Barty shrugged. ''This is** France**. You can't show up with wool or linen in grey tones here. And Muggle clothing is out completely.'' Looking around, Harry grudgingly admitted that Barty was right. Those who were out on the streets were all dressed in colourful, shimmering robes with often half-translucent cloaks. It was as if he'd stepped into the era of the Renaissance, except the cut of clothing was obviously robes instead of dresses. No wonder that the Beauxbatons uniforms were made from bright blue silk, here it absolutely wouldn't seem out of place.

It was a strange thought that he was in a foreign country. He'd never been anywhere else than England or Scotland, he'd never even seen the other two countries that made up Great Britain. The Dursleys had gone away on a few trips to Europe that he obviously hadn't been allowed to come with on -not that that was such a loss since it meant less time with them-. His only real experience with even foreign languages had been the Triwizard Tournament. And now he was in France, walking different earth than the island he'd been born on, breathing different air and seeing sights he couldn't even have imagined. Everything about this village was so **vibrant**. Old stone buildings were decorated with flowers and fabrics, stalls at a small market square sold herbs, candles and food, cafes stood at every corner. As they neared the end of the village, they crossed an ancient stone bridge that led directly into the forest, lush greenery everywhere, so very different from the Forbidden Forest, the only other woodland he'd ever entered. Here, the birds didn't stop singing when going in further than a hundred yards, nor did fog cover the ground. The trees exuded an air of ancient calm that put him at ease.

''It has been a long time since I've been here,'' Voldemort muttered, who had walked at his side without a word for a while now. ''Must have been over thirty years. There are specific flowers that grow here, necessary for a couple of complicated potions. Come here.'' Without a warning, the Dark Lord left the path, slipping through the narrow gap between two large bushes and disappearing out of sight. Harry went after him without a second thought, following his voice. ''It is a shame that so little is left, this forest covered nearly all of Brittany for thousands of years, now only 7500 hectares are left, mainly due to the magical population who tried to preserve Merlin's resting place in the past centuries. Unfortunately, this dimension can only cover so much… More and more disappears each year.'' Harry went around a rhododendron and skidded to a halt to avoid running into Voldemort's back. The man kneeled at the side of a small brook now, pointing at the water. ''See that?'' Following the direction of the finger, Harry saw something move in the water, something long and silver. ''Melusine, a type of water fairy. They're almost extinct, it is only here that they still thrive.''

Kneeling down too, Harry got a closer look. Through the moving water it was hard to see any clear shapes other than something glistening that could have been fish. Then, one of the Melusine jumped out of the water right in front of his eyes, a fairy from the waist up, legs transforming into two separate, serpentine tails. Thin, translucent wings spread out, trembling for a second before she dove back into the babbling brook. Another jumped up, and another, like a school of flying fish. Voldemort's hand shot out, intercepting one in mid-flight, and the other Melusine scattered as the man brought the struggling fairy closer.

''_**Diffindo**_.'' The lithe creature gave off a piercing shriek, left tailless and wingless, blood dripping from the stump of its body.

''What are you doing?'' Harry exclaimed, jumping up and staring down in horror.

''They may be almost extinct, no-one controls their population here, they've become a right plague,'' Voldemort commented without a hint of remorse. ''Their wings can increase the potency of Veritaserum, and the scales from these tails are incredibly valuable for weavers of textiles. Besides that…'' he added, murmuring and pointing his wand again. ''Reading their intestines is one of the few accurate types of divination.''

''No!'' Harry said firmly. Voldemort looked up at him with a slightly confused look on his face. -Harry would say baffled, but Dark Lords didn't just look** baffled**.-

''No?'' His tone was almost curious. It must have been a long time since anyone ever denied Voldemort from doing what he wanted. Barty observed the both of them in silence from a slight distance.

''The future only holds what we make of it,'' Harry spoke. ''There's no need to kill a living being over something that isn't set in stone. Please, let it go. You can recreate limbs, can you not?''

The Melusine had gone silent and limp, the slightly purplish blood dripping down Voldemort's hand. Without breaking eye contact, Voldemort pointed his wand at the fairy once again, tails and wings being replaced with pure silver now. Without further ceremony, he dropped it in the water. Harry held his breath, only releasing it when he saw that she slowly seemed to regain her senses and swam away. ''It won't survive,'' the man still commented. ''These limbs are too heavy to hunt. It'll die of starvation.''

''That's no reason to end her life prematurely,'' Harry muttered. ''Not without her having any choice in the matter, not so uselessly.''

''If you say so.'' Voldemort abruptly stood and continued walking down the stream. ''Do not forget that all life has a purpose too, and the purpose of some lives are to serve others. There would be no cows anymore if we didn't breed them to eat. There would be no dogs if humans didn't wish to keep them as pets, there would be no Melusine if it would not be favourable for mages to keep a decent population to harvest from time to time.''

''There would still be cats, no matter what humans want,'' Harry retorted, earning a quiet snort from Barty behind him. ''And there are still Muggles no matter your wishes on that,'' Voldemort threw him a look that could have been deadly, had Barty not jumped in at that moment, pulling Harry close.

''Such a joker, our Evan!'' he said with a strained laugh. ''My Lord, should the memorial stone not be close? I have never been here before either.''

Miraculously, the Dark Lord let his snide comment slide, and continued onwards. ''It is still about twenty minutes away. The flowers I usually gather here aren't in season now, so we won't be making anymore detours.'' Harry had expected the conversation to end there, but Barty filled the silence with a million questions whenever he saw something even remotely magical, drinking in Voldemort's near limitless knowledge of the forest around them. Harry paid close attention, the cruelty of before being overshadowed by wondrous luminescent crystals on the ground that turned out to be live creatures which gathered magic only to release it in bursts as a defensive mechanism when people tried to pick them up; icicles that grew from specific trees in midsummer; glowing mushrooms that filled the air with hallucinating spores. According to Voldemort, it was the most biodiverse magical forest in all of Europe, although the people of Brecheliant had constant quarrels with Romania about that title. Harry didn't care in particular about which was the best and biggest, he enjoyed all that he saw in the surroundings. They returned to one of the main paths again, and one corner later stood in front of a round clearing. Two large stones stood right in the middle, a small tree growing behind them.

Merlin's 'tomb' looked decidedly less magical than the rest of the forest, and Harry realised that they must have crossed into the Muggle dimension. Without waiting for the others, he went towards the stones, two medium-sized rocks, which appeared to be the same material that most of the houses he'd seen were made of.

''It looks a bit…'' Harry said, hesitating.

''Sad?'' Barty spoke, standing next to him.

''That.'' Indeed, the stones were rather unimpressive, nothing like what he'd imagined.

''There are a few theories about these stones. It is very much alike the Neolithic sites scattered all over Brittany. On the Muggle side it gained popularity about two hundred years ago when it was 'discovered' and linked to Merlin by an antiquarian who also named quite a few other sites in the country as belonging to the Knights of Camelot. The tomb of the Giant, the pavilion of Morgane and Vivienne's tomb to name a few. Those last few are rubbish of course, no matter which way you look at it, it is odd in the first place that Merlin is always linked to the Arthurian legend. Merlin was only born a few years before Hogwarts was founded, in 980, whereas texts about Arthur already started to appear in the 800's, and the most accurate guesses as to when he supposedly lived was the 5th or 6th century. That aside, there was a trend back then by pseudo-historians to look at Neolithic sites from thousands of years ago and interpret them as Celtic ruins, even though those time periods didn't match up either, missing the mark by at least a millennia even when talking about the oldest Celts here in Brittany. It added many layers in the myths surrounding Brittany's forests and folklore history. But no matter how much Muggles made up about important places, knights or kings, there are certain truths in myths. One truth is this one here.''

Voldemort approached the rocks now, placing his hand on them. Instantly, a web of golden lines shot out, crisscrossing over the stones and extending into the air, forming words in a script Harry couldn't read. ''Stones do not appear out of nothing. These pieces of grey granite may have lain on the surface since the Neolithic age and perhaps been part of a burial site from that time, the Celts moved those stones and used it to form a gravestone of sorts here.'' The Dark Lord waved at the thin runes in the air. ''The Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, used during Merlin's time, derived from the Elder Futhark that is taught at Hogwarts. Magicians would never have believed the claims of some Muggle about Merlin if there wasn't any proof, was there? Brecheliant was built centuries before that antiquarian stumbled across these rocks.''

''You said that people didn't know for certain whether this was Merlin's grave.''

''Indeed, a skeleton has never been found. The preserving spells we use nowadays for the dead were not invented back then, so it may have rotten away completely if it was ever here. Whether Merlin's bones lie below the surface or not, this is undoubtedly a Celtic monument for him, made by other mages, it was always meant to be a memorial.''

''Are there any other places that could be his grave?'' Barty asked.

''A few, some more likely than others. Quite a few historians, both magical and Muggle, suggested that Merlin actually never left Britain. England is riddled with places he is said to rest as well: Marlborough Mound in Wiltshire, Alderley edge in Cheshire... One person even suggested that he stayed hidden in the cave he spent his late life in and passed away there, his body carried out by the sea at one point. Others still say that he died at Avalon, which is in my opinion the most ludicrous theory. Even the most powerful witches and wizards haven't been able to confirm the existence of such an island, and it is one more 'fact' that has been pulled out of Muggle fairy tales.'' Voldemort grimaced. ''As interesting as it is to read about how much of the magical world permeated Muggle society, tales from so long ago are highly inaccurate on both sides. The only absolute truth that I know about Merlin, was that he was a Lord. A Light one, but still. I feel a sort of... connection, knowing that he had some of the same experiences.''

''A Light Lord? Wasn't he in Slytherin?'' Barty asked, making Harry's eyebrows raise.

''Merlin was in Slytherin? Binns didn't mention that.''

Voldemort huffed. ''I'm not surprised, many tend to conveniently forget that part. Yes, he was a Slytherin, attended Hogwarts a few years after it opened its doors to students. The whole House dynamics were of course very different then. The Founders would only create the Sorting Hat a couple of years later during a debate on how to keep sorting students after they were gone. Before that, the students were handpicked for each house. Salazar Slytherin also hadn't left the school yet, that would only happen years after Merlin graduated. Ironically, it was Slytherin who caused the imbalance that led to Merlin being chosen as a Light Lord. After his policies on dark magic were rejected by the other Founders, he left and created several circles of likeminded witches and wizards to practise extensive dark magic, influencing large groups of people and causing massive imbalances in Magic. Most of what happened after is steeped in mystery, and since Slytherin was still a respected wizard, his three friends, who were at that point some of the most powerful and influential in this part of the world, covered up his actions even after he perished, despite their differing opinions. The only thing that was clear was that Merlin and Slytherin duelled, with Merlin being victorious, after which the natural order of magic was restored. The event was recorded by one of Slytherins grandchildren and passed down the line.''

''Do you feel more of a connection to Merlin or to Slytherin?'' Harry asked. It was strange to hear how** fond** Voldemort sounded when talking about Merlin.

''At this point in my life more to Merlin. I used to revere Slytherin, since he was the only proof I had to being of ancient magical blood. His actions however, went against what I stand for: he knowingly disturbed the balance of magic that was there at that point, sought to destroy a government that worked at that time, and abandoned his students. Naturally, I still admire the man as well, he was brilliant, cunning, determined, and a highly skilled wizard. One of the earliest Legilimency masters in fact. In addition, I cannot help but respect that he was the very first person to possess the skill of Parseltongue and honed that skill to a perfection that none other has been able to achieve ever since, using magic specifically created with Parseltongue spells. You've experienced it with the passwords to enter the Chamber, and he also taught his wand to sleep with a Parseltongue spell so it could not be used by enemies who tried to steal or summon it. I have discovered how to use Parseltongue to guard, but even I have not yet figured out how to put my wand to sleep. Merlin on the other hand, contributed to a vast array of new spells, succeeded in what I still have to do and ushered mages into a new golden age of magic, an incredible feat considering that the witch hunts had started two hundred years before and were only getting worse. All in all, I am proud to be a descendant of Slytherin, and proud to contribute to the same work that Merlin did.''

Satisfied with that answer, Harry walked once around the stones, admiring the shimmering letters in the air. Abruptly, they were gone however, and even the warm sun couldn't make up for the loss. _~Muggles,~_ Voldemort hissed, glowering darkly at the path that led to the other side of the forest than the one they'd entered from. A few moments later, a family of five appeared, all dressed in a way that screamed 'tourists', from a middle-aged woman with a bum bag on her belly and convertible walking pants to the three children covered in a slightly too-thick layer of sunscreen, to what Harry assumed was the husband and father carrying a bulging rucksack. Almost instinctively, Harry placed himself in between Voldemort and the Muggles, who now were eyeing their robes with open curiosity, brabbling something in a language Harry couldn't understand in the slightest.

The teen had trouble breathing as a wave of gnawing hunger washed over him. It was only now that Harry realised he'd never been close to Voldemort while a Muggle was near. The hatred and disgust was so overwhelming that it almost made him gag. _~I don't understand why the magicians here put up with sharing this memorial,~_ the Dark Lord continued. Harry wished that he would stop speaking in Parseltongue. From what Ron and Hermione had told him, it sounded like a lot of threatening hissing and spitting for those who couldn't understand. Unfortunately, it was also the only way in which Harry could right now communicate with the man, since even though he couldn't understand these people, chances of them understanding English was quite a bit larger.

_~We should leave now.~_ he spoke, stepping closer to Voldemort, who had a dangerous glint in his eyes that was even on the handsome face of Noctua crystal clear.

_~They have seen us.~_

Harry looked to his right for backup from Barty, but the blond was busy staring back at the Muggles in what could only be described as schadenfreude. In that moment, Harry was certain that he was the only thing standing between these Muggles and a quintuple murder. No pressure. To avoid any drama, he should act fast while the Muggles were only slightly curious instead of wary or even hostile about the stares.

Fighting back the bile in his throat and trying to clear the red haze that entered his peripheral vision as pure hatred raged on in his veins, Harry quickly hissed_: ~They have seen a bunch of weirdos dressed in robes standing at the grave of what they believe is a fairy tale wizard. Right now, we are a curiosity, nothing more.~_ He gritted his teeth as bloodlust grew within him, a mere echo of Voldemort's current feelings. Trying to keep a clear head, Harry became angry instead. _~Using this moment as an excuse to satisfy your thirst for death is pathetic!~_ he spat. Eyes flashed red, but Harry didn't care. Better that Voldemort was angry at** him** than at some clueless bystanders who had done nothing wrong but being born. _~You wish to rule a country when you can't walk past some Muggles you haven't even spoken to without turning into an animal?~ _

_~Careful, you're forgetting yourself.~_

_~You bet I am! And you forgot who you want to be!~_

A trembling hand shot up and grabbed Harry's arms, nails digging in so hard that Harry was afraid the fabric would tear. He didn't budge, trying to instead analyse Voldemort's actions and emotions as quickly as he could. Hate, anger, disgust, fear… The whole spectrum of basic negative emotions. _~Get me away from here~_ the other whispered, so softly that it was barely audible. Harry nodded, finally recognising that the trembling wasn't out of anger directed at him, but a battle that was turned inwards. Voldemort was trying to keep his mind in check. Slowly and carefully, Harry awkwardly embraced the man from one side and steered him away from the clearing, not really caring at the moment that the Muggles could see them disappear in places they shouldn't. He trusted Barty to take care of that. Harry kept walking blindly in one direction, fearing that if he stopped, Voldemort would suddenly change his mind and blow up. Only when they were in a much deeper part of the forest, did the man untangle himself, face a blank mask. _~We shan't speak of this after,~_ the man commanded. A moment of silence. Then, a soft whisper that Harry almost thought he imagined: ~_I… appreciate your intervention.~ _It was as much of a thank you as he was ever going to get.

After returning to Brecheliant, Voldemort was uncharacteristically silent, only imparting his knowledge when asked for it, even if his rants did not lack in enthusiasm once he started talking, whether it was about the history of the town or specific monuments. Harry tried to enjoy himself as much as possible, the Dark Lord surely wouldn't appreciate feeling Harry's constant worry. Thus, he attempted to take in as much as possible as they wandered around town, walking around the market square and its many stalls selling magical wares, looking at a Korriban fight where people pitted a type of gnome against each other, the creatures trying to scream the loudest and best insults to win, visiting the Shrine of L'Ankou -the personifications of death that Voldemort said originated from a particular Banshee who took it upon herself to guard graveyards, which was strange considering that Ankou were always depicted as male-, and lastly taking a seat in front of a very medieval-looking stage on which wizards and witches tried their hand at magical poetry.

''The French have perfected the art of chants,'' Voldemort muttered to him. It was the first time the man had spoken up without being asked till now, so Harry jumped slightly when suddenly finding his Lord's face very close to his own as Voldemort murmured in his ear, the deep voice having a slightly hoarse quality when he was wearing this disguise. Harry vaguely wondered if turning into Noctua changed the vocal chords just like Polyjuice did. ''Starting from the 11th century, troubadours flourished in both Muggle and magical communities, but whereas it started out the same, magicians soon found that when combining poetry and arithmacy, one could create spells out of regular text instead of typical spells. The idea itself wasn't new of course, many more ancient civilisations used rhyme, tone and cadence for spells, but this was the first time that it was used in epic proportions and commercially. Some troubadour songs were of great length, and not the entire song was spellwork. Rather, several lines were subtly added for various purposes: it was popular to enchant listeners to spend more gold or spread the word. Others instead weaved curses in to spread diseases and other plagues unnoticed.'' Harry quickly glanced to the stage, where two women created a poem together, rapidly speaking French in a rhythm that made his heart speed up. Voldemort smiled thinly ''It is rare that anyone abuses the stage here, many listeners are experts themselves and would pick up on specific words of ill intent.''

''It is fascinating how many forms magic can take,'' Harry observed.

''This is true… it is a shame that many forget that it is not just about pointing your wand at something to get it done. We can** breathe** magic if we wish it.'' Harry didn't doubt Voldemort's words, not when there were sparks of magic in the very air around them, most of which the teen suspected to come from the one sitting next to him. If anyone could breathe magic, it would be the man who was absolutely obsessed with his own powers.

''Teach me?'' he spoke on an impulse. A wide grin spread over the other's face in answer, a grin that flashed slightly-too sharp teeth, accompanied by a gleam of red eyes that bordered on manic. Harry's heart stuttered.

One day in the future, he'd regret those two words. Right now, he couldn't help but cave and lean in a bit so that their shoulders touched slightly, dark magic tingling over his skin at the contact, however brief it was.

They left twenty minutes after, appointments not able to wait any longer. Barty darted back to the market square to buy some fresh bread and snacks for on the way, while Harry and Voldemort leisurely went back towards the inn to pack their things. ''So how are we travelling, apparition again?'' Harry asked when meeting up in the lobby after he was done. Barty had taken a bag with for him with some 'necessities' that Harry hadn't really used, so he'd just stuffed his pyjama in it and was done, really.

''No, I thought you might wish to get acquainted with a more sophisticated way of travelling.'' Voldemort flashed a smile that was less feral and more charming. ''Our carriage is waiting.'' He went to the counter and exchanged a few words with Mr Le Gall, as well as a purse of tinkling coins, leaving Harry alone with his burning curiosity. It was soon sated as they stepped outside, a lacquered black carriage waiting, in front of which stood creatures unlike anything he'd seen before. If anyone would ask him to describe them in a single word, he would have to reluctantly say 'horses' for lack of a better word. But the creatures with milky eyes that stared into nothingness, dragon-like beaks and hairless, skeletal bodies didn't look like any horse he'd seen before. None that were alive. Leathery wings that seemed too sturdy for the feeble, gaunt things grew out of bony shoulder blades. A strange air exuded from them. Harry noticed that hardly anyone on the street looked at the alien creatures, eyes passing over them without seeing, even as people moved out of the way with the same automatism that Muggles did for the knight bus.

''I take it you are familiar with Thestrals?'' Voldemort spoke, giving the creatures a name for Harry to give them a place in his head. He'd seen so many new creatures and animals since attending Hogwarts, but none he'd seen before were this** strange**, not even the merfolk that had looked nothing like he'd imagined. _The image of a large, moving shape and reaching tentacles flashed through Harry's mind for a moment of pure terror_. He dragged himself back to reality, hastily casting all thoughts from his mind that had to do with the Black Lake.

''Should I?'' he spoke, a bit breathless. Voldemort's eyes were narrowed, undoubtedly he was trying to analyse Harry's feelings.

''There is no need to fear them.'' It was obvious that the other had drawn wrong conclusions regarding the object of Harry's sudden horror. ''For all their looks, they are almost disgustingly docile. I had expected you'd seen them before, they pull the carriages at Hogwarts.''

Harry frowned. ''Maybe in your time. The carriages are still there, but they're not pulled by anything, they move on their own.''

Voldemort chuckled for some reason Harry couldn't find. ''To think that you can be so thick that even** death** can't reach you.'' He sighed at Harry's arched eyebrow. ''Thestrals are only visible to those who have seen death. And while I imagine that you might have been too young to realise what was going on when your mother died in front of your eyes-'' Harry clenched his fist, not exactly up for such a casual reminder- ''I'd at least thought that Quirinius would do the trick. Though if I imagine correctly, you were about to pass out back then…''

''I haven't seen anyone die since…'' Harry said, not convinced.

''If I recall correctly, our resurrection succeeded. I don't think it matters whether it is the first or second time someone dies,'' the man spoke with far too much glee in his voice. Harry was too busy trying to instantly forget all the images that were called to mind, to give an angry reply. Barty saved the conversation by popping up out of nowhere and handing Harry a bag of freshly baked goods, sweet scents making his mouth water. He took the blonde's offered hand to get into the carriage, which was lined with expensive-looking black and red satin.

''If Draco could see me now,'' he remarked, trying to steer the topic away from corpses, skeletal horses and literal death. For someone whose only fear was supposed to be dying, Voldemort was slightly too obsessed with the topic, for he wouldn't let it go, continuing as if nothing had happened:

''It might also be because you somehow came in contact with the Cosmos.''

Harry gave him a withered stare, which failed slightly as in that moment, the carriage took off, and from the way it moved, Harry figured that the wings of those horses weren't for show. He wondered how they knew where to go, there hadn't been a carriage driver. ''I told you already, I was in your head again, that is all. Your soul left this plane and, I don't know, pulled me with it or so.''

''But you** shouldn't have been able to**,'' the Dark Lord pressed. ''You were not protected by a Veil, and there was no body connected to my mind and soul at that moment that could have acted as a vessel for yours.'' Barty looked back and forth between them, eating in silence. ''Why are you so insistent on believing that this wasn't something** extraordinary**?''

''Maybe I don't want to be extraordinary!'' he snapped back. ''Listen, I want this world to change as much as you do and I'll do what I can to help you get there, because it is the right thing to do and standing back would be cowardly. That does** not** mean that afterwards I want anything but a quiet, peaceful life away from anything that would brand me special. I've had enough shit about being **different**. First I was a wizard,then the boy-who-lived, then a Parselmouth, then a Champion. I've had enough of sticking out, okay? I… I don't** want** to get involved in anything that separates me from others again. And getting theories in my head about strange things happening with me during necromancy rites? That definitely falls in that category.''

Voldemort shook his head in disbelief. ''You've had abilities handed to you on a platter and are rejecting them?'' He sounded almost disgusted.

''I'm not rejecting the ones I have and know of,'' Harry countered. ''I have a knack for flying as if I was born in the air and love that, I've embraced the fact that I can speak to snakes, and the other abilities that came from your soul piece I've come to accept too. But can't it be enough?''

The Dark Lord went quiet and leaned back, eyes unfocused for a while as he thought.

Barty used that opportunity to give his two cents: ''There is a difference between actively searching for things that make you stick out and learning about ones you come across. Denying abilities that you might have, only because you wish to be normal, could lead to suppressing yourself, which is always a terrible idea when it comes to magic. Isn't that right, my Lord?''

''Quite,'' Voldemort spoke in a clipped voice. ''Now quiet, I am trying to… understand.'' They sat in silence then, the carriage rattling back and forth. A frustrated sigh broke it, Voldemort leaning forwards abruptly, staring directly into Harry's eyes. The teen certainly hoped that his birthday treat wouldn't be a Legilimency invasion. Upon speaking, Voldemort's voice trembled with simmering rage, slipping into hisses every few words. ''You could be so much more than what you pose to be. A peaceful life? You survived a Killing curse, lived with a foreign soul in your head ever since, are prophesised to defeat me, received a wand that is a brother to my own,'' he was positively snarling now. ''You have been gifted by Magic in so many ways, you will throw that all away in the end? Hide and be ashamed of who you are when you are destined for greatness? You should wear your powers with** pride**.''

Harry gave Barty, who sat next to him, a side-way glance, not entirely sure how much the Death Eater had known about either the prophecy or the linked wand issue. Barty wore a rather neutral look, though he** was** good at hiding his true thoughts. ''Not everyone has the same aspirations,'' Harry spoke. ''I don't need -don't** want**\- people to look up to me, or to think anything of me really. I'm so tired of the publicity and assumptions made about me by strangers. Why then, would I actively try to pursue something else that might make me stand out?''

''Why then, do you learn dark magic at all?'' Voldemort questioned. ''What is the use of learning anything?''

''That is a manipulative argument and I won't take that from you,'' he replied to cut the argument off before it even began. ''I said I do not wish to do one specific thing about a specific situation, trying to suddenly compare that to everything related to it is a blatantly unfair exaggeration. I will not delve deeper in whatever mysteries lie in necromancy for me, that's all there is to it. Learning magic in general is even expected of me, as a wizard, and I won't try to limit myself when I don't think it would put me in a unique position. As rare as the rituals were that I learnt, they are performable by anyone with a decent amount of magic, right?''

Voldemort stared at him for a moment. It was hard to pin any feelings down, there was only a strange, fleeting rush of bewilderment that settled rather quickly, like a wind whirling up some leaves before leaving them scattered across a sidewalk. ''Where did you learn about manipulation tactics?'' the Dark Lord asked, sounding genuinely curious, as if this was the first time he was ever called out for it. It maybe was.

''My Uncle and Cousin may have been stupid, my Aunt wasn't. I'm too used to her using emotional manipulations to get me to do and feel what she wanted. I could only give those names much later of course: victim-blaming, appeal to emotion, minimising, rationalisation, feigning innocence… She's tried all those and more.'' He gave Voldemort a hard look back to convey his unspoken thought: 'It won't work on me anymore'. Not that that was entirely true. Harry had read a bit about parent-child manipulation and argumentative fallacies during stolen summer hours where he was able to sneak out to libraries, but his dirty clothing and overall ragged look had ensured he'd been asked to leave multiple times after loitering around for too long. Also, after his whole childhood being steeped in both physical and emotional abuse that he still often found hard to fully recognise, he knew that he was still prone to falling into the same kind of traps over and over. He could only try his best to fight against it. Not that Voldemort needed to know about that.

''I see.'' He felt pleased for some reason, which set Harry slightly on edge.

''Why do you sound so… happy about it?'' he pressed.

Voldemort's eyes flicked to Barty, who was inspecting a few smudges on his wand and pretending he wasn't there_. ~I found that I often use people instinctively and manipulate them to do what I want. I find it interesting to speak to someone who is less prone to falling for that.~_

_~As long as you won't take it as a challenge.~_

Voldemort's grin didn't look promising.

They landed with a shock, Barty jumping out instantly to offer a hand to first his Lord, then to Harry. In front of them stood a beautiful, single house surrounded by an enchanting garden. ''The home of Ms Delacour,'' Voldemort spoke, waving a few invisible specks of dust from his robes. Against Harry's expectations, it wasn't at all pompous or even large. It was decidedly smaller than Riddle manor for example. From Fleur, he'd always got the impression that her family was very rich. Now, he wasn't entirely sure anymore why he'd thought so. The girl in question opened the door as they made their way down the plastered garden path. ''Monsieur Noctua. And Harry, what a surprise!''

''It came to my attention that Mr Potter was residing in France, so I figured I might as well take the opportunity to speak to the both of you again,'' Voldemort smoothly replied. Harry** had** wondered how Voldemort would explain their meeting when Harry wasn't known for being friendly with the press or even knowing this man. He'd have to ask later on how to handle questions from his friends about that. ''This is my personal assistant, Mr Timaeus Cruc.'' Barty gave a short bow and kissed her hand.

''Do come in, I am honoured to have you here.'' There was the fire in her eyes that Harry had come to know well. ''I have taken the liberty of inviting a few more people so you do not need to search the country.'' Her smile was vindictive, and Harry almost felt sorry for whoever would come under fire after these articles would be published. Almost, if they wouldn't have been literal slavers.

XxX

An audience was exactly what he'd needed, plans already starting to spin in his mind for how to fully utilise this to his advantage. Being led to the living room by Delacour must mean that both her parents were not at home and thus possibly not aware of the 'help' she was giving the press. Good, both of them worked in the French Ministry and he did not wish to have people around who might feel stuck enough between their professional and private life to spill the sopophorous beans. As he stepped into the room with Barty and Evan in tow, the only person who was undeniably related to Fleur was a beautiful woman with silvery blonde hair sitting on a loveseat.

''Grandma, Mr Noctua has arrived. He also brought Harry, I've told you about Harry, no?''

The woman stood with a fluid grace that did not betray her age at all. Without a single look at him, Delacour's grandmother rushed past and enveloped Harry. ''You saved Gabriele,'' she spoke. Voldemort opted for a moment not to translate her words to English, just to enjoy the perplexed look on the boy's face at being hugged by a total stranger, then put Evan out of his misery.

''This is Delacour's grandmother, she thanks you for saving her other granddaughter from the lake.''

''Her** grand**..?'' Harry spluttered, giving the now retreating woman a puzzled look.

''I hardly think anyone in this room is entirely human, you should get used to surprises,'' he commented, trying to stay tactful about it not to insult anyone with slurs like Halfbreeds or human-like. He already was in a rather suspicious position, being fully human as far as any of them knew. -Which wasn't technically correct, but pointing out debatable Naga heritage from a single ancestral branch centuries ago or sharing genes with a magical snake wouldn't be very helpful here for several reasons-.

Voldemort stepped forward, into the middle of the room, dozens of eyes on him, exactly the way he liked. In the corner, two children sat that were unmistakably werewolves, amber eyes staring at him with a hint of panic. Next to Delacour's grandmother sat two other, younger Veela. While their hair and eyes were of the same colour, it was clear that these two weren't used to being around humans so much -at least not friendly ones-, their skin showing patches of scales and feathers in agitation, which was why he'd ruled them out as belonging to Delacour's family. Apart from these five, six more beings were in the room, and Voldemort identified them as a centaur, a siren, a satyr fawn, a faun, a very unhealthy-looking dryad and a half-vampire, who interestingly enough sat closest to the werewolf children. Quite the collection Ms Delacour managed to call together, although he suspected that her grandmother had pulled most of the strings. Of all of them, only the satyr fawn did not bear any scars, so he might have been saved from the cages before much damage was done.

''I thank you for coming here,'' he spoke. ''I had not expected such a turn-out. So, I will get straight to the point.'' Fancy words were for humans, and many other beings and beasts despised embellished speeches, or so he'd found out with several werewolves and vampires. ''All of you have experienced unimaginable horrors at the hands of a select group of rich humans from all over Europe. For decades, they have covered up these misdeeds, even wiping out groups of other humans who wished to help right these wrongs. I own the two largest newspaper companies in magical Western-Europe now and am not afraid to show them how much damage a quill can do.''

''You have people'' the half-vampire croaked, looking at Voldemort with his one good eye.

''Two full teams,'' he spoke, nodding. ''Who both agreed that this is the right thing to-''

''No.''

Voldemort swallowed in the rest of the sentence, growing irritated. He had to remind himself that he was here as Noctua, a good-willed head editor who was enthusiastic about good causes. Only that thought helped to supress his anger at being so blatantly disrespected to the point of being interrupted. ''No?'' he repeated, tone entirely neutral.

The centaur stamped nervously with his hoof, whereas the satyr whipped her tail back and forth, glancing at the vampire. None of the others moved. Something was wrong, something hung thick in the air… ''One moment,'' the vampire said, grinning to show two fangs that were slightly less pointy than those of a pureblood would be, then disappearing into the next room. When he came out, it was with a struggling, tied-up man. ''This is one of our oppressors. Cay's master,'' he gestured to the siren, who refused to even look up. ''Do you think that a few words on paper would do anything? Silk robes, a gold-plated wand… oh, he might get some bad press, hand over a tiny part of his fortune in fines… then what? You said it yourself, the elite even silences other humans who were willing to help. So. Do you have people? People willing to make a real change? People who can shed blood to intimidate, haunt their dreams when they think of torturing another one of us?'' The being started laughing bitterly. Voldemort cast a glance at the young Delacour, who stood at the side of the room, wearing a look of great concern. This was clearly not what she had expected. Her grandmother on the other hand was a statue, a harsh, half-accusing look on her face.

Words of goodwill and justice were for the humans he wished to support this cause and break their politicians down. The ones he spoke to now did not want **justice**, they wanted revenge, a thousand times over for that which had been done to them, which was still be done to them. Some even bore their chains at this moment and he respected the sacrifices they might have had to make to reach this place today. Without letting the Vampire finish laughing, Voldemort drew his wand, stepped forward, and slashed open the throat of the siren's master, never breaking eye contact with the oldest Veela's steel eyes. The laughing was cut off by a dying scream and still he didn't look away from her. She stood and went towards him, finally recognising his presence. Her lips were curled in a satisfied smirk.

''I had wondered when I saw my granddaughter's first meeting with you. The magic in that house was even unmistakable in a memory. It was a Lord that freed me, so long ago.'' She placed her fist over her throat. ''We need real help.'' Her eyes flicked away to her granddaughter for a moment. ''My daughter might have not understood but Fleur… Fleur has my fire. We should talk freely… Lord.''

He nodded ever so slightly, then pushed up his right sleeve, revealing the many lines of runes, the inscription that held Noctua's skin in place. He reversed the enchantment, revealing his own pale skin as Noctua melted away into the black tattoos. When he next opened his eyes, he was a head taller, and had to enchant his robes to fit better again. ''Then let us speak,'' he smirked, ignoring the few gasps his presence gave.

''Good. Let me introduce myself. I am Séraphine Delacour, and I invite you in my home.'' Voldemort made a mental note to ask about her surname. He'd thought that Fleur was named after her paternal line as usual. ''Please do take a seat.'' He took his time to conjure up several chairs that matched the rest, gesturing for Harry and Barty to sit as well. As he did so, he took the opportunity to gauge the expressions of everyone else in the room. It appeared that Mrs Delacour hadn't informed all of them about who they were going to work with.

''I wish to know your plan,'' the Veela demanded. ''Too many humans have tried to use us to do their dirty work. Do you care about our cause and freedom at all?''

''Care?'' he asked, slightly disbelieving. ''I do not** care** about anyone, and you can hardly expect that. Naturally, it isn't for charity that I would move my army.'' She didn't look offended or surprised, so he continued, choosing his words carefully. ''I wish to topple the governments in several countries. Instead of outright attacking them, it is better to reveal the misdeeds they already committed themselves to sow distrust among the people. And once the public is aware of this issue, my people will be the one to do something about it. For you, this would not have negative effects: the slave trade will be banned, the perpetrators killed.''

''For now,'' she spoke. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was getting at. ''We have been helped before, and while I will always personally be thankful by the men of the Lord who saved me, it never stopped. They built themselves up again, and as it brought profit, the new rulers turned their gazes away a few years after again, all over Europe.''

''Was this, perchance, a Light Lord?'' he asked.

''I do not know, he only called himself a Lord of Magic. Lysander Vuras was his full name.''

Vuras… Mrs Delacour was indeed a **lot** older than she looked. Lysander Vuras had been a Greek Light Lord born at the start of the 19th century. He hadn't lived long either, dying in his mid-fifties, betrayed by several of his own men. ''He was a Light Lord, which explains his actions,'' he spoke. ''His task was to ensure the balance in his area of jurisdiction was restored by favouring light magic. Freeing beings other than magical humans might have been a good political move, it wasn't for his end-goal. Out of all of your species, only centaurs have inherent light magic, and even they sometimes use animal sacrifices for divination. So while I do not **care** much for you, nor do this out of the goodness of my heart, I recognise that you all have your own, unique magic. Magic that I need, that I will** continue** to need. For those of you not informed, I plan to separate Muggles from us, to build up our own society. Naturally, all who aid in reaching that goal will be rewarded appropriately, and without Muggles to 'protect', it will be much easier to accommodate for the needs of many different beings. Or Beasts,'' he said, nodding to the centaur and the siren, both their species not having wanted to be reclassified by the Ministry.

The half-Vampire stepped forward, only stopping when right in front of him. ''Grindelwald didn't hold his promises and he was a Dark lord too. Why should we trust you?''

''Grindelwald was** not** a Dark Lord,'' he hissed, incredibly annoyed by the former 'lord'. ''He bestowed that title upon himself. Grindelwald's goal was absolute blood purity of wizards, wiping out Muggles, impure mages, squibs, magical beings and beasts alike without regard for any magical balance. I was chosen while Grindelwald's war wasn't even over yet, to right his wrongs. I am not here however, to speak in detail about myself and my task. I have the means to first cause an public uproar about the slave trade and then end it. This is what you want, is it not? What you would have even wanted had there not been any further aid with the positions each of you have in society.''

''That is true,'' Mrs Delacour said, giving the vampire a hard stare. ''That would be something to discuss another time. So what do ** you** need from** us** right now?''

''Stories. Detailed descriptions of what your lives were -or are- like, calling out specific names, giving me an idea of where this all happens. For those of you who are at risk when not returning to your masters after today, to spread rumours of rebellion, a rebellion that will start in about three months from now, when there is enough public awareness.''

''One month.'' It was the Satyr who had spoken. It was clear that it was difficult for him, voice raspy as if unused. Or hoarse from screaming. ''You can print these articles this week, people will talk about it already. There's no need to wait.''

''The governments need to have time to react. If I take action instantly without giving them even the opportunity to solve this themselves, it would not have the full effect. They could just shrug it off, say they could not take action before we did, pretend they were unaware. They should squirm, I'll need to record their reactions and put those in a bad light too before my own army shows up to do what the officials wouldn't.''

''We arebeing tortured, used, **dying** every single day!''

''Three months.'' He would not budge on this carefully-laid out plan.

_~Why are they upset?~_ Evan quietly hissed. He was surprised that the boy had kept so silent all this time.

_~They wish for me to move faster than I am willing to. The politicians who profit from this trade have to show their disregard for the public opinion before my Death Eaters can play the saviours here. Thus, between publishing the article and freeing these people should be a minimum of three months.~ _Evan gave him an uncertain look. _~What?~_

_~Logically maybe, but these are victims who do not know if they'll live to see the next day. Go at this with cold logic, and you might have a bigger problem at your hands.~_ Voldemort wanted to scoff at that, then held still and looked, really **looked** at the people who were asking his help. Even those who had started with desperation and hope now only had betrayal in their eyes. Perhaps the extra time would gain him a more solid foothold in the magical community, he would lose hundreds of possible allies before even starting.

''One month,'' he conceded. ''Do not make me regret it.''

By the way they each dropped their guard after that, it had been the right decision.

Then the stories came, each of the beings coming forward one by one to give him as much information as they could muster. Some could barely get out a word as they choked on anger or tears, others rattled off what they could in a monotonous tone as if entirely distanced from the events that had transpired. The werewolf children would only speak once the half-vampire sat with them and stroked their hair. It appeared that the vampire had broken free a long time ago, and the children had been his replacement as dangerous pets by the same master. He was trying to get them out now.

Evan retreated to a corner to speak with the youngest Delacour, who looked like she was about to chew his head off. At least her grandmother would ensure that no word of his return would be breathed by her to anyone who hadn't been in that room. ''You made a wise decision,'' the aforementioned woman spoke with a satisfied smile after the last person -the dryad- left, then looked over at Evan, who was trying to mutter apologies even now, while pretending to still be busy eating even though he'd finished the plate twenty minutes ago. ''That boy is a blessing. So, do you wish to use our Floo, or a secure apparition spot? I will ensure that the carriage gets send back.''

He considered this for a moment, then said: ''I had hoped to still speak to your granddaughter too, it is in her name that we are publishing all this. I need to know which words the Champion of the Triwizard Tournament would use to persuade the press to care for this cause. After that is done, a secure apparition spot sound excellent.'' It would be good to be home again and discuss the details of today with the others. He instructed Barty to retrieve their belongings while he sat down with Fleur, who avoided looking at his face, clearly afraid of him even as she answered each of his question meticulously. She was indeed a smart woman.

A while later, they stood in the back garden, surrounded by an overwhelming smell of lavender.

''I am looking forward to correspondence about the progress, my Lord,'' she spoke, inclining her head minimally. It was a start.

At long last, they were back home, Voldemort feeling more tired than he had in a long time. Trudging through a village and forest for hours had been nothing compared to the emotional burden of the past hours, everyone expecting him to sympathise somehow. It had been incredibly frustrating. What he wanted more than anything now was to sit down, reflect on the day and sleep soon. The last thing he needed was a Malfoy to be waiting in the hallway, looking absolutely distressed. Of course, that was exactly what he got.

''What are you doing here Lucius?'' he growled.

''My Lord… it's Rosier. I… I don't know what has gotten into him but…''

''Stop blabbering before I hit your tongue with a Cruciatus Cruse! What did Rosier do?''

''He went to the Ministry,'' Lucius whispered, white as a sheet. ''Spilled to the Aurors that you have resurrected.''

''**What**?'' he asked after a moment of stunned silence.

''I think he disagrees with your current plans and…'' Lucius looked at Evan for a second. ''That you have made questionable decisions.'' Voldemort was itching to throw out a torture curse** so** much. One of his followers just having stabbed him in the back and Lucius for once being man enough to fess up was the only thought that stopped him.

''How much damage has been done?''

''He went straight to the Auror office, at least four witnesses. He was able to tell them you have been back already for a year and are gathering followers before the Mark drained his soul.'' He neglected to correct Lucius on the exact terms of what the Mark did, and started pacing in the hallway. His move to stop betrayal with the Mark wasn't good enough, he'd have to find a better solution.

''Anything else?'' Rosier had been thankfully unaware of his day job, just like anyone but Barty and Evan. ''Did he name any Death eaters? Did he speak of Evan?''

Lucius quickly shook his head. ''Didn't get the chance. However, he showed them the Dark Mark on his own arm, and they watched as it reduced his mind to nothing.'' Voldemort swore out loud now. He hadn't expected any of his followers to have that little regard for self-preservation. Rosier had hated his recent decisions so much to even commit suicide over it? **Why**? It didn't make any sense.

''We need to move now. Even if Fudge is an idiot who'll want to cover this if I know him well enough, Dumbledore won't be so lenient. Bartemius, Dumbledore will hunt down Evan to keep him safe at the Headquarters of the Order early once he receives word of this, I am sure. We've already lost precious hours. Get his belongings and come up with a plan on how to get him there. Evan…'' he whirled around to look at the boy.

''I know, don't look in Dumbledore's eyes, pretend everything's fine,'' he replied in a dull tone that betrayed none of the desperation that wafted off him in waves.

There were so many other things Voldemort wanted to say. Evan's visit here being cut short felt wrong, and he was very displeased over it. There had been so many things left unspoken, so many conversations were still to be had, so much magic shared between them… He placed his palm against the boy's cheek_. ~I will see you at night still,~_ he hissed, knowing fully well that it wasn't the same. ''Now, Bartemius, move. I will need to leave and do some damage control.''

In the chaos that ensued, Evan moving out and Voldemort trying to both control what the press said about Rosier's revelation and how his Death Eaters reacted, he entirely forgot about the birthday present that still stood neatly packed in his room.


	42. Headquarters

The last two hours had been absolute chaos: Harry had packed what he could, tried to coax Hedwig in her cage -who was Not Happy with that like usual, especially since he hadn't used her to send letters at all after being picked up from the Dursleys- and tried to come up with a story together with Barty that would work. They'd drawn up a blank, as they needed to first know if Dumbledore had already made a move to find Harry or not, meaning they had to get back to France to check on Dixie. Without Voldemort, who had to sort out other messes, they couldn't easily get to France. It turned out that not everyone could apparate safely across countries and back. That led to Barty creating an illegal Portkey, which took a while as it needed to be untraceable. In the meantime, Harry mainly worried his head off, because what was he supposed to even say to Dixie? 'Oh hey, I know I was supposed to spend summer with you but that was a giant cover'?

''Don't just stand there Evan,'' Barty chided him, looking the object in his hands thrice over. ''Hmm, almost there.''

''What will we even do there?'' he burst out, giving his worries a voice. ''I gave no thought to Dixie anymore and that I was supposed to be in France. That's… pretty awful now I think of it.'' He also hadn't kept up-to-date with his friends as owls couldn't go back and forth between the two dimensions. He had no idea if they'd tried to reach him… Guilt coiled in his stomach.

''What do you think I was doing all the time?'' the blond asked. ''My days did not only consist of training you and sleeping, you know.'' He grinned with a beam of pride. ''I made sure every couple of days that Ms Étourneau and her mother lived under the blissful illusion that you were still staying at their place; I informed Granger and Weasley that the wards on that house made post impossible, because I honestly didn't feel like faking letters again for so long; I placed evidence around France of you being there by creating mirages in French towns in places where people could have spotted you, but not talked to you… basic magic to make it believable that you were actually there. If you never showed up, after all, Ms Étourneau might have tried to search for you. The only problem we have now… Ah, it's working, quickly!''

Stuffing his wand away, the Death Eater held the slightly glowing apple towards Harry. A sickening moment later, they stood inside a thicket and Harry reeled back. Had they appeared a few more inches forwards, he'd have been speared by a pointy branch that stuck out. ''Urgh, I shouldn't have used something still-living,'' Barty muttered. ''Remind me next time that plants are out as Portkeys, it threw my magic out of the loop a bit. As I was saying, the only problem we have now is that the last time I checked on her was the day before yesterday and if the Order has already reached out to her, I've no idea how she would explain your absence. The memory charms are supported by a confirmation bias enhancer, so she **should** try to come up with reasonable explanations, but you never know.''

''What is confirmation bias?'' Harry asked, while trying to free his feet from the tangled mess of the underbrush and soppy mud. It looked like the heatwave was very central to England, it clearly had rained here recently.

''I'll explain on the way, it's about a ten-minute walk from here, I only need to think of how to move unseen. I can shrink your trunk of course, but hiding the owl and us will be difficult. Maybe a distortion shield? Or perhaps simple Disillusionment Charms will do... tricky choice, what do you say?.''

Harry instantly started rummaging through his trunk, which had landed about a yard away from him, and pulled out the invisibility cloak. ''This might help.''

''Wicked.'' Barty whistled as he took the cloak. ''I've never seen one this perfect… and I can know, the old man hid me under invisibility cloaks for** years**.''

Harry hadn't thought about that detail, growing worried ''Will it be okay for you to use?''

''Yeah… yeah… fine…'' He didn't sound fine, and Harry was just about to propose that they should think of a different plan, when Barty had already covered them both. ''Cosy,'' he spoke with a strained grin. ''So, now your trunks... keep the cage close, this thing isn't exactly gigantic.'' Very awkwardly, they started to shuffle, leaving the thicket, which turned out to really only be a strip of trees separating two fields, and making their way through a large cabbage field. At least there didn't seem to be any people around in this time of day, so it didn't matter much if sometimes a hand or foot was uncovered for a moment. The trek would have taken ages otherwise. ''So, as for that spell… imagine it like this. I implanted false memories in Dixie's mind every few days. But what about the time in between? Before 'fixing' her memories again, she would go a couple of days without actually seeing you, yes? Normally, that would already be a cause for her to go searching for you.

That is where the confirmation bias spell comes in. People naturally try to only search for explanations and information that confirms their own knowledge. If two people argue about a topic and search for sources, both will generally only look for sources that back up their own opinion. It's a common thing to do. With charms, you can enhance this behaviour to the extent of people even in their own mind creating explanations that match what they perceive to be a reality. Ms Étourneau thinks you are spending time at her place, so whenever she cannot find you, her mind comes up with a myriad of explanation as for why you are not there in that moment, even creating false memories of, say, you telling her that you went into town, or are visiting a different friend for a few days instead. It works perfectly for the purpose we had.''

''I sense a massive 'but' coming up.''

''Well yes, it is highly unpredictable, made harder by the fact that it is not only her, but also her mother whom I charmed. It is possible that, should anyone ask them after your whereabouts, they'll both give vastly different and perhaps not very realistic answers. What we will have to do depends completely on whether someone already visited, and if so, what was said.''

''Why did you change their memories every few days?'' Harry asked. ''Wouldn't that confirmation spell have been enough?''

''The longer your perceived absence, the wilder the theories they would have had to come up with to explain it. It is easy to think of a reason of why you are gone for two days while staying over, not so much for two weeks. Eventually, they might have broken through the confirmation spell.''

''Changing their memories so often… isn't that dangerous?''

Barty raised his eyebrows. ''Of course, I doubt they'll be mentally the same. And?''

It was as if a lump of ice hit him in the stomach. ''Wait, this** hurts** them? Definitely?'' he exclaimed in alarm.

''Hush, your invisibility cloak won't do us any good if you start screaming instead! Yes, I knew, it was the easiest way to have you stay inconspicuous. Don't blame yourself instantly, I figured that you wouldn't like my solution, so I didn't mention how exactly I changed her memories. It's not all your fault kid.''

It was slightly disconcerting that Barty instantly knew Harry would blame himself. He still couldn't help but say: ''But it is! I selfishly requested to use this cover again.'' To think that because of his reckless choices and at the cost of his happiness, other people had suffered was devastating. Harry had always tried his hardest to not have his actions impact others negatively unless he found they deserved it. Dixie had been nothing but nice to him, and he'd never even** met** her mother.

''You didn't know the implications of what you were asking for,'' Barty sighed. ''Both our Lord and I knew that and still found it the best option.''

''It was my wish to stay over again in the first place,'' he stubbornly continued, not wanting anyone else to take the blame when it was clearly his fault. To his surprise, Barty just laughed incredulously.

''You think that He would have let you stay away? Sure, it may have been your wish to stay with us again this summer, but even if you hadn't, the outcome would have been the same. I'm not blind, our Lord is… drawn to you. I've never seen him discuss anything so openly and eagerly with anyone else but you, been so passionate about wanting to teach you as any who came before you. Look, if you really feel bad about it, we can try to come up with something different for the next time you visit. Because you** will** come again. I know I might be overstepping some bounds here since I don't own the place but… my home is your home, kid. I'm sure that He shares that thought.''

A small smile spread over Harry's face as warmth spread in his chest. He hadn't realised that the feeling of having found a place to call home was mutual. ''Is there any way to reverse the effect?'' he asked to get back to the topic at hand. ''Heal them?''

''Perhaps, it's not as if I wiped their minds completely, and it was only for a couple of weeks that I changed their memories. It might be difficult to get them admitted to the hospital without it being found out what was done to them though. I don't know any mind-healers personally either. Now, we should be a lot more careful…'' They'd arrived at a sign that said '_Bienvenue á Beynac-et-Cazenac'_ next to a road leading into a village. The cobblestones gleamed in the orange light of the setting sun. They followed the road in silence for some time, Barty going in front and Harry clinging onto him so the cloak wouldn't slip off, Hedwig's cage held tightly under one arm.

After many twists and turns, Barty whispered: ''We're here. Careful, Muggles can still see us. The houses are not as well-hidden as they should be.'' It was difficult to see anything, being behind Barty and under the cloak. That dusk was setting in didn't help much either. A shiver went up his spine for some reason. Deciding to trust his instincts, Harry looked over his shoulder, peering through the fabric. At the end of the long street, he could make out two figures coming closer. Figures that weren't doing their best to hide at all even though the robes and hats made it clear that they weren't the Muggles that Barty had warned about. In fact, Harry concluded, one of them looked incredibly familiar…

''Shit, Barty!'' he whispered in alarm. ''The Ministry is here! That's an Auror!''

''The** Ministry**?'' Barty hissed back. ''Damn it all, hurry!'' They rushed through the front garden and unlocked the door quickly. Thankfully there didn't seem to be any added security in place. Living amongst Muggles would probably turn most magical burglars away, and the standard spells would be enough to repel Muggle ones. ''What are Aurors doing here?'' the Death Eater muttered in slight panic when they were inside. ''Thank Merlin that it looks like they didn't spot us. Bring your trunk and the owl upstairs, make it look like you've been here for ages, I'll take care of the rest. We have maybe half a minute right now. I have to figure out if the Order was already here or not and fix their memories…

To not waste any time, Harry did as he was told and went upstairs, finding the guest bedroom quickly as the house wasn't really large, roughly the same size of the Dursleys' place. Hastily, he threw open the trunk, scattered some clothes around and redressed in a Muggle t-shirt and jeans like he would normally wear during holidays. He'd just opened Hedwig's cage and crashed onto the bed when the doorbell rang. With bated breath, he waited, seconds ticking by. How fast was Barty? Was Harry, as a guest, allowed to even answer the door? Should he, before they decided to break in? The bell rang for a second time, shorter and shriller than before, accompanied by a couple of knocks. Just as he'd made up his mind and was on the way to the door, he heard voices. It appeared that Dixie's mother had let them in. The house was old, covered in rugs and tapestries, so everything he heard sounded incredibly muffled, Harry couldn't even determine whether they spoke French or English. He jerked back from the door as heavy footsteps hurried up the stairs and a knock sounded at his door.

Casting a glance around the room to make sure it looked like he'd been here for a while, Harry opened the door. ''Hello?'' he asked, looking up at the tall Auror he'd seen once before when bringing Pettigrew away.

''Mr Potter,'' the man smiled, taking away a bit from his imposing figure. ''The name is Kingsley, we've met already last year…''

''Yeah, yeah I remember,'' Harry said, opening the door fully now to let him and the second person in, a silver-haired man who appeared to be of the same age as Professor McGonagall or Professor Sprout. ''Why are you here? Did I do anything wrong?'' he asked. It was completely irrational, since he** knew** people would be coming to take him to 'safety' now that it was announced that Voldemort was back, but the sight of Aurors made him more fearful of perhaps his underage magic having been picked up and Aurors showing up to drag him away. ''And just call me Harry,'' he added.

''Right, Harry,'' Kingsley spoke in his calm, deep voice. ''No need for panic, I am not here on duty. Not for the Ministry at least. My friend Elphias Doge over here and I have come on request of Dumbledore.''

''Took us quite a while to find you!'' Doge said. ''We came up with a plan first to get you away from your family by tricking them into winning a greenest-hedge-contest, but then your friends told us after an hour of planning and organising that you weren't even there!'' the tone sounded slightly accusing.

''I** am** allowed to go on holiday, right?''

''Well, yes, but-'' Doge sputtered.

''In either case,'' Kingsley continued, giving Doge a withered stare. ''We are here to escort you to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I was told that you have been informed about the organisation?''

''Yeah, the one at…'' Harry made a few weird noises, then blinked a few times in confusion. For some reason, he could not pronounce 'Grimmauld place' anymore, only think about it. Somehow, he was certain that he could not give an accurate description of how to go to the place either.

''Ah, I forgot that you knew the address before,'' Kingsley mused, withdrawing a slip of paper. ''New security measures have been added to the already solid wards that were in place. First, please answer this: what form does your Patronus take?''

''A stag?'' Harry answered in confusion.

''Good, we had to make sure we got the real Harry, not an impostor,'' the man nodded.

''How do you know... Professor Lupin! I forgot for a moment that he is also a member.'' And how strange was that actually, a werewolf being part of a Light organisation? ''Why are you actually picking me up?'' he asked for good measure. ''Previously, Dumbledore said that I was only allowed to spend two weeks there.'' He was satisfied with how the eyebrows of both men rose at his wording.

''I'm sure that you must have misunderstood the Headmaster,'' Doge said with a wavering smile. ''Your godfather is there, surely you are **allowed **to go there when you want to…''

''No, he said I had to stay with my Muggle family, that I would be safer there than at the Order since a Death Eater was still out.'' Not entirely true, not entirely a lie either. Dumbledore** had** insisted on him going back to the Dursleys. The others exchanged a glance. Picking a Muggle house over a highly-protected Headquarters must look like a very strange decision when put so black-and-white.

''Voldemort,'' Kingsley spoke in a grave tone while Doge squeaked a bit at the name. ''We have received information that he is… back.''

Harry frowned. ''I know, he possessed my first Defence professor. This has been known for years.''

Kingsley paused, mustering him a bit differently than before, maybe because he hadn't reacted to the name at all. Harry thought it was a good difference, as if he would be taken a bit more serious now. Maybe Kingsley also remembered how Harry had dragged in and dropped a caged criminal on his desk. ''No, I mean** really** back. Returned to full power. We still have to find other sources to see how accurate this information is, but all signs point to it so for now we are taking it as the truth. As a precaution, Dumbledore wants to have you moved to Headquarters. A lone Death Eater is one thing, Voldemort himself is something else. We cannot leave you here.''

''If it's necessary, fine.'' It wouldn't do any good to start fake-protests. ''I'll go pack and say goodbye to my friend. You can wait here if you want, it won't take long.'' Harry hoped that Barty had already found an opportunity to sneak out of the house, but just in case, a bit more time wasn't going to hurt.

The 'goodbye' to Dixie was awkward. Harry had absolutely no idea what to say to a witch whom had been emotionally and mentally manipulated to cover his arse and who still thought due to the spells cast upon her, that Harry was one of her greatest friends. It had been a mistake to keep up the pretend, Harry could feel it in his bones as she hugged him and whispered a tearful 'good luck'. Had circumstances been different, had they met through normal means, they might have become real friends. Now, he'd always have the thought hanging between them that he'd used her, and she didn't even know it. It had been too convenient to be good. Barty may have kept the exact effects from him, Harry hadn't asked about them either. Now, even the apology he desperately wanted to utter wouldn't get over his lips, terrified that Kingsley and Doge would think something was wrong.

The Hat had been right, Harry thought, rather depressed as they left the house and Kingsley prepared a Portkey. He should have been a Slytherin, self-preservation weighing more heavily on his decisions than bravery. He sincerely hoped never having to face Dixie and her mother again until the day he could return to heal them, even if that would take an eternity. The Portkey trip didn't lift his spirits any further, nor did an additional apparition in case someone picked up on the Portkey trail. Only once they stood in front of Sirius' home did Harry feel a hint of relief. Thanks to Barty, he'd made it here without trouble, no suspicion cast upon his summer activities. And as much as he would miss Riddle House, he knew that behind those doors, his godfather and perhaps several of his friends were waiting.

On a second look, he realised that they were not** quite** standing in front of the door yet: somehow, the house -of which he couldn't recall the number clearly-, had disappeared: he could only see number 11 and number 13. Even when trying to follow pure logic, he just could not come up with what should be in between. Astonished about that piece of magic, the teen unfolded the slip of paper Kingsley had handed him before, he familiar address suddenly present in his mind again as soon as he read the words which were, to his annoyance, not in Sirius' but in Dumbledore's handwriting. He supposed it made sense, Dumbledore had also cast the Fidelius charm on the house of Harry's parents, there were bound to be few people who could cast that spell.

Kingsley approached the door and tapped. For the first time, Harry realised that it had neither a letterbox nor a keyhole, and he wondered if those had been removed for the 'added security' or if he just hadn't noticed that detail last time. Only a silver doorknocker remained, formed like a snake. For a brief moment, Harry had the urge to hiss_ open_, then stopped himself. His company surely wouldn't appreciate him starting to speak Parseltongue in this moment – if ever - and he doubted that every snake-shaped object in the world had been enchanted to listen to it. The door opened slowly, after numerous metallic clicking noises, though Kingsley didn't seem to be one for dramatics and pushed it open further himself as he stepped inside.

The hallway was a lot gloomier than last time he'd been here, when he had had to avoid Sirius' water buckets and confetti cannons. It was absolutely silent and dark apart from distant, barely audible voices. Had the portrait of Sirius' mother become more sensitive to sound? She'd only started screaming a few times during the week Harry had been a guest here, surely it wasn't worth these dramatics. Doge waved his wand, old gas lamps lighting up, casting large, flickering shadows everywhere, not improving the creepy mood in here by much. At least, Harry concluded, it was clean now: he recalled that everything had been dusty in here, cobwebs having covered the chandelier. It looked like Sirius had gotten some more cleaning done, maybe in preparation of the Order coming here soon as Harry had predicted. ''Everything is a bit chaotic right now, apologies,'' Kingsley said, while enlarging Harry's trunks again and placing them against the side, making the already narrow corridor even smaller. Harry carefully placed Hedwig on top, who gave him a very accusing look as Doge had hit her with a silencing charm. ''After the news of today… All our plans have been completely wiped off the table, so I hope you'll forgive not receiving a grander welcome.''

''It's fine, really.''

''Good. There's a meeting going on right now…'' Kingsley hesitated and mustered Harry.

''Oh no, no no no,'' Doge threw in. ''I know that look Kingsley. Meetings are only for Order members, surely we can't allow a child in there. Harry, your friend Ronald is waiting upstairs, you should go to him.''

''Doge, this 'child' captured a criminal on his own and then went to the Aurors for justice instead of doing something stupid. He was thirteen years old at the time and is fifteen now. We dragged him away from the place he was staying for a good reason, I find that he should know more about it. He deserves some explanations.''

''Also,'' Harry added, ''I'm the same age my father was when he joined the Order. Or Sirius.'' Both men gave him a surprised look.

''You're still not a member…'' Doge still tried.

''Follow me,'' the tall Auror spoke with a brief smile and a jerk of his head. Gladly, Harry complied, not so much to get more information -he knew more than any of them- but because it would mean seeing Sirius again. As much as he dreaded what choice words his godfather had to say to him, he was truly excited to be reunited. He shuffled through the narrow, ill-lit corridor, the voices getting louder as he followed Kingsley down a small stone set of stairs that he'd missed the last time he'd been here. Kingsley opened a door and stepped in, revealing a dark, cavernous room that Harry suspected was the original kitchen, going by all the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling. Sirius had created a makeshift kitchen on the first floor as well, he wondered what had happened to that. It appeared that muffling spells had been on the door, for all of a sudden, he could hear what was being said loud and clear.

''-doesn't look like he trusts you too much now. What exactly were you saying before about you risking your life?'' Sirius practically shouted through the room.

''Sit down you imbecile!'' Snape retorted, his sneer even obvious without Harry being able to see his face. ''None of us can know what the Dark Lord is thinking. Certainly not** you**. Before rushing into action, we need to calculate all possibilities, see this from various sides. Currently, our best guess is-'' Snape broke off as Harry stepped into the room, coal eyes burning with what could only described as intense hatred. Good, it looked like nothing had changed between them. Harry had feared that Snape would suddenly start behaving weirdly after receiving the combined gift and threat from Harry's mother. If Snape was still the same jerk as before, Harry wouldn't need to change his behaviour towards the git either.

''Your best guess is what?'' he asked innocently. Even if Snape would have actually answered him, it would have been lost to Harry, who was smothered by Mrs Weasley.

''Harry! Merlin, you're safe! We were all so worried when the news came in and…. and…'' she gasped for air and released him, face creased with worry as she looked him in the eye. ''At the very least it looks like you ate properly this summer,'' she commented, on which Harry gave a weak smile. Voldemort had a lot of negative traits, but he certainly wasn't stingy on grocery money.

''It's good to see you again Mrs Weasley,'' he spoke, meaning every word. It was always a delight to be around the Weasleys, a family who had tried to accept him as one of their own from the very first day Harry had stepped foot in the Burrow. Even as he said it though, his eyes were already searching around the table, heart jumping a bit as it landed on Sirius, who was leaning backwards in a seat with a genuine grin on his face. ''Excuse me,'' he said, practically running the few yards it took to reach his godfather's now opened arms. All previous worries melted away as he was held in a tight embrace.

''I'm glad you're here,'' Sirius whispered.

''Me too,'' he mumbled back, burying his head in the man's shoulder, which smelled of dust and leather.

''How very touching,'' Snape hissed. ''But I have places to be, so I would **appreciate** it if we could continue the meeting without teenagers storming in who have** no business being here**.'' Snape definitely had a lot more gall now than the day before yesterday, where he had looked just as afraid as the other Death Eaters when Harry had commanded Nagini around.

He turned around and was about to give the man a piece of his mind when Mrs Weasley spoke up: ''I agree with professor Snape, dearie. We're in the middle of a meeting and I'm sure we will have lots of time to catch up in the next few days.''

''Kingsley invited me in,'' Harry said, raising an eyebrow at the Auror, who had looked at the scene with a bit of amusement.

To his great surprise, Sirius, who had released him now, rose and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. ''I think Harry should stay. He has a right to some answers.'' Snape looked as if having swallowed a lemon, while Mrs Weasley gave a disapproving look. No-one else reacted much, and Harry took this moment to see who was all there. On the opposite side of the table sat Lupin, looking more haggard and tired than ever. Next to him was of the other Aurors Harry had seen last year, sporting neon pink hair. Arthur and Bill Weasley were present too, as well as a few people Harry hadn't met before.

''Kingsley, I had not expected such an irresponsible action from you,'' Mrs Weasley continued, putting her hands in her sides. ''Harry is far too young to be invited into these meetings.''

''Harry is not your responsibility,'' Sirius growled.

''But he's yours?'' she countered, raising her chin in challenge. ''Don't forget that Dumbledore explicitly said that we're not allowed to tell him more than he** needs to know**.'' Harry's mood darkened instantly at that sentence. So, the Headmaster once again was trying to keep information from him?

''First of all Molly, I am his godfather, and secondly, I'm well aware of Dumbledore's words, thank you very much.''

By the reddening of Mrs Weasley's cheeks, she had a few more choice words to say about it, but Harry found that it was high time he stepped in himself. ''I would prefer to be included when people squabble over me,'' he said, catching Kingsley's approving nod. He may have just gained a very cool ally. Harry didn't allow either Sirius or Mrs. Weasley to continue speaking before he had said everything he wanted to, so hastily continued: ''When it comes to age, it appears that all of you seem to forget that during the time of the first Order, people as young as fifteen were allowed to sign up, I don't see why you would suddenly change those requirements and pretend as if it's unacceptable for teenagers to take responsibility.'' He looked over his shoulder up to Sirius. ''Both you and dad were fifteen, right?''

''How did you… yes. Almost sixteen when we started working for Dumbledore during summer holidays, but yes. I see your point. **Some** adults seem to forget how capable they themselves were at the age of those they now try to protect against** gruesome details**,'' Sirius sarcastically said, words clearly directed towards Mrs Weasley. ''I don't think you're a child anymore.''

''He's not an adult either! He's still at **school**!'' Mrs Weasley protested. ''I think you're confusing your godson too much with your best friend!'' It was a low blow, and it was clear to everyone present. Lupin sucked in a breath, even Mr Weasley gave his wife a concerned look.

Harry decided that it would be better for the general mood not to become provoked by it, a skill he'd -almost- perfected, being around a highly volatile Dark Lord for so long. Thus, he continued where he'd left of: ''Right. Secondly, I was dragged away from my holiday residence to get to safety. I'd like to at least have a clue as to** why**. Kingsley told me Voldemort's returned. So, I have some questions, and considering that Dumbledore saw it fit to get me here earlier than agreed plus is expecting me to somehow do something against Voldemort, it would be absolutely great if I have some idea on what is going on.''

''What do you mean with those expectations you speak of?'' Lupin spoke, leaning forwards. ''And hello, great to see you again.''

''Likewise,'' Harry smiled. He considered for a moment, then figured that it wouldn't do any harm to tell these people about it. ''Dumbledore started giving me lessons last year, giving me information about Voldemort. He seems to believe that, since I survived the Killing curse, I will have a role to play in defeating Voldemort.'' The room went utterly silent at that, everyone staring at him. It was broken by a rather unhygienic-looking man wearing a mixture of tattered robes and old Muggle clothing.

''See? See? I told you, Dumbledore always has another plan ready!''

''Shut it, Dung.'' Sirius snapped. Harry wondered if 'Dung' had been earned as the world's worst nickname or if Wizarding parents were really that desperate to give their children eccentric names. In either case, Dung didn't protest against it and instead lit a pipe, adding to the already present layer of smoke in the room. Accepted indoor smoking was probably one of Harry's least favourite parts of this side of the world. The only establishments he knew had a non-smoking policy were those in Hogsmeade, and even there, exceptions were made in the three Broomsticks for teachers or particularly nagging customers. Maybe he should ask Voldemort if anything could be done against** those** laws. Sirius turned towards him and asked: ''Harry, did Dumbledore give any further details about that role?''

He shook his head. ''Vague as always, though he pressed that it's very important that I learn more about the man.''

''Man.'' Mrs Weasley scoffed. ''Monster, more likely.''

''The main goal of those lessons indeed points towards Dumbledore wanting me to agree with that statement,'' he couldn't help but say, earning him a couple of strange looks.

Lupin rubbed his chin, where a slight stubble had appeared during the time Harry hadn't seen him. ''You do not agree with it?'' Harry relaxed slightly at the way it was asked, without any judgement.

Harry tried his best to avoid Snape's accusing stares as he formulated an answer: ''Seeing someone's past, their behaviour as a child and a teenager, aren't especially dehumanising, quite the opposite. Besides, I personally don't think it's good to pretend Voldemort isn't human. It would make it easier to overlook the fact that, if it comes down to a duel of sorts, killing him would also make the one casting the final blow a murderer.''

''Are you really that delusional to think that, against a Dark Lord, you need to take the moral high ground?'' his potion master asked incredulously, then laughed. ''If Dumbledore lies any of his hopes in your hands, Potter, we're all doomed.''

Harry didn't even need to think of any reply, the room exploded in angry shouts at that open criticism of Dumbledore. Only a few kept out of it, Sirius one of them to Harry's great surprise. His godfather only spoke again once Mr Weasley had managed to calm everyone down. ''So, what are your questions, Harry?'' For some reason, it felt like a test, and as he looked up to fully face Sirius, he noticed the tense lines around the man's eyes.

''A general overview,'' he shrugged. It wasn't like he wanted to play spy for Voldemort, nor did he need to with Snape appearing to be a full-fledged Order member. ''What happened today exactly, what the Order is actually up to. I mean, you must all be meeting about** something** more concrete than 'fighting evil' right? I'm not sure I really understand the purpose of this organisation, certainly not since Dumbledore called it together before Voldemort popped up again.''

''Alright, take a seat.'' Sirius said, kicking a chair out from under the table. Under heavy protest from Snape that no-one else listened to, Harry joined them at the table, where he first got a proper introduction round. Sirius did most of the talking after, maybe because he was well-aware of being one of the few who wasn't so clueless as to where Harry's allegiances lay and, like having promised Mrs Weasley, ensured that Harry didn't know anything **too** specific. He mainly explained general tasks and roles: that Kingsley kept the Ministry from finding Sirius; that Tonks and a couple of other members kept their ears open in various areas of the Ministry to see if they could find Voldemort's spies and recruit more people for the Order. That Lupin did the same with the werewolf clans and that others who did not work in the Ministry like Mrs Weasley, Bill, Doge and Dung -whose full name appeared to be Mundungus, which wasn't much of an improvement- followed trails where suspected Death Eaters had been seen to try and catch them doing anything illegal, or protect possible targets from the shadows. There hadn't been much success until now, though the members swore that they had a pretty good idea of who were high-ranking Death Eaters. Most of their actions were following Dumbledore's hunches because, as Lupin put it 'Dumbledore's hunches turn out to often be reliable.'

''What is Dumbledore's current idea of what Voldemort is planning? I mean, it's only been known that's he's returned for what, a few hours?''

''No, Dumbledore already suspected this might be the case, ever since the end of last school year when Crouch showed up and revealed his plan. We just only got reliable information on it today. One of his Death Eaters went running to the Ministry and told the Aurors that Voldemort's been back for approximately a year now. We suspect he's waiting, building up his army. During the war, he commanded massive armies, people who were there either by choice, forced or under charms. He won't start another war with a handful of people. Admittedly, it's an incredible loss for us that we only know** now** that he is back. We are also trying to find out what Crouch's actual plan was, since he said something about needing your death to resurrect his Lord. Clearly, that was a lie.''

''You said that one of his Death Eaters betrayed him. Any clue why?'' That possibly was the one thing that currently interested him most. Rosier had joined them at Lughnasadh right before going to the Ministry and turning on his Lord.

''One,'' It was Snape who had answered now. ''The one who came with this story was a man called Rosier. He had been a Death Eater from the very start and pressured his own family into joining the Dark Lord's cause as well. During one of the raids, Alastor Moody killed his son. Afterwards, I suspect that Rosier directed all his hatred at Moody. Now Moody has disappeared and is presumed dead. Crouch must have murdered him on the Dark Lord's orders. That left Rosier both without revenge and with a new enemy. After Moody, the Dark Lord himself was mostly to blame for his son's death.''

''It is not the **only** theory,'' Tonks cut in. ''I was there when Rosier stormed in. He appeared half-mad, showing us the Dark Mark on his arm before saying anything. I keep thinking of his words… 'All I wanted has been reduced to ash, never to return. This is not what he promised.' I think Rosier was unhappy with whatever You-Know-Who is currently doing. He was always one of the more fanatic Death Eaters, revelling in bloodshed. Perhaps it all went too slow to his liking? Snape's theory could also be a factor, no denying that but… he could have gone to the Ministry as soon as it became clear that Moody was dead. As he didn't, something else must have happened.''

Something had happened. Harry had been there, shown to have Voldemort's trust despite everything. He'd imagined that not every one of the man's followers would be very happy with that revelation. This though? Betrayal at the cost of one's mind? For other than Wormtail, Rosier had** known** about the changes in the Mark, Voldemort had told his Death Eaters about it to discourage them from doing exactly this.

''I think that's quite enough now.'' Mrs Weasley spoke, clearly not having given up on her quests to keep Harry away from anything 'harmful'. ''Talk of death, of madmen, of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, with all of you so casually mentioning that vile name!''

''Dumbledore taught me that one should call people by their names to not increase their power,'' Harry spoke.

''Dearie, the Headmaster is brilliant, a genius, and sometimes forgets that not everyone is extraordinary. Someone who already defeated a Dark Lord maybe has a different view on things. I for one, will never forget that brief period of time at the end of the war where the name was made Taboo. He's back now, he could easily cast that spell again. My fear is well-justified!''

''A Taboo curse isn't** easy**, he'd need massive amounts of power, Molly,'' Lupin spoke to calm her down. ''There is a reason why he was only able to cast it during the absolute height of his power. Also, we are behind solid wards and a Fidelius charms, even a Taboo curse couldn't track us here.''

''What is that?'' Harry asked, never having heard the term before.

''The actual reason why everyone in the Wizarding World still does not speak his name,'' Kingsley answered when no-one else saw fit to reply to the question. ''A taboo curse is a type of universal tracker. The curse is bound to a specific concept or idea in the form of words. Whoever utters one or more specific words that have been cursed, sends a signal out. Voldemort used it on his own name as he got it in his head that it was disrespectful to be casually spoken. Honestly, the curse went slightly awry. Originally, he placed it because his enemies called him only 'Voldemort' rather than 'Lord Voldemort', so he tried to curse the usage of it without proper respects. Taboo curses don't work like that though, so once it was bound to 'Voldemort', it didn't matter if anything additional was said or not, saying the name triggered the curse regardless of casual or honorific use. In either case, it placed a tracker on those who said it, which was picked up by specifically assigned people bound to the Taboo, called snatchers. They would instantly apparate towards the offender, straight through most weaker wards, and drag them in for questioning, often consisting of torture and eventual murder. We were lucky to have picked it up quickly, we lost only three members to the Taboo curse. Ever since his death, some of us use the name again now to spite him. Most others can't forget how much damage was done by uttering that cursed name. As Molly said, those who still stick to avoiding the name cannot be blamed for cowardice. Certainly now, it** is** risky to call him Voldemort when not under sure protection. The Headmaster encouraging people to call him by name, especially the younger generation who only imitate their parents without knowing the backstory, was a noble thought of resistance before. Now Voldemort is back, it is plain dangerous.''

''Thanks, could not have voiced it better myself,'' Sirius spoke. ''Now then, I finally must give in to Molly's demands, I do think we've said enough for now. It's getting late and we really need to still address a couple of more specific points in this meeting. Go upstairs and pick a room, you're welcome to share one with Ron or choose your own, we still have a couple that are not in use and have been cleaned out on a certain someone's demand.''

''It is dangerous to have rooms filled with Doxies and dark artefacts,'' Mrs Weasley spoke, appearing to be more amused about the comment than angry now Sirius had yielded to her demands at last.

''You can be glad to not have been here a month ago kiddo, we did nothing but cleaning,'' his godfather whispered, giving a wink.

''Noted, I'll be eternally grateful. Thank you, really. It means a lot to me that you let me stay.'' Sirius gave a short nod, his expression twisting a bit.

''The meeting shouldn't take too long anymore. If it's okay for you, I would like to… to talk to you still afterwards. I know it's late already but…''

''I'd love to. Just knock on the door, I'm pretty sure I'll take the room with Ron.''

''I will.'' Sirius was silent for a few seconds, then said: ''Harry? It's… **really **good to see you safe and sound.''

''Same,'' he said, aware of that those words did not carry the same weight as Sirius' did, with the underlying knowledge of some of Harry's questionable activities. Giving Mr and Mrs Weasley another hug on the way out and trying his best to avoid Snape's death glare -it was not as effective as the one he'd come to get used to- Harry made his way upstairs.

Or rather, he made his way half up the first flight of stairs, where four equally red tufts of hair appeared from behind the railing, a flesh-coloured thread being dragged up by one of the Weasley Twins. ''I can't** believe** that they just let you in! Fred and I have been trying for ages and we are of age! But nooo, we still go to school and must be protected at all costs! Nothing against you Harry, good to have you back. You asked exactly the right questions, we've found out more today than in the past weeks. Kingsley forgot to redo the repelling charms as you entered.''

''Glad to have been of help,'' Harry grinned, accepting the pats on his back. ''Hey everyone. How has your summer been?''

''Boring,'' Ron grumbled. ''You'd think that being at a super-secret Headquarters would be exciting. As George said, it's been anything but. They invented these wicked things to listen in-'' he held up the threads ''but ever since mum caught us once -on the third day!- we have barely been able to get a whisper.''

''Fooled you little brother, I'm Fred,'' Fred spoke.

''That joke might work on mum, but we don't actually care much,'' Ginny piped in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ''How about we call you both 'Draco' from now on? Avoids any confusion.''

''We've taught you too much.''

''No, all my wit comes from Bill, sorry. So, Harry, what have you been up to?''

Can't you see from my tan?'' he joked, showing his arms, which were the same colour as always. ''I spent the summer in France.''

Ginny shoved him and rolled her eyes. ''Very funny. As if I could tell. Were you really in France?''

''Yeah, Dixie invited me and I figured it was a great opportunity to get away from the Dursleys. For some reason, Dumbledore only wanted me to stay here for two weeks so, had to find something else to escape. Good thing too as it turns out, I know we made jokes about Death Eaters showing up at Privet Drive, but it seems to be more serious than I thought. Are you the only ones here by the way? No Hermione? Or Percy?'' The faces of all of them instantly sank. It would have been comedical, had they not all looked so devastated. ''Did I say something wrong?''

''Good thing you didn't mention Percy before when mum could hear you. She starts crying whenever his name is uttered. Come on, we'd better tell you somewhere she definitely won't hear.'' Confused, Harry followed the others to a rather minimalistic bedroom with two single beds. By all the orange items that were spread across one of them, Harry figured this was where Ron slept. ''Basically, Percy and dad had a massive row and, being the prick he is, he left. We haven't heard from him since.''

''What was the row about?''

''Dumbledore and our parents supporting him. Ever since taking over from Crouch Senior at the Tournament, Percy has gotten it into his head that he can rise to the top of the Ministry by appealing to the right people. Dumbledore is not one of those people.''

''Why? I thought Dumbledore was respected even within the Ministry.''

Ron replied: ''Focus on 'was'. There's a reason why the Prophet has been silent on the whole ordeal with a Death Eater coming into Hogwarts. Fudge is in denial, massive denial. He blames Dumbledore for causing panic and blowing things out of proportion. I can't imagine how much worse things are going to be now that another Death Eater has shown up and announced that You-Know-Who has returned. One of the few pieces of info that we actually picked up easily, for the entirely Order was in an uproar about it and Tonks was rather loose-lipped to Ginny.''

''I think she wants to recruit me for the Aurors to have another person to talk to,'' Ginny shrugged. ''I've got my eyes set on Quidditch, but it can't hurt to let her think I'm considering an Auror job for the time being.''

''You don't even play Quidditch!'' Ron interjected.

''Yeah, because last year it was cancelled and before that, there were no open spots to try out for! Excuse me, but I beat all of you as a chaser and a seeker during practise games at home. Only Harry can outfly me.''

''Doubt there'll be any other open spots this year. We only need a new Keeper now Wood graduated.''

''I know, it sucks. Not interested in that position much. And since you will be Seeker until my seventh year, I can only try for Chaser next year maybe. Can we get back on topic now? Thank you. So, our dear brother blamed dad for ruining Percy's possible career and stormed out of the house. Mum's begged for him to come back, even went to his current apartment where he had the audacity to slam the door shut without hearing her out.'' Harry hadn't gotten an incredibly favourable impression from Percy, but had never thought that the stern boy would put his career over family in such an extreme way. ''It's a good thing that the newspapers stopped publishing anything negative about you since Skeeter disappeared, I'm sure he'd have given one of his condescending speeches about the importance of choosing the right friends. The prick should have gone to Slytherin!''

''I'll make sure to avoid mentioning him. What have all of you been up to if you couldn't get any information?''

''What do you think? Making this place liveable,'' Ron said. ''It was full of harmful artefacts before. Sirius cleaned a few rooms which he inhabited, that was about it. The entire upper floors were a danger hazard. Some robes tried to strangle me, Ginny was bitten by a snuffbox that held weird powder, Fred and George tackled a doxy plague in the curtains… We only finished the library a couple of days ago. Mum is still debating on whether or not we should clean out the remaining rooms or leave them as is, I think it'll depend on how many more people will want to crash here at once. We still have two spare ones that are clean and that's it.''

''I'm surprised to hear there are so many bedrooms actually,'' Harry said. ''I didn't really explore the house much, but when Sirius was younger, it was only his parents, him and his younger brother. Now most of your family stays here permanently, plus Sirius and a couple of other order members?''

''Well, it **is **a four-story building. This is the Black's ancestral home and I've seen the tapestry with the family tree. There used to be people who had five or six kids so it makes sense there are so many rooms. To be fair, we did redesign a few rooms into bedroom that weren't originally. The living room on the ground floor is full of makeshift beds for those having changing shifts and needing to crash a couple of hours before going to their actual jobs. Dumbledore figured it wasn't safe for people to apparate back and forth to their actual homes too often around this place. Then on this floor are the rooms for more-or-less permanent residents. The upper two are largely untouched, Sirius said that he wouldn't like for his or his brother's old bedrooms to be remodelled as there is still a bit of sentimental stuff.''

Regulus' bedroom was still there? Harry had thought that it would have been cleaned out after the man's death. Would there be anything left that would tell of the past he and Voldemort had shared?

''Harry?''

''Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was in thoughts. Doesn't really sound like the best summer. Hopefully it will get a bit more exciting. Are we expecting anyone else to join still?''

Ginny shook her head, casting a glance at Ron, whose face darkened slightly again. ''No. Hermione is extending her stay…. abroad.'' The words 'With Viktor Krum' were left hanging in the air. ''She wrote that we'll see her on the first day of Hogwarts unless we want to go shopping in Diagon alley together. We're not sure yet. We wanted to go one by one to not flood Diagon with a large group of people this year, but it might be safer to go together now. We can't predict what is going to happen.''

''What are all of your thoughts on Voldemort's return?'' Harry asked, ignoring the jumps and noises around the room. Even now he knew why people avoided saying the name, he wasn't going to suddenly call the man he'd grown closer to by a ridiculous nickname. The siblings all looked at each other, until Ron hesitantly took the word.

''I'm not sure what you mean Harry. It looks like it was pretty unavoidable and there isn't much we can do. He's an evil bastard who murdered a lot of people and should be stopped, what's more to it?''

Harry wanted to continue prying, go on about the political scene, give insight thoughts on the Ministry, then realised that it would fall on deaf ears. All of the Weasley were too distanced to any of it. Harry had grown to care, to really** think** about the future of their kind ever since meeting Voldemort. Part of it was to escape his past, part tried to shape the new world he was met with in a way that he saw as ideal. All of his friends here had grown up in this world, accepted it for what it was. To them, there was nothing more to it than trying to stop the ones who tried to make changes through radical ways. Maybe Hermione would have understood his question, she loved discussions both real and hypothetical about all sorts of topics, especially when it came to social awareness.

Two knocks made him look up towards the door. Harry got up to open it, faced with a clearly concerned Sirius. All of the usual humour was gone from his face. ''I'll borrow Harry for a bit,'' he told the others, then turned around and walked down the dark corridor. Harry followed, nervous anticipation in his stomach as he was being led to the drawing room.

''I thought you hated it in here,'' he commented, eyes trailing over the tapestry with numerous burn marks across. He noticed that the black spots increased down the lines.

''I do. Thus, it'll be the last place anyone will go to since this room does not hold anything else. I don't want our conversation to be cut short by people walking in. Plus, it has some of the strongest wards in this house to protect this monstrosity,'' Sirius answered, pointing one of his thumbs at the wall. ''The perfect place to hold conversations about less-than-savoury topics.''

Harry frowned at the words while his godfather put up additional layers of secrecy wards. ''Unsavoury? You make it sound as if my actions are something to be ashamed of. You know my opinion on our current society and what should be done against it. I stand by that.''

Sirius let himself fall in an armchair and sighed, looking incredibly tired. ''Last time we spoke, you told me you'd join Voldemort if he'd return. Today I find out he's been back for a year… that talk was even a lot less hypothetical than I assumed then. You were clever with your wording. When the news reached the Order this morning, I was mad at first. Had you been found sooner, I might have blown up at you. As it is, I had a few hours to calm down and think. Yes, I am capable of that,'' he said with a wolfish grin.

''So, what was your conclusion?'' Harry asked, rather tense. Tense enough to keep standing, ready to either bolt or fight.

Sirius shrugged ''You did the best you could have done. It doesn't matter what his goals are, Voldemort is a Dark Lord, and Lords aren't known for letting traitors live. Had you revealed his return to me, I'm sure we'd both be dead now. You were smarter than my little brother, that's something. A lot of people in the Order… they talk of dying for a good cause. Dying for what they believe in. I do admire when others go down in a fight, but living another day to do more good is worth a damn lot. Getting yourself killed unnecessarily wouldn't have brought anything, so I understand why you didn't tell me everything. What I said before was the truth, I am so incredibly happy to see you alive and well, you can't imagine.'' The man turned his head away the instant his voice broke.

''Sirius…'' He was standing there like a fool, unsure of what to do or if he was allowed to go closer. In the end, Harry acted on his instincts in the hope of giving the both of them comfort. He stepped forward and knelt in front of Sirius' chair, taking his godfather's hand in his. ''I asked him,'' Harry said, desperately grabbing for any topic that could break the tension. ''If he's ever used the word 'cool'. He refused to answer my question, I think that says enough.''

A weak chuckle turned into peals of laughter, which Harry joined soon after, glad to see tears of mirth in Sirius' eyes now. ''You didn't!''

''Sure did, hope that is proof enough that I still belong in the house of the brave and reckless.''

''That's my kiddo.'' The fondness was unmistakable. Then, he whispered: ''That's James' kiddo.'' Harry was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to have heard that. Concerned, he looked up, noticing the way his godfather's eyes turned hazy, seeing things only he could now.

''Hey, stay with me,'' he said, squeezing the weathered hand.

''James?'' Sirius shook his head. ''Harry. Sorry.'' He rubbed his face. ''Come, sit down too, it can't be comfortable to crouch on the floor like that. I have a lot of questions, ones you can finally answer now the Kneazle is out of the bag.''

The teen looked around and took one of the other armchairs that had stood by the window, dragging it over. ''Can I ask first… why are you so welcoming? I know what you think of Voldemort and that you fight him. Even if you want to give me my freedom and let me make my own choices, why allow me to stay here at the Order? You even let me ask questions before. I'm grateful, of course. I just… don't fully understand.''

The other leaned back, letting out a groan. ''You sure know how to start a conversation. It's difficult to fully explain…''

''Try?'' he begged.

''Fine… fine. If I go off on a tangent, bear with me. I'm not even sure if I should start at the beginning or the end…'' he got up from his chair, paced up and down a few times, then went towards the tapestry, putting his finger on one of the burns. ''James was my best friend in the entire world. The only one I could tell all of my secrets to, more even than Remus or Peter. We met on the train, just like you and Ron did, though it wasn't sweets or bullies that formed the foundation of our friendship. In true James fashion, he wanted to make himself known by the whole school before even setting foot in the castle. Later, he told me that he'd prepared all summer for a grand piece of work. At the time, I only saw the result: he executed a transfiguration spell that was at least third-year-level, the very first day he was allowed to cast magic, turning the hair of every single student a different colour. A harmless prank that caused an uproar throughout the train, every younger student unable to undo it by themselves and even several older students who weren't very apt in transfiguration having to ask their friends to turn it back. It of course made a lot of people turn against the prankster in question as they were annoyed about something like that happening a mere fifteen minutes before arriving at Hogwarts. I, who had just escaped this dingy house and my strict parents, loved it. The chaos, the drama, the magic that was used for nothing else than** fun**… I saw James running through the corridor, laughing his ass off to get away from a chasing mob, grabbed him and dragged him into a compartment that I locked instantly. In short, I congratulated James on the stunt and promised I'd wear my blue hair with pride to the Sorting. Without even knowing my name, he declared that if I kept my vow, I'd be his best friend for life. So I did.''

Harry wasn't entirely sure where Sirius was going with this, so he kept silent, in part also to hear more details about his father. ''We shared everything from that moment. Inside class or out we became inseparable, building up a legacy from day one. Remus and Peter soon followed, but it was never quite the same with them. All of my woes, the problems I had with my family, the way I was torn between wanting to learn dark magic and wanting to leave it all behind me, I only shared with him. During our fourth year, we did a ritual to become bloodbrothers, one of the ultimate ways to confirm a friendship like we had. When he started dating Lily, I was the one having to put up with every single one of his little concerns,'' he laughed. ''And after school it wasn't different. I want you to understand just how much James meant to me Harry. For when he got a child, I was there. I'm still astonished that Lily allowed it, but I was there in the house while she delivered. After your parents and the mediwitch, I was the first to see you, to hold you. They'd already asked before if I wanted to be your godfather, and when James opened that door and handed you to me, he told me with pride: 'Here's your son'.'' Sirius exhaled slowly, his head resting against the tapestry now, voice raw with emotion.

''That first year of your life was bliss for me. I'd found family in James, and while it was purely platonic, Lily accepted that I was there practically every day. That fateful night where they both passed, I was torn with rage and grief. I had tried to help raise you, but the second your actual parents were gone, I screwed up badly. My plan was to get back on Peter while Hagrid took you to safety, then take you back. It would turn out to be the most stupid decision I had ever made, as you know. In the confusion that ensued after Voldemort's death, it didn't matter that I was an Auror or that I didn't bear a Mark. The 'evidence' they found of the apparent murder of Peter and those thirteen Muggles was enough to get me behind bars. I… I failed you. And I failed James.'' He turned around to Harry with a tortured expression. ''When you told me last time that I would have made for a good dad, I did not know how to reply, for I knew that I didn't deserve that title. Fourteen years ago, I should have made you a priority, Harry, over my own belief of right and wrong, over vengeance. And right now, I'm having a damn hard time not to do the same thing all over again.''

Sirius stepped closer and gripped Harry's shoulders tightly, staring directly in his eyes. ''I don't know what to think, what to do! I want to get revenge for James and Lily by fighting against Voldemort. But if you are standing next to him, what if a spell hits you instead? What if in trying to do them justice, I endanger you?'' he turned away, pacing again as Harry watched on in silence. ''The worst thing is,'' his godfather whispered. ''That I know very well how this can turn out. When my own parents didn't like the side I chose, I ran. They disowned me and I never saw them again, for I ran to people who **did **accept me for who I wanted to be, called them my family instead. I don't want to be the same kind of parent to you that my own parents were to me. I don't want you to feel as if you should find a new family when I am right here.'' He made a wild, hopeless gesture. ''I don't want to lose you and at the same time can't betray my own friends, Remus especially. I want to protect everyone I care for, knowing that I can't is... is…''

''Torture?'' Harry asked, understanding very well how Sirius felt. ''You think I don't know that? Every single day I help Voldemort, I think I'm doing the right thing, yet at the same time am terrified on whether it could have negative consequences for the people I care most about. You, Hermione, the entire Weasley family. I can only hope and ensure that personally, I don't do anything harmful.''

Once more, he was enveloped in a hug, Sirius' trembling arms far stronger than they looked, almost pressing the air out of his lungs. ''I want to trust you,'' the man said. ''More than anything. I don't know if I can, and I blame myself every day for that. I can only promise you that I'll try, and you are welcome in my home no matter what.''

''I trust you,'' Harry spoke, voice muffled against the man's chest, ''If I didn't, I would never have told you any of it. I'm sorry if I cannot always tell you everything, please know that I want to.''

They stood in silence for a long time, neither willing to let go. Figuring that he wouldn't get an answer and trying to hide his disappointment over that, it was Harry who broke the embrace. ''Mrs Weasley will have my head if I stay up too long in the night,'' he said, smile strained. ''I don't think she cares about who is whose responsibility while she's around anyone younger than twenty. If you have any questions, you should ask them now. If it eases your mind any, I'm not a Death Eater and honestly doubt that he'll ever mark me.''

Sirius moved back to a chair, refusing to meet his eyes. ''You sound rather sure of that. Why?''

Harry tapped against his forehead. ''I can't tell you many details, but as you know, the Marks are there to form a sort of connection so he can call his people. I have already had a similar connection since I got this scar, so it's really not necessary.''

''If you were really able to ask about that whole 'cool' thing,'' Sirius mused. ''Which I still think is absolutely wicked by the way, you must have had quite a lot of contact with him.''

''I wasn't really in France until now,'' Harry admitted. ''Nor was I last summer.''

''You were there,'' Sirius sighed. ''Of course. You were there when he returned. Let me guess, the one who caused his death in the first place needed to offer blood for a successful rebirth?''

''I don't know why I always keep forgetting that you have a solid foundation in dark magic,'' Harry smiled. ''Something about you screams 'light wizard', no matter how often you mention your past or how you dabbled in dark magic.''

''I worked hard for that image,'' the other said, something of a smile appearing again. ''My entire life. So, to get my main concern out of the way, did he force you to do anything you didn't want?''

Harry raised his eyebrows. ''What do you mean?'' he asked slowly, a fleeting memory crossing his mind of Voldemort dragging him to bed and his brief thought back then that he was about to get molested.

''He hasn't thrown some innocent Muggles at your feet and demanded you hurt them? Hasn't forced you to practise the Cruciatus curse on rabbits?'' The tone was forcibly kept light. It didn't work to conceal the very real strain. Harry pulled his head away again and looked at Sirius.

''Was that really what your parents made you do? I'm surprised that** they** didn't gather a following of bloodthirsty people. No, Voldemort didn't force me to perform magic I didn't want. Well, not after I joined him anyways, he kind of used me as a guinea pig for rituals at first because I tried to kill him.''

''You** what**?'' Sirius sat up straighter, and Harry gave a weak smile.

''Come on, did you think I just one day decided that his side was better? After I caught Wormtail, I went to hunt down the evil big dark Lord to get revenge for everything. I found him alone, ill and delusional in his half-alive state. I then kept postponing killing him, finding a new excuse each time while I got him back on his feet. Days became weeks, a Death eater joined us, I had a lot of conversations with the both of them, made a very ineffective desperate attempt to kill him and was punished a couple of times… It sure was a hell of a ride. In the end, I noticed that a lot of the things I heard about him weren't exactly true. He isn't the monster many make him out to be. I'm not saying he is good man,'' he stressed when Sirius opened his mouth and Harry knew what he was going to say. ''He started a war, killed a lot of people, grew mad at one point I'm sure. But he is trying. He is trying so hard for all our sakes Sirius, you have no idea. The Order thinks he was preparing for war? He spent **months** pouring over dusty books to set up a comprehensible legislative system. He's invested personally in my education, and I'm not only talking about dark magic. For fucks sake, in his spare time he reads Muggle fantasy books because he's interested in the concept of different moral views and he plays the violin because he wasn't allowed to play music as a kid. Voldemort is more complex of a person than anyone else I know, to reduce him to nothing more than someone who murders for fun is an unrealistic caricature of his personality.''

''That is… a lot to take in,'' Sirius whistled disbelievingly. ''Muggle fantasy books, really?''

''He has a particular fondness of Lord of the Rings. Look, I know you have a history with many dark witches and wizards. But especially you should know that they are people like anyone else, with good and bad sides.''

''Yes, and if the bad sides outweigh the good ones, they should still go to prison,'' his godfather commented, then made a frustrated noise. ''I have to give it to you that I don't personally know anything about Voldemort, having only seen him briefly in battles sometimes. You really think he doesn't murder for fun?''

Harry hesitated. ''It is… complicated. He was born with a mental condition that only let him feel basic emotions, and he learned the rest through books and by studying other people much later. After many negative experiences of people surrounding him, he also grew very resentful towards Muggles. I think that taking control back and making them afraid was one of the few ways in which he experienced anything positive back then. Throughout his life, that continued to grow and became more violent. He doesn't enjoy killing magicians, no… Muggles is a different story. Even then, I've seen evidence that he is fighting that… that** hunger**.'' Harry closed his eyes at the memory. The bloodthirst had been so overwhelming that it had been hard to even breathe. ''I have never seen him kill anyone without having a reason for it. But oftentimes, he creates a convenient reason that any normal person would be horrified at. It doesn't help that he has distanced himself so much from Muggles that he got it in his head that they are basically a separate species, little more than animals, if at all. He doesn't see them as people, I've had quite a few discussions about that with him.''

''You discussed the worth of Muggles with a Dark Lord,'' Sirius flatly asked.

''Yeah, he wasn't happy with my opinion. Still, that he lets me speak about it, that he listens to it, is already something, right?''

''So what about the war?''

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. He wanted so badly to tell Sirius that the Order was making a huge mistake. If they would attack, Voldemort was sure to retaliate, but they would be the ones starting the fight. The Dark Lord knew that more bloodshed wouldn't bring anything for his long-term plans, which was why he had hidden in the shadows for so long already. The only one gearing up to go to war was the Order. Was he allowed to tell Sirius any of that though?

''You're still in the Order,'' Harry sighed. ''And nothing you said today gives me the feeling that is likely to change. Sorry, but I also broke up in a bit of a panic today so I wouldn't be declared missing. I don't have any instructions on what I am allowed to say, so to be certain and not bring you in danger, it's best to avoid any talk about plans. What I can tell you is that the long-term goal really is a separate wizarding society, not the eradication of Muggles, Muggleborns and whatnot.''

''Even if he doesn't mind killing them. To the point of where he creates justifications for it.''

''Earlier today,'' Harry sighed. ''We stumbled across five Muggles. He wanted to kill them all as they'd seen us in full robes with wands, speaking Parseltongue and whatnot. I convinced him to let them go, which he** appreciated** afterwards. He can be cruel, and annoying, and totally self-centered, but he is also willing to change his mind and listen. I've come to** know** him Sirius. I never thought I'd ever say this, but he can be wonderful.'' Their long talks by the fireplace, the glint in those red eyes when speaking so passionately about a topic that interested him, the almost possessive grip as he'd declared his trust in Harry, the vulnerability that shone through in rare moments…

Sirius shook his head in dismissal. ''I'm sorry kiddo… I find it too hard to put that all into perspective with the image I have about that… that tyrant.'' He abruptly got up. ''If there is anything good about the entire situation we're in, it's that no matter what I think, I won't influence anything,'' the man spoke with a load of bitterness. ''As Snape loves to remind me , I am stuck in this house. Both my face and my Animagus form are too well-known by now to go outside. I'll keep silent on what I know for your sake. I ask you instead to not actively hinder the Order in our progress. Voldemort has fooled many good men and women, if he is starting a war, I doubt he'd tell you.''

Harry shook his head. ''Only shortly before, you told the others that I'm not a child. Don't try to be condescending now, I know very well when I am being manipulated or not.''

''You can't know that. Not with him, not without being a master in Occlumency at the very least.''

There were so many things that Harry wished he could say to convince his godfather otherwise. He wished to speak of the miraculous resurrection of his parents, tell about all the little details he'd learned about Voldemort while at Riddle House and how Harry could calm the man down. Most of all, he wanted to divulge in the secret that he could see in the Dark Lord's head and feel his emotions, to show that it really was not as easy to be fooled as Sirius thought. In the end, it al was left unsaid. Sirius had made his choice long ago when running away from this very home. After his best friend was murdered by Voldemort, there would be no chance that he'd ever return to that side. What was good or bad to the world didn't even really matter. Sirius didn't follow Dumbledore because he thought it was the right things to do. He might tell himself that as an extra conviction, but Sirius was in the Order for two things only: sticking up a middle finger to Orion and Walburga Black, and dragging everyone who had ever wanted to hurt James Potter down to hell. Had Harry not been caught in the middle of it and landed on Voldemort's side, he doubted that Sirius would have ever even second-guessed his choices no matter what ideals were on the playing board on either side in the end.

Harry got up from his seat. It appeared that their conversation was nearing its end. ''So, we've not made any progress since Easter, have we?''

''I suppose not.''

He closed his eyes and nodded, feeling only empty fatigue. He understood Sirius' perspective and disagreed with it, Sirius understood his and disagreed equally. It was getting tiring to discuss these points: to be swept up by a whirlwind of emotions about trust and hurt, only to end up where they'd started. Harry's opinion had once more been dismissed because his godfather didn't believe the choices he'd made were completely his own. As if Sirius was not only here by circumstance and the opinions of others.

Sirius wasn't like his parents. He would never insult Harry or force him down a specific path. Nonetheless, his godfather seemed to forget that there was more than one way to estrange loved ones. Being brushed off hurt, but he wouldn't be Harry Potter if he'd give up so easily and leave it at that. His friendship with Ron and Hermione had survived many pointless rows and so would his relationship with his godfather overcome this hurdle. Harry drew his wand and twirled it around a few times, seemingly randomly changing the topic in hopes of catching the other off guard. ''Before, it was mentioned that even a Taboo curse would not be able to find us behind the wards and Fidelius charm on this house. How is that with the Trace?''

He was thrown a wary look. ''I think you know the answer to that, why?''

Harry pretended to act shocked. ''You meant to say that I could have countered all of your pranks in April with magic and you didn't tell me? Now that is true evil. The thing is, Voldemort asked me once which magic I wished to learn. Ever since, I have been thinking about what I would really like to be able to do. What keeps shooting through my mind is becoming an Animagus. I know you and dad managed it in your fifth year already and… well, I am going to be in my fifth year too now. I was hoping…'' he trailed off, trying to judge Sirius' reaction. It was getting harder to see in the room, only a few candles still giving off light. It must be past midnight by now. Only when the man came closer again, Harry could see the cloudiness in those silver eyes.

''Becoming an Animagus? That's brilliant James! Brilliant… we could help Remus with that so much, imagine! Let's start right away!''


	43. RAB

_Harry ran. Blurry shapes chased him from every side, dark lines and burned spots racing over the tapestry on the walls all across the endless corridor he tried to escape from. Dark threads reached up, whipping in the air as he sprinted onwards, the same dusty chandelier swinging over his head every few seconds. Bursting through a dark, locked door that appeared out of nowhere, he fell down into open air, barely managing to catch himself when landing with a smack. Weak and exhausted, feeling as if every bone was broken or bruised, he kept lying on the rough stone floor he'd crashed on. _

''_A lovely place of meeting you have invited me to,'' he heard, a pair of unclad feet coming into view that he didn't recognise. Looking up, he saw a familiar face with even more familiar eyes._

''_Got so used to this form already that you use it in dreams?'' he asked as he mustered Voldemort in his disguise as a news editor. Slowly, he sat up, all muscles screaming. Dreams shouldn't be allowed to hurt so much. All those stories of pinching oneself to wake up were no more than a fairytale, the bruises and scrapes he'd just received felt as real as anything._

_Voldemort's lips twisted into a sneer ''You are the one choosing the setting this time. The fact that your mind is making this dream uncomfortable might have influenced my appearance. I despise being so human again.''_

''_Don't fret, I'm sure it's purely optical.''_

''_Hilarious. If you are starting like that, I might as well leave again.'' _

_Harry scrambled to his feet as the other turned to disappear, grabbing onto the man's long sleeves. ''No, wait!'' he exclaimed, pulling the Dark Lord back towards him. ''I didn't mean to… oh.'' He had pulled a tad more forceful than intended, winding up bumping into Voldemort's chest. ''I'm sorry,'' he muttered, quickly taking a step backwards._

''_No need, if you want me to stay so badly, I __**could**__ comply.'' Harry threw a half-hearted glare at Voldemort's smug face, unable to meet his eyes directly for longer than a second. There was a look that he couldn't place very well, and Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to either._

''_Where are we?'' he asked to turn the conversation to more comfortable territory. The stone he'd fallen on turned out to be the upper part of a massive, rectangular room, which sunk down in the middle, rows and rows of steps hewn into the floor as if for spectators. Harry wasn't entirely sure why, for in the very middle of it was nothing but an archway with a tattered black curtain. Dreams were strange sometimes._

_Voldemort stepped further into the room, descending a few of the steps. ''The Department of Mysteries,'' he spoke softly, looking back at Harry. ''You have never been here, have you? You might have pulled this image from my own memories. I've been here twice, neither time with permission.''_

''_Is it an artefact of sort?'' Harry guessed, looking at the archway, the curtain moving as if there was a draft._

''_An ancient one. None still alive know where it came from. It is said that it was found in a cave far below London, and that this room was built around it. Eventually, the Ministry was built on top. Rumours that I have not been able to confirm or reject.''_

''_So what does it do?''_

''_Difficult to say, there are a couple of theories. The only facts about this object are that those who step through from either side vanish, and that people who believe in an afterlife and have lost those close to them hear voices whispering from it. The only person who knew more was a witch brought in here shortly after the Department of Mysteries was created, back when they hadn't completely shut it off with secrecy regulations. She bowed in front of it, named it 'The Veil', then stepped through before anyone could inquire about her knowledge.''_

''_A Veil? Like in Necromancy?'' That he'd pluck exactly this out of Voldemort's mind to dream of was an uneasy thought. However, it was undeniably Harry's dream, the edges of the room were too undetailed, one wall was missing and stretched into nothingness. _

''_My thought exactly. I had hoped to find a better way to connect to the dead, perhaps ensure another way of immortality in case my Horcruxes were not enough. One of the times I was here, I tried to study it, analysed the materials with any diagnostic spells I knew back then. My only finding was that the cloth you see is not physical. It consists of a type of energy, the only energy left behind in corpses, not even magical. The arch is the dangerous part. I was unable to identify anything about it other than that it should not exist and lost interest after that as I could not use it, only stepping into this room once more afterwards during a raid at the Ministry.''_

''_I don't hear whispers,'' Harry spoke, also going down the steps, until he could climb up the pedestal on which the arch stood. ''Shouldn't I?''_

''_This is only a dream. You might have heard something when standing before the Veil in reality. As is, this is no more than a recreation of my own memories, and I lost none who were dear to me… at the time.'' The last three words had been spoken much softer than the rest, though the large room still carried them far and clear. Voldemort grimaced. ''It always comes down to death between us somehow, doesn't it?''_

''_You say that as if you aren't terrified of it.''_

_Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Harry. ''And you speak as if you are not terrified of me. You are very close to crossing the line beyond which I am not a decent person anymore.''_

_Harry thought to himself that the other had been the one to cross that line first, on a great many deal of occasions. He wisely decided against pointing that out when realising how easily Voldemort could manipulate these dreams and spin them into a nightmare far worse than Harry's own imagination could come up with. ''Right before leaving Hogwarts, Dumbledore told me that the dead should stay dead,'' Harry mused, looking up towards the archway. ''I wonder what experiences he had with them…''_

''_Enough of that,'' the Dark Lord spoke, his voice turning colder like it always did when Dumbledore was mentioned. ''I did not come here to marvel at your twisted dreams. Barty told me that despite interfering Aurors, he successfully delivered you to Étourneau's house. What happened after that?''_

''_While one was really an Auror, it turned out that he worked for Dumbledore and came to take me to the Order's Headquarters. I'm there right now. Surely, Snape will give you an update about the entire situation soon, I did not get more than a general overview.''_

''_Perhaps if you would not have blabbered to Black so much...''_

''_Then other people would have stopped me,'' Harry shrugged. ''It looks like Dumbledore updated his member policy to 'must have left Hogwarts already'. Not even those who are seventeen or eighteen are allowed to join when still a student. I'm not the only child here and they didn't get any details either over the course of the last month.''_

''_That's not much different than before,'' Voldemort spoke, leaving Harry confused._

''_Wait, I thought… my dad…''_

''_Dumbledore recruited students, true, but they were not official members. They only did work for him behind the scenes. Imagine the backlash he'd have gotten from the general public if it had become known that he was using children. Now as well, he is still trying to prepare you for some unknown task.''_

''_I must have misunderstood that then. Sirius did not deny it…''_

''_Black surely must have gotten the idea back then as well that he was playing an important role,'' Voldemort sniffed. ''He __**would**__ have seen himself as a full member. The Order also was not as organised yet back then. Have you spoken to Severus?''_

''_Not privately, only when other people were present. He's still as unpleasant as ever. Do you think you can trust him?''_

_The other hummed. ''Trust? Of course not. But I know that right now he has more to gain from working on my side than against me. I'll ensure to keep it that way. It is not as if he'd have it better with Dumbledore, he is a mere tool in the hands of the Headmaster. The only reason why someone like that is a teacher is to be kept an eye on.''_

''_Dumbledore always stressed that he believes in Snape's goodness or something like that.''_

_Voldemort laughed disbelievingly. ''We are talking about the same man here? No… no. Oh, I think he might want to let others believe it or even convince himself, but the fact that he keeps Severus away from the Dark Arts at every turn is telling enough. Why do you think he has never been allowed to teach Defence? Dumbledore has fallen into the conceit of purity: he strongly believes that deep down, you're either virtuous or evil. He labelled me evil the day we met, and thus no matter what I did, refused to give me room for forgiveness or for personal growth. It is the same for Severus.''_

''_And he believes that he is virtuous?''_

''_No Evan… the beauty of it all is that he struggles still. Dumbledore wishes to be virtuous in nature even when his own actions speak against it. The fool knows he has made grave errors, but is so stuck on this idea of good and evil, he cannot properly accept his __own__ mistakes. In his mind, there's no way to gain forgiveness from others if those errors were really serious, so he denies his own. For him, it is not logical to just apologize for doing something less than desirable and then to not repeat it like a regular person. For if he'd admit to doing something bad, there would be no path to redemption anymore. Thus, Dumbledore spends his time either hiding mistakes or proving that whatever he did was never negative to begin with. That his actions were, perhaps, for a greater good… and therefore he did not __actually do __anything wrong. But as much as he tries to wash the stains off his soul and fool himself, Dumbledore__** knows**__ that some of his actions were despicable, and that he would have condemned anyone else for it on the evil path. His greatest fear is other people discovering that too and casting their judgement.''_

''_Then I still do not understand why he keeps Snape close. If he believes only in those who are pure and those who are condemned, why keep an ex-Death Eater close? Would it not have been logical to send him to prison or something?_

''_What better way for a virtuous man to stay clean than letting those already condemned do their dirty work?''_

_Harry contemplated the words for a while. As much as he disliked the Headmaster for personal reasons, he wasn't sure if Voldemort's view was entirely accurate. ''It doesn't make sense to me… Dumbledore admitted a few times that he thinks he's made mistakes when it comes to me: by not telling me things quickly enough, and also by judging me for doing dark magic.'' Although, he thought to himself, apparently the man had told the Order not to trust Harry with information once again. He'd hoped that the last conversation he'd had with Dumbledore had established a_ _ ** bit** _ _ more trust. It did not appear so. _

''_Perhaps, but are either of those things that anyone would have condemned him for? Protecting youth and being wary of possible threats? It's not hard to gain 'forgiveness' when one virtue is replaced by another.''_

''_I... see. It does make sense when put that way. The Headmaster… when he showed me the memory of your first meeting with him, he asked me afterwards, in apparent great confusion, if I felt sorry for you. On another occasion, he literally told me that you were beyond salvation.'' It had been very disconcerting to see how adamant the professor had been to get the point across that Voldemort wasn't human enough anymore._

_Voldemort appeared on the platform next to Harry without having walked there. They stood shoulder to shoulder, the Veil waving in front of them. ''What did you say to that?''_

_Harry looked to his right, trying to judge the tone. Voldemort was tense, fingers clenching around his wand. In this form, Harry could actually see the knuckles turn white._

''_I... erhm...'' he stuttered. ''I may have blamed him for that.''_

_That answer clearly hadn't been expected, for the Dark Lord gave him a disbelieving look, threw his head back and_ _ ** laughed** _ _. ''Sometimes, Evan, I curse your unfiltered mouth. In moments like these, I'm glad that even a couple of Cruciatus curses could not curb it.''_

''_Glad that I am amusing somehow.''_

_Harry jumped slightly as Voldemort's fingers were suddenly trailing down his cheek. ''Oh, you amuse me in quite a few ways,'' the man murmured, ruby eyes glittering. ''And I am sure that you will keep doing so.'' The hand fell away before he could even react to it. ''Now, I have one more question for you… Are your summer activities safe there? Or has Black changed his mind?''_

_Harry shook his head. ''All safe.'' He rubbed his arms. ''Though I worry about him. Sirius, that is. He keeps thinking I'm my father at the strangest moments. One minute, we're discussing politics. The next, he disappears in a past where I can't follow. Could it be some sort of spell? Magical influence from the Dementors?'' Sirius had wanted to instantly start with the Animagus training, but for all the wrong reasons. It had taken Harry ages to snap the man out of it and had been terrified that other Order members would see his godfather in such a state. Sirius had been horrified when finally realising where he was and with whom, and had advised Harry to just go to bed._

''_Black was isolated for years in a place where all positivity was sucked out of him. Even without the Dementors, he was scarred by the loss of loved ones, had been betrayed by friends, and was locked up in a confined, cold space with little nourishment.''_

''_And yet he survived.''_

''_Indeed. Well, he had a few things that spoke for him. He could stave off going insane by focusing on that he was innocent in his own eyes, and by continuing to practise magic, using his Animagus form. Hardly anyone in Azkaban has that luxury. Dementors can pick up most attempts at wandless magic and punish prisoners heavily for it. Only Magic that changes the self is undetectable. Many others do not make it out as unscathed as Black did. His behaviour is mild compared to Barty's right after breaking out.''_

''_Barty is mostly fine now though,'' Harry said, looking up hopefully. ''Does that mean you know what to do against it?''_

_Voldemort raised an eyebrow. ''Of course. And considering that Black is my enemy, I will not say anything further on the matter. Don't give me that look, your godfather used to be one of the most ferocious and annoying people on the other side, first as an Order member and later as an Auror too. I am fortunate that the Ministry searches him still and that Dumbledore considers him too unstable to be let loose.''_

''_I'm not asking you to personally help him,'' Harry said, trying not to sound too pleading. ''Just a hint…''_

_He gritted his teeth when met with a disapproving stare ''I have nothing to gain from that. Now, I'm leaving… I'll check on you every once in a while. Only one more thing.'' A small, black box appeared in the man's hand. ''I did not get the chance to give you this.'' As soon as Harry took it, the room faded into itself, Voldemort disappearing with it. Only the feel of the box stayed, even after Harry opened his eyes to the cracked ceiling of the bedroom he now shared with Ron._

''What the…'' he muttered, sitting up and staring at the thing. As soon as he asked himself 'how', a memory of brine water and wet sand running through his fingers came to mind. He'd almost forgotten that baffling moment where Voldemort had forced a new law of nature into existence to send physical objects over dreams using magic. Harry felt like it was something he should not have forgotten so easily. Then again, the previous dream was also rapidly fading from his memory already, only the image of a large room, a strange arch and snippets of conversation remaining. There had been talk of Sirius and Dumbledore… The details eluded him. Sighing, Harry gave up, silently cursing dreams for being so unreliable, trying to ignore the aching in his chest as the familiar presence of the Dark Lord faded as well.

He checked if Ron was still asleep in case the package held something illegal. Soft snores broke the silence, signalling that the coast was clear. With only a hint of wariness, he removed the lid and revealed its contents: a pair of simple, round glasses much like the ones he usually wore, and a folded piece of parchment. Unsure yet about putting the new glasses on before reading whatever instructions or letter that accompanied them, Harry reached out for his regular glasses, pushing them on his nose even as he was already unfolding what turned out to be a short letter.

_As I have gathered from several of your talks with Barty, I deduced that you have never been to an optician for more than once in your lifetime. It is no wonder that you complain about being unable to read teacher's instructions at Hogwarts or that you have headaches that cannot be linked to your scar anymore. As you, for reasons that elude me, seem fond of glasses, I have taken it upon myself to figure out your current prescription and gift you a replacement instead of fixing your eyesight. If you'd rather have that option instead, the offer is still open._

There was no greeting, nor a signature. Harry's lips twitched into a fond smile. He could practically **hear** Voldemort's aggravation rising from the ink about Harry's complaints of headaches, and about liking something so Muggle as spectacles. He switched one pair out for another, almost stunned at the difference. **This** was how everyone else saw? The only experience he had with someone else's sight was when ending up in Voldemort's head, and Harry had kind of assumed that sharp sight was just another magical quirk of the man. With his old glasses, he could see alright - certainly better than the practically blind state he was in without them – but this was on a whole different level. He could make out individual hairline cracks that ran across the entire ceiling, which gave him inexplicable joy even when rationally knowing that such a thing was cause for worry.

Hurrying, Harry dressed and went to the nearby bathroom on the corridor to inspect the gift, all the while clutching the letter tightly in his fist. From a first glance in the mirror, it looked like he had his old pair on still. Only when leaning in closer and studying details, did he notice that the sides had a fine pattern of scales. Of course. As if Voldemort would ever let an opportunity go untouched to make everything more serpentine. Still, it wasn't a change that anyone else would notice, Harry thought, pleased. The frame was exactly the same shape as the previous one and fit perfectly. Of all things that he'd ever imagined receiving from the Dark Lord, glasses hadn't been on the list. His only wonder still was** why**. There had been no occasion he could think of that warranted this. For his birthday, he'd already gotten a trip to France, surely Voldemort wouldn't give** two** presents?

It turned out that it wouldn't be the only gift for that day. As Harry had been unreachable by owl in the past weeks, everyone else who'd wanted to give him a birthday present had kept it. The day started with a homemade cake as breakfast from Mrs Weasley. Soon after, he was bid to the dining room where a small pile was waiting for him. It appeared that word had rapidly spread in the morning among the Order that Harry had arrived, for not only did he receive Quidditch merchandise from Ron and a book on Animagi from Sirius, Hagrid had also pressed himself into the room with baked goods that made Harry's teeth shatter only by thinking of them. There was even a pair of mismatched, self-made socks that had appeared out of nowhere. Harry and Ron exchanged a smirk, both knowing exactly who had made those. It did give Harry food for thought, as he doubted that Dobby had been included in the Fidelius charm. There was no reason for a specific house-elf other than Kreacher to have access to Grimmauld place. Could house-elves go through the wards?

''Any plans for today?'' Ron asked as he helped Harry carry the stuff up to the bedroom.

''You tell me. I doubt there's room here to practise Quidditch or play gobstones, is there?''

''Nah. There is a pretty cool Wizarding chess set downstairs though. Sirius told me I could play with it all I want. The only one who really plays with me regularly is Kingsley, and he isn't often here, so I hope you want to have a few matches? Other than that, there isn't much to do besides talking… Your holiday must have been a lot more exciting.''

''Uhuh,'' Harry hummed, letting himself fall down on the bed and wondering what to tell Ron. He really despised having to lie to his friends, thus chose to tell what he could. ''I've done a couple of cool things. Did you know that Merlin was buried in France? Allegedly, that is.'' He went on to describe the forest and village he'd visited. Ron listened attentively – he usually wasn't so interested in 'just talking', but Harry guessed that it was better than general boredom. After saying everything he could about the trip, Harry also told parts of Lughnasadh.

''I think I remember doing that,'' Ron frowned. ''The past years we just feed the goblins more and put some fruits out, but when I was small, I think we participated in a few community harvest feats with the Diggory's and Lovegoods who live nearby. Mum and dad were never interested much in old feasts though, it was mostly to connect to the neighbours. I think we had a huge bonfire and roasted apples over it or something. It's a bit vague. If I recall correctly, we stopped attending after Lovegood had hosted a Mabon party and went completely nuts.''

''I find it absolutely fascinating,'' Harry admitted. ''And wonderful.''

Ron shrugged. ''Dunno, I also like the way we celebrate things now. Whether we have traditional magical feasts or Muggle feasts, in the end we're celebrating it pretty much the same, aren't we? Different actions maybe, but the sense of family and friendship is what is most important to me.''

''From what I've seen, there's a certain soul to magical celebrations that Muggle ones don't. Like, even the versions we have at Hogwarts of Muggle feasts aren't** really** Muggle. They don't have Christmas crackers with live mice and spells in them. I find it all a lot more lifeless in that world.'' Having grown up with the Dursleys hadn't helped either. In fear of any dirt getting into the house, they'd always had plastic, sterile decorations, and Harry had been the one who'd had to cook elaborate dinners that he never got to eat.

''I wouldn't know,'' Ron said. ''Us Weasleys have been banned from all major parties.'' He smiled forcefully. ''Blood traitors and all that. So, give me the Muggle side of things any time.'' Harry didn't have the heart to tell his friend that most Muggles wouldn't look very kindly upon wizards and witches butchering their holy feasts either.

''Hey, I found out something,'' he said, trying to switch topics. ''I know that your mum is giving the Twins hell for using magic every second now that they are of age, so please do not let her catch you…. But Sirius practically confirmed to me that no magic within this house is traceable.'' Ron's eyes widened and he stared at Harry's wicked smile.

''You mean… I do not have to clean manually anymore? Or fold laundry?''

Harry grinned and nodded. ''As long as your mum doesn't see, yes.''

Ron pumped his fist in the air and did a victory cry. ''You are my best friend in the whole damn world Harry!'' he yelled, instantly rummaging through his trunk to fish out his wand. ''Ah, sweet sweet magic,'' he sighed, then proceeded to cast a couple of simple charms just for the heck of it. ''I need to somehow hide this from Fred and George too. And Ginny. Cannot trust any of them to not be snitches and hold it over my head to tell mum if I piss them off in any way. Curse siblings. Not really, but you know what I mean,'' Ron grinned happily, tactful as always in reminding Harry of the dynamics in his huge family.

''Right,'' the teen replied, unsure of what to say. ''Would you mind if I go search for Sirius? He wanted to help me with some magic.''

''Course not. Hmm, maybe I could tell Ginny,'' Ron muttered. ''Set her up against the Twins and get her on my side with this. If I ever slip up and she figures out that I kept it from her, I'll never hear the end of it. What do you think?''

''Sounds like a plan, Ginny is terrifying when angry.'' He left Ron to contemplations of the pros and cons of divulging this 'secret' to his sister, then set out to search Sirius. After starting about Animagi yesterday, things had rapidly gone downhill, but that didn't mean that Harry was about to give up. The book he'd received today on the topic was a pretty positive indication that Sirius didn't want to leave the it as they had, and neither did Harry. Turning into an animal was fascinating magic and could be dead useful with the correct form. Harry just hoped he wouldn't turn out to be a fish. He'd never, ever swim in bodies of water again without a wand on him for protection.

Sirius could not be found in any of the rooms that had been declared 'common rooms' where all members of the Order mingled and wasn't in his bedroom with Buckbeak either. As a last resort, Harry went to the drawing room where their talk had left off yesterday. Surely, his godfather hadn't spent the night there?

''I had a feeling you would visit here,'' a voice drawled as soon as Harry shut the door behind him. A soft click indicated that the exit would be a lot harder to use now.

Harry glared at Snape, who stood in front of the tapestry, looking as menacing as he did when surrounded by bubbling cauldrons and potion fumes. Harry wished that he had his old glasses on again, so he wouldn't see Snape's ugly mug so clearly. ''What do you want?'' he asked, uncaring about politeness. Even at school, Harry only granted the potion professor the minimum amount of feigned respect needed to not constantly land in trouble. Snape had no say over him here.

It looked like Snape had other ideas about that, for he snapped: ''Inside of Hogwarts or out, you will still address me with** Sir**.''

''Fine,'' Harry spoke, gritting his teeth, then grinned. ~_Sir.~_ The way Snape's face paled instantly was worth all the detentions he might get for this.

''You are an evil little brat,'' the man breathed, stalking closer until he towered over Harry.

''And unless you suddenly stop trying to poison students' pets or ignoring bullying that goes so far that students get hurt, you are still an evil man. What do you want?'' He had not a care for the burning hatred he was met with. As much as Snape was undoubtedly twitching to do so, here Harry's cheek would not result in suffering a Cruciatus curse.

''For all your gal, you refuse to meet my eyes,'' the man mocked. Harry tried not to fall for it, his instinct screaming to glare back at Snape to defy the man.

''If that is an attempt to trick me into casting Legilimency on me, it's a poor one.'' Now more than ever, he was glad for the snake fang he wore around his neck which protected him from having surface thoughts picked up by Legilimency without direct eye contact. He wasn't entirely sure if Snape was so skilled to also be capable of that, but if the git was good enough to be confident around both Dumbledore and Voldemort, it was better to be safe than sorry.

''My my, little Potter finally picked up some knowledge about real magic.''

''If you do not tell me what you want,'' Harry said with barely concealed anger, ''Then I will break down that door by force to get out if must be. You may have the power to insult me all you want to at Hogwarts, this is my godfather's home and I'm sure he won't be pleased to hear that you cornered me.''

''Right, I forgot that you have taken to hiding behind wizards more powerful than you as of late.'' Harry clenched his jaw and turned around, fully intending on marching out, when ropes wrapped around him and he fell over. It took every bit of his willpower not to meet Snape's eyes even as he was hauled to his feet again, ropes not budging an inch. A familiar flower with gold-tipped petals was pushed under his nose. ''This,'' Snape hissed. ''Where did this come from?''

Harry arched an eyebrow. That was what Snape wanted to know? ''I thought Voldemort-'' Snape grimaced at the name, which Harry really found very funny ''explained that pretty clearly. My mother created it.''

''The dead don't come back to life.''

''You're underestimating what a Dark Lord can do. She was very alive for a few minutes. Alive enough to even use magic.'' Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, pained at the memory. His wish had brought him the most joyful and painful moment of his life in the span of a couple of minutes. When he spoke again, he could not conceal the tremble in his voice. ''If you didn't believe him, I don't know why you bother speaking to** me** about it. You've made it very clear in the past years that you don't care for anything I say or do. But know this…'' he did look up now, concentrating only on the memory of his mother and father on that fateful day, ''You should heed warnings of the dead.'' Harry felt an added presence to his mind. It was not as overwhelmingly painful as the Dark Lord's, it did not rip through his skull and leave him in shambles. Snape invading his mind was like a sharp, precise sting of a needle: there and gone in an instant.

XxX

A short dive into Potter's muddled brain had been enough, the second in which he'd seen the memory he'd wanted to was stretching a lifetime and beyond. He'd been Potter, wrapped in Lily's arms, seeing her brilliant, lively green eyes and hearing the soft whispers of her familiar voice. Snape created distance between himself and the boy, _her son_, the ropes vanishing as his concentration broke entirely, control over his own magic slipping. Only she had ever been able to accomplish that even better than all the Dark Lord's torture.

''Lily…'' he breathed, cradling the flower to his chest. All hopes and fears had been realised in that single moment. It didn't even matter that Potter was watching, all of his thoughts concentrated only on the woman he loved. The impossibility that he'd wanted to deny could be shunned no longer: no trickery or illusion could have been used. She'd been alive…. And died once more.

''You've got your answer. Can I go?''

Severus didn't care to react to that for a moment, chin still lowered to his chest, lips at the gilded flower. Only when he heard Potter let out a frustrated growl and brusque footsteps told him which direction the other was going, did he call out. As much as he loathed this stupid, arrogant boy, they **needed** to talk. ''Wait.'' Severus made sure to keep his tone as neutral as possible to not irk Potter further. It wouldn't do any good to antagonise him at the moment. He would shove his hatred aside… as long as Potter returned that courtesy. Neutrality was usually a safe ground in any conversation. ''Those words of warning…'' He supressed a shiver as they went through his mind again and again.

…_a reminder that I am__** always**__ watching, and he had better fear my wrath if he does not move on from bitterness…_

''Look, I didn't ask for my mum to involve you in any way.'' Potter started in a harsh, impolite tone that rubbed Severus the wrong way instantly. ''I'd rather she hadn't left you a message at all. I get that you had a history with both of my parents. I'd very much like to leave whatever it was in the past. I'm only at Hogwarts for another three years and don't particularly care anymore if you treat me as badly as you have till now. Don't force yourself to move past bitterness or whatever if you wouldn't do so without her words. It being forced pretty much defeats the point.''

He balled his fists, seething at the words. How dare this child! Had he really just said that Lily's wish was to be ignored by the both of them? How laughable! He rose from the floor again and glared at the boy. His mind was racing, trying to find the best approach while also analysing what he'd seen before. Plans for revenge had dissipated into nothingness. The Dark Lord hadn't lied when claiming that Lily had seen the errors she'd made in life. To think that both she and James Potter would encourage their son to stay at their murderer's side was baffling… he did not have too much time to ponder on it now, Potter was moving again, impatient brat that he was.

''Why did you join the Dark Lord?'' he asked to prevent the other from leaving. There was no doubt in his mind of the boy's true allegiances, not anymore. He may have shown himself at both the Dark Lord's house and the Order's headquarters, their Lord had staked his claim. If he'd seen so easily through Severus' own guise, surely Potter would never have been able to fool him. More than that, even this one short glimpse of a memory was enough to show that much had gone on behind the scenes without his knowledge. The Dark Lord didn't comply to requests of performing draining magical rituals for just anyone. It had been a shock to see Potter there the day before yesterday. The fate of their entire country had shifted with it. As much as he loathed to admit it, both Dumbledore's and the Dark Lord's plans had entirely different outcomes depending on whom Potter supported.

''He is the better option for our kind. He was chosen as a Lord and-''

A mirthless laugh cut off the upcoming rant instantly. ''No-one joins a side out of idealism only.'' Severus scoffed, giving him a haughty look. Did Potter really think he'd swallow such a thing? ''With how carefully Dumbledore kept you to his side before, I cannot imagine you to first have received those ideas and then ran to the Dark lord instead of the other way around. He killed your parents, tried to kill you on multiple occasions, is a danger to most of your **friends** at school. That should have been enough to never to listen to a word he says. What are your motives for following him?''

''If you expect me to spill my heart out to you of all people…''

It was highly irritating how uncooperative Potter was being. ''I need to know if you joined for foolish reasons or not,'' he pressed, speaking slowly in the hopes of getting through. Why were children always so short-sighted? It wasn't as if he'd have much choice in protecting the boy due to that cursed Vow he'd taken, so Severus had to make** sure** that Potter wasn't about to run on the first hint of violence, back to the safety of whatever coddling family Dumbledore had left him with. He realised from Potter's glare however, that his opinion of seeing nothing more than a stupid little boy before him, shone through a tad much, so he added bait. ''If you tell me, I'll tell you why Lily sent me that message.'' Ah, there was the famed hint of piqued curiosity that people always had when falling for tricks. A few seconds trickled by, after which Potter started to speak with much reluctance.

''After being introduced to this world, I only ever heard how evil Voldemort was from everyone around me. It painted the picture of a monster set on destroying everyone who wasn't likeminded. This was enforced by most teachers at Hogwarts, the wizarding families I met and to an extent even by the Dark Lord himself. At the same time, I got the idea from everyone I spoke to that it was my responsibility to handle, and was not contradicted in that thought, being praised and rewarded both times I stopped Voldemort's plans at Hogwarts. So when I saw an opportunity, I decided to destroy the Dark Lord once and for all. It all came crashing down the instant I met the man and had the chance to speak to him. I know now that good and evil are relative terms, that he has reasons for most actions that I can stand behind. So yes, idealism is actually a large part of why I follow him. As it should be in my opinion. I'm not just running to whoever I think is favourable for me at the time. I know very well that Voldemort can destroy me at any moment if he decides it is better that way. That won't make me flee to Dumbledore instead, not anymore.'' He stopped, and Severus gave him an unimpressed look once it became clear that he wouldn't receive more information.

''Come now Potter, you can do better than that. If you'd turned out to be a little Death Eater, I might have believed that was all there is to it. But you commanded his familiar, partook in a celebration granted only to his most faithful, he **defended your honour**.'' The words fell off his tongue like poison that must be spit out. The Dark Lord that Severus had had the misfortune of knowing in his youth hadn't defended anyone. Even his most loyal Death Eaters such as Crouch and the Lestranges had seen the wrong end of his wand more than once. The most gratitude they'd received had been a wisp of magic here and there. The way the man had spoken to them about Potter had been… disconcerting. As if he** cared**.

''I don't owe you anymore answers!'' the other retorted, clearly angry now.

''You did not give a satisfying answer,'' Snape responded. ''Until you do, my lips are sealed.''

''Fine! FINE!'' Potter practically shouted now, red in the face. ''You want the truth? I'm fucking DONE being used at every opportunity! Dumbledore wanted me to chase after the stone, Dumbledore wanted me to go after that Basilisk, Dumbledore wanted me to defy the Ministry! And you know what? I'd happily have done so if he'd asked me nicely! But no, I had to figure out afterwards that all of that was part of some stupid scheme to test me. At least Voldemort told me up front that he was going to put my name in the goblet of fire! I was sent off every year to 'protect' me against a threat that wasn't even pursuing me anymore even though I asked to stay at Hogwarts. I was met with ridicule and whispers everywhere the second I dared to step out of line in my role of everyone's hero. EVERYONE put their expectations on me, even YOU, Snape. Without knowing a damn thing about me, you assumed I was just like my father, never bothering to look further. Guess who did? Guess who gave me a place where I felt SAFE and WANTED!'' Potter sucked in a breath in a poor attempt to hide a sob. He took the nearest object in the room -a rather ugly statue of a witch that Black surely wouldn't mind being smashed into pieces - and hurled it at the wall. Severus didn't move an inch, too disturbed by the answer he'd dragged out of Potter. ''It was him who finally answered my questions. It was him who told me everything that had been hidden from me all of my life. IT WAS HIM WHO ACCEPTED ME. If you think that is a foolish reason, then GO TO HELL!''

Severus stared down at Potter, who was huffing in rage. He despised people who could not control their emotions, especially if they thought using curse words somehow made their points more valid. Severus swore that Potter would pay for all of this impudence when they were back at Hogwarts. And yet… somewhere deep down, the words moved him. He too, had been given a way out of the hellscape that had been his father's home. In Slytherin, especially in the service of the Dark Lord, he'd finally been able to gain an ounce of respect from all who had looked down on him before. But no, no, Potter could not relate to that. He'd grown up far from any hardships, having become famous by Lily's sacrifice and reaping the rewards of that. Special treatment, attention, sympathy… ''So, you joined purely out of selfishness,'' he stated, reaching out for ridicule to squash the uncomfortable thought of that maybe, there was more to Potter than he'd thought. He enjoyed seeing the sparking anger in the boy's entire stance. He'd never been able to rile up James like this, always being the one at the short end of the stick when it came to the bully. ''How typical,'' he sneered, starting to circle around Potter. What he hadn't expected, was for the boy to laugh at his answer. ''What,'' he snapped.

''You speak of selfish reasons? When the sole motivation for your actions in the past years has been a woman who didn't love you back?'' Balling his fists, Severus decided that Potter wasn't worth taking the bait, as much as he wanted to hex the insolent boy ''And what is worse, I don't think you ever cared as much for my mother as for your idealism of her. You pleaded for Voldemort to spare her life, uncaring about the lives of people** she** would have wanted to protect. Even now, you are not doing what she wants, you do what you want and try to peg it on her.'' Severus had had enough and raised his wand, pointing it threateningly at Potter, then halted as something occurred to him. Those words… the accusation reminded him far too much of that fateful conversation with Dumbledore. With all the self-control he could muster, he dropped his arm again. It may be time for the truth to come out.

''I vowed to protect you,'' he spoke with loathing. ''Dumbledore forced me into his servitude by making me vow to look after you, Lily's only child. Had I not known of your allegiance to the Dark Lord, it might have killed me.'' The shock on Potter's face might have derived him pleasure, were he not occupied with his thoughts. Letting the boy in on this could be dangerous, though the scales tipped in Potter's favour. Severus would not wish to be accused by a raging Dark Lord of withholding such precious information.

''Then…'' the boy continued with hesitance. ''You do not agree with Dumbledore's beliefs?'' Severus arched an eyebrow. In the current situation, he hadn't thought Potter would address that first. ''The only reason why you left the Dark Lord was because he killed my mother, and you stayed to uphold your vow?''

''Essentially.''

The boy's stance relaxed. ''That's good,'' he muttered. ''Now I also finally know the reason why despite your loathing of me, you tried to save my arse a few times. I always wondered about your motives. It all falls into place now. So… what now?''

What now indeed… he wished desperately to prove Potter wrong and listen to Lily. Yet how could he, if it meant throwing out all emotions he connected to the annoying brat, to both Harry and James Potter? Leaving bitterness behind would mean to change being who he was. Admittedly, a few words rang true: if it was forced, what was the meaning?

''Before I answer that, I want to know one more thing,'' Severus spoke. Something didn't sit well with him. Why would Potter need a place to feel safe and wanted so desperately that he'd run to the most terrifying man in the country? As soon as that thought entered his mind, other discrepancies in his idea of Potter surely being a spoiled brat flickered to life. Black, rambling a few times to the Weasleys that he wanted to apply for custody should he ever be cleared. A couple of Weasleys coming to Hogwarts instead of Potter's legal caretakers. Dumbledore, avoiding any questions from Snape about it right after Lily's death. ''Who are your guardians?''

''My magical or my Muggle ones?'' Potter asked, clearly thrown off by the question. Severus froze.

''Muggle?'' he asked, more a disbelieving repetition of the words to process them than to give an answer. Potter took it as one nonetheless.

''I don't see why it matters to you, but Dumbledore stuck me with the only family I have left.'' The tone was neutral. Far too carefully neutral and entirely unlike Potter. It was as if Severus had tunnel vision that zoomed in on all little out-of-place details. Nails dug into the palm of Potter's hand, arms twitched as if supressing the urge the cast them in front of him in protection, there was a slight hunch in his back that hadn't been there before.

Potter may as well have cast a Cruciatus curse on him.

''No…'' Severus rasped. ''Tell me he didn't give you to Petunia.''

The way Potter's eyes widened were almost comical. ''You know my aunt?''

Severus didn't answer. The way Albus had avoided all questions apart from a 'he is safe and protected'… Of course the old fool had put him with Petunia Evans. Hadn't the Headmaster once spoken of his theories on the 'power of love'? Severus had ignored it back then, casting it aside as the ramblings of an old man. Lily had sacrificed herself for her son. Petunia was her only living blood-relative. Severus balled his fists, striding past Potter and exiting the room, feeling as if he was suffocating.

Petunia… a nasty girl through and through. Jealous, filled with hatred for everything she could not obtain. She's been the reason that Lily hadn't been able to make any friends besides Severus. She'd attempted to isolate Lily, had hurt her, rejected her… all because of magic. Acid rose in his throat. He knew all too well how Muggles could be, it was the main reason why he'd joined the Dark Lord in the first place.

_Shattering plates at the wall, shouts that shook the room as Severus tried to creep into a corner, large hands that dragged him back, pain,_ _ ** pain** _ _._

His carefully crafted mind was falling apart. Severus was the last person to admit that he cared about children in general, and he'd never have applied for a teaching position if it hadn't been forced upon him. Choice or not, he was a teacher now, and taught in the only way he knew, usually by shouting at those dunderheads when they messed up to ensure they didn't repeat their mistakes. It was worlds apart from the senseless violence caused by those who were supposed to give one a home. There was no doubt in his mind of the person Petunia Evans would have grown up to be. The person that Lily's child, a child he'd sworn to protect, had been raised by.

It was a miracle that Potter had survived.

This changed everything. As quickly as he could, Severus left Grimmauld place behind him to be alone with his thoughts, without those green, accusing eyes on him. One thing was absolutely clear… Dumbledore had lost Potter the moment he'd handed him over to that woman.

XxX

''What just happened?'' Harry muttered to himself. The door that had flown open for Snape didn't give any answers. Deep in thought, Harry sat down on one of the armchairs. So, Snape knew Aunt Petunia… Harry slapped his forehead. Snape and his mum had been childhood friends, surely Petunia had lived in the same house as Lily had. From the way his professor had reacted, Snape finally had an accurate idea of how amazing Harry's childhood had been. Apparently, Petunia hadn't been much different when she'd been a kid… If this development was for better or for worse remained to be seen.

Harry was mostly glad to finally have some answers that Voldemort hadn't been able to give. Snape had said he'd made a vow to Dumbledore, and not having known that Harry was on Voldemort's side could have led to his death. Barty had mentioned an unbreakable Vow once, perhaps that was what Snape had used? It explained a lot. The way Snape had attempted to save him on several occasions had been very strange considering that Harry** knew** the man hated him through and through.

That didn't mean that he was happy about having to deal with Snape in the first place. Harry had become rather good at avoiding the man and suffering through Potions in silence. He was even pretty sure that he'd drop the course after fifth year no matter what his OWL grade in it would be. Hopefully, the potion master running away was a good sign of that he wouldn't bother Harry any further until returning to Hogwarts. Why couldn't his parents have left a gift and encouraging words for Sirius instead?

Speaking of Sirius, Harry still didn't have a clue where his Godfather was. He** thought** he'd checked everywhere in the currently liveable part of the house except a few private rooms. As Sirius wasn't allowed to go outside, his ideas were running out. Then, an idea struck him. Maybe Sirius was trying to avoid other people again and had gone upstairs, to the upper stock that hadn't been touched yet by Molly's cleaning rage. Sirius' old bedroom was there. Considering that Sirius fell back into past memories rather often, it wasn't unfathomable that he'd search out the place he'd holed up in before leaving this place behind.

Casting all thoughts of Snape out of his mind, Harry got up and continued his search, going up a narrow flight of stairs until reaching the topmost landing. It only led to two doors, which explained the high ceilings across most of the third floor. The first one was clearly Sirius', through the half-open door Harry could see gold and red banners covering the walls. When pushing the door open however, his godfather was nowhere in sight. Disappointed, and not wishing to snoop in the man's personal belongings, Harry was about to turn around when his eye fell on the other door. There, a sign hung:

"_Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black_"

With bated breath, Harry went closer. Behind here lay the domain of Regulus, a man he'd only heard vague hints about from Sirius and Nagini, both telling an entirely different story. From what little Sirius had revealed, he thought of his younger brother as a foolish idealist who had gotten in over his head into the war by becoming a Death Eater and gotten himself killed. According to Nagini however... Whispers of _Regulus_ in Voldemort's voice sounded through Harry's head, almost as loud as Harry's beating heart. Did he dare...?

The doorknob was old and rusty, giving way with a screeching sound as it turned. Stepping over the threshold, Harry was met with the absolute antithesis of Sirius' bedroom. The Black family crest was painted on one wall, snake motives in silver slithered over another, spells still active even after such a long time. They circled around what looked like a collage of newspaper clippings. When Harry studied them, he saw they were all about Voldemort, painting the story of his rise to power. Only a single one actually held a picture of the man himself, slightly blurry and far away, as if the reporter who had taken it had been running for his life. Despite the quality, it had been placed dead centre. From the dates on it, Harry could see that Regulus had already been obsessed with the Dark Lord's revolution since barely starting Hogwarts.

The rest of the room was disappointingly empty. Apart from the dust-covered bed, there were only a couple of heavy-looking closets, a vanity and an old drawer set. There were no shelves with trinkets on the walls, no books or other paraphernalia placed atop the vanity... Stepping foot in here to begin with felt a bit like trespassing. Harry wasn't sure if he could bring himself to actually rummage through. He glanced towards the open door. It didn't sound like anyone would come up here anytime soon... He wrangled with his own curiosity, knowing from the start that he would ultimately lose. Had Regulus been just anyone, Harry would have walked out of here in an instant. Knowing that this was one of the few people who'd been able to bring forth positive emotions in the Dark Lord to the point of having had a relationship, changed the situation entirely. Trying to make as little ruckus as possible, Harry carefully opened one of the two closets first, wand at the ready in case anything was cursed. Ron** had** been strangled by robes after all.

Nothing happened, and Harry was disappointed to find indeed nothing but old robes. The second closet was more promising: it served as a book case, and as his fingers brushed a few of the spines clean, Harry mouthed the titles that captured his interest: _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World, __Bestiarium Magicum__, Confronting the Faceless, The Decline of Pagan magic, Sub-Aquatic Botanical Mysteries, A Druid's tale_... It appeared that Regulus had held an interest in the world around him and the history of magic. Well, that and an obvious pureblood complex, Harry saw as he reached a corner that was crammed with books about Genealogy, notable magical names and biographies of Pureblood witches and wizards.

He was just about to close the doors when his eye fell on a line of thin books in various colours that seemed to belong together and had no titles to speak of. With a healthy wariness that came with handling books in a house full of Dark Arts, Harry tapped one to see what would happen. After a few seconds of silence went by and nothing happened, he grabbed one of the books and slowly took it from the shelf. It appeared harmless, though the cover was as blank as the spine. Letting it fall open towards the middle, he took a peek inside.

_August 4, 1976  
Summer is quiet without Siri here. I still can barely believe that he left home last month. Mother's rage has calmed somewhat, and father has ceased all attempts of contact. I've heard he went to the Potters. Not surprising really, those Gryffindors corrupted his ideals through and through. Mother was right, Siri has forgotten that family is the greatest virtue in this world. I am torn on what to do. My parents declared him no longer family and burned him off the family tree. Did they not preach the evening he left that blood matters before all? He has the same blood running through his veins as I do. He is still my brother..._

_August 19, 1976  
Mother is infuriating me! Here I was, trying to study for the upcoming year and now that isn't good enough anymore either! It is as if she's obsessed with me working double as hard now that she only has one son left. What good does it do to practise curses on whatever Muggle she drags in next if I cannot pass my exams? _

_August 23, 1976  
I never realised how much I needed Siri... Whenever we both broke the rules, he insisted on taking the blame. How many times did I go up to my room while he got punished? I don't even know what I thought happened back then. Maybe more of mother's shouting, a slap on the wrist... My brother always found the courage to talk back even louder the next time. After I told Mother what I thought of her 'training', she went absolutely mad. I haven't been hexed so much in my entire life. I don't have Siri's courage, nor can I turn my back on everything. I need to find a way to appease mother, show her that I am still who she raised. I'll make my parents proud so I will never have to be punished again. _

Harry closed the diary, disturbed by what he'd read, and looked up to the shelf, where at least seven more similar-looking notebooks stood. He took them all out and quickly flipped through. As he'd thought, each diary corresponded to a year, from 1972 to 1979. In quite a few, there were many empty pages left at the end in years that Regulus hadn't written much. Only a few, like the one in his hand, were filled almost completely. The very first entry of collection of diaries was on the first of September, 1972, and described Regulus' arrival to Hogwarts in detail, spanning multiple pages of all the impressions of an excited 11-year-old. One quick calculation later, Harry glanced at the one of 1978, figuring that Regulus and Voldemort had most likely been together when Regulus had been of age. It did make him wonder when the betrayal had happened. He could vaguely recall from the Black tapestry in the drawing room that his death had been marked in 1979.

Unable to resist, he took the one from 1978 in his hands and leafed through it, stopping at a random page.

_November 19, 1978  
I finally understand why people say that death by frostbite is bliss. I would gladly wander the poles to recreate what I had today. It felt like an arctic storm, biting and stinging, my ribs cracking under the pressure of his hard, icy arms as he thrust his-_

Harry slammed the book shut, very aware of the blood that had rushed to his face, cheeks hot with embarrassment. He only had himself to blame of course, there was a reason why diaries were private. After some debate, the teen still decided to take them with to his bedroom. He felt a strange connection with Regulus. Perhaps because they'd both been close to Sirius, perhaps because of Voldemort, Harry couldn't really tell. He was mostly fascinated about how someone who had been so worshipping could have changed his mind in such a short time. If Regulus and Voldemort had still been..._ intimate_ at the end 1978, he couldn't imagine what had all happened after. Then again, Harry had also basically switched sides within a month.

He had a last look around, figuring that whatever was in the other drawers could wait until he was finished reading the diaries -especially if there were more entries like the one of before, which he would most certainly skip-. _~Goodbye~_, he whispered to the moving snakes on the walls, taking the small stack of books in his arms.

**THUD. THUD.**

A loud sound made him look up in alarm. Had he knocked something over? No, that couldn't be, he hadn't even moved... The thudding was repeated and Harry, distressed about someone finding him here, taking diaries that he probably wasn't supposed to have, tried to locate the source as fast as humanly possible. Dumping the books on the bed for now, he crossed the room with quick steps. The vanity was shaking, and the loud noises appeared to come from the drawers. Harry pointed his wand at them, then quickly drew both open at once, prepared to counter anything that would jump in his face.

The sounds stopped. The drawers were filled with all sorts of antiquities: silverware, jewellery, strange objects... Harry somehow doubted that all of this had belonged to Regulus. Was this one of Kreacher's hiding spots to counter Mrs Weasley's purge? Harry's eyes were drawn to one object in particular, an emerald-encrusted locket. A very** familiar** locket.

It was the same one that had hung around the neck of Merope Gaunt in one of the memories Dumbledore had shown him. Her father had dragged her over to the Ministry worker by the chain, almost choking her while proclaiming it had belonged to Salazar Slytherin.

As Harry's hand hovered over the innocent-looking object, he could feel dark magic, hanging thick in the air. He knew this magic too… it was the same that ensnared him each time he came close to the Dark Lord. Harry took a step back, breathing heavily. This had to be another Horcrux, he was sure of it. He'd seen many others last year during rituals in which he'd had to connect to them. Then, Voldemort had always been there, watching in case anything went wrong, as they were volatile pieces of magic with a mind of their own. Tom Riddle's diary was a prime example. It appeared that they could only be supressed when another mind was present, as was the case with both Harry and Nagini.

Hesitant though he was to touch it, Harry was aware of that leaving it here wasn't an option either. Who knew when these rooms would be cleaned out as well. With Sirius' attitude of wanting nothing to do with most objects in this house, it could well be that the Horcrux would callously be sold or thrown away. Only one real option remained: he had to keep it safe until the next time he'd see Voldemort again. Putting it in his trunk was not going to work though. From experience, he knew that Horcruxes would somehow end up in the hands of someone who'd actively use it if they had the chance. It may well be that it had been this thing that had lured him into Regulus' bedroom in the first place, just like he had been the one to find Riddle's diary after Ginny's failure in flushing it down the toilet.

Decision made, Harry grabbed the chain, figuring that merely touching it shouldn't do any harm. It had ended up here somehow. Regardless if it had been Regulus or Kreacher's doing, someone other than Voldemort had touched the locket before, significantly reducing any danger of possible curses taking effect now. The metal was cool beneath his fingers as he cradled the vessel. Had that just been his imagination, or had the chain moved, now snugly wrapped around his fingers…? Casting that thought aside, he put it around his neck and slipped the locket beneath his robes. Thankfully, the collar of standard robes was high enough, and the chain long enough, that even the gleaming links were largely out of sight.

Wasting no further time, Harry gathered the books again and left the room, closing the door behind him.


	44. Insomniac

Morning was slow to dawn on Grimmauld place. The sun could not pierce the already sparse windows, most of which had been marked by age, stained so black that even Mrs Weasley's most powerful scourging charms had been unable to clean them. The absence of light was added to by the absence of sound. Though there had to be numerous Order members downstairs in the makeshift common rooms, not even the echoes of their voices carried to the floors above, swallowed up by heavy carpets and tapestries that covered every inch of surface area. Because of this, the more or less permanent residents usually woke late.

One exception to this was Harry, who sat under his blankets, wand lighting up squiggled letters on the pages of the diary he was reading. Several days had passed since he'd first gone to Regulus' room, and ever since, he'd been unable to have a good night's sleep. His dreams were so fitful that he woke multiple times at night, so he'd taken to using that to read. Harry had already gone through two of the diaries in the past six nights, which had described Regulus' first year and half of the second. They hadn't held much of note, and only gave a glimpse into the life of an average teenager.

After the first impressions of Hogwarts, entries had been sporadic and more boring than Harry had hoped for. Regulus had described a few of the friends he'd gotten and how they'd met, made note of some trouble others got into, complained about teachers, petty things, and being ignored by Sirius, and at one point started to use the diary as a homework planner instead. He hadn't needed to worry about curses or monsters, and it showed. At eleven and twelve respectively, it didn't look like Sirius' younger brother had had much to worry about yet. The political climate didn't concern him as a Pureblood, and wasn't mentioned apart from a few remarks on Sirius' Mudblood friends. Harry wasn't even sure who was meant with that. To his knowledge, all of the Marauders were half-bloods at least. Even the holidays had appeared to be relaxing. Sirius got in trouble, Regulus was held up as an example of the perfect son, which only seemed to bother the boy minimally. Harry couldn't completely fault him for it, it was clear that parental approval and pride wasn't something to shun easily, certainly not in a society that was entirely built upon the idea that one could only trust family. Harry decided to only read a couple more entries before waking Ron.

_2\. January, 1974  
The house is in absolute chaos still after the festivities. I don't understand why half of the family bothers us afterwards too. I'm glad to be home of course, but seeing mother so stressed out isn't making it easier. Having Kreacher on my side is a blessing when I want to get a breath of fresh air without my parents knowing about it. I like that elf, I shouldn't forget to buy him a birthday present again. Father warned me last year against treating elves like people, but I don't see why that means I can't give him anything. The old muggle woman down the street also gives her dogs presents. And elves are so much better than dogs!_

_3\. January, 1974  
Splendid, I was able to make a trip to Diagon without anyone noticing. Well, Siri saw me, but he isn't going to rat me out I'm sure. I wish he would speak to me again. Did I already write about the latest obscenity he brought into the house? Posters of Muggle girls! Unmoving pictures of scantily clad Muggles on those two-wheeled vehicles called bikes. Mother almost screamed the roof off. Naturally, I think my brother only put those things up to annoy her, there is no way that even Siri is actually attracted to animals… I'll be glad when it is the day after tomorrow and I can return to Hogwarts again to escape the conflict._

_5\. January, 1974  
Merlin, I still cannot wrap my head around what happened. At the moment, I am sitting in the Hogwarts express with my friends, who are all sleeping, exhausted from staying up all night. I'm dead tired too, but there are so many thoughts buzzing in my head that I can't find sleep. At two hours to midnight, my parents gave me a travel cloak and a piece of paper with an address to floo towards. What I could never have expected, was to find myself amidst the ruins of an old castle on the moors, with dozens of people waiting in its centre, my friends amongst them. Then, he appeared, the Dark Lord, as amazing and powerful as I've been told. He spoke of the injustices we face, of taking back our world from Muggles, of blood mattering once more. I saw magic far beyond anything I've experienced before, images painting the sky. I never expected him to be so… relatable. He is so angry at how the world around us has been shaped by our ancestors to please those who come to us from the Muggle world. With him at the top, we finally wouldn't need to hide anymore, we could be free to rule over Mugglekind! I have seen myself how blood-traitors and Mudbloods can gain even the pity of someone as pure as my own brother. He doesn't see their lies and falsities. I have a lot to think about now…_

A loud yawn startled Harry, who had been engrossed in the first entry that actually showed any of Regulus' thoughts on Voldemort. Knowing Ron was awake and not wanting to be caught doing anything strange, he extinguished his wand, turned around and switched the diary out for the first book he could find – Analysing Animagi, the book he'd received from Sirius – to not make Ron suspicious.

''Mornin''' his friend groggily said. ''Lumos.'' The only source of light in the room, an old table lamp, lit up. Ever since Harry had revealed that using magic was fair game in this house as long as no adults other than Sirius saw it, Ron had been using it constantly. ''You reading again?'' the other commented after putting his wand away with a fond smile, sounding surprised. ''Are you even getting enough sleep?''

''Hmm, interesting book,'' Harry spoke. It was true. While the diaries had kept him up at night, during the day he'd spent a couple of hours devouring the pages of this particular book, which not only described the process of becoming an Animagi, but also held many tales from people who had succeeded in the past… or tried and failed.

''I noticed you've been caught up in it for a while now, what's it about?''

''Animagi. I figured it would be cool to learn how to become one, and Sirius wats to help me achieve it.''

Ron gaped at him. ''That sounds amazing!''

''Yeah… doesn't look easy though, I'm not sure how he or dad managed while at school.'' Harry flipped a few chapters back to look once more at the process. ''Have to hold a mandrake leaf in one's mouth for a month, possibly repeating that a couple of times when there is no clear moon at the end of the month, brew a complicated potion, chant a spell every single day until a lightning storm arrives and then spend 24 hours being awake and chanting nonstop. Honestly, being able to change into an animal at will is wicked and all, but it sounds nigh impossible to achieve while at school with regular classes. Can you imagine if the very last day of the entire process, where you have to chant constantly, we'd have double potions or so and Snape just drags me out of my room? You can't exactly plan for the next lightning storm to fall on a Sunday.''

Ron whistled at that. ''Sounds like one hell of a ritual. But hey, you managed the Triwizard Tournament! So what if you might have to do it all over again if it fails at the end? You can just keep going and try again. With your godfather telling you a couple of tricks maybe, I doubt you can do anything wrong.''

Harry considered that. The entire thing sounded incredibly dangerous. One little mistake and one could end up trapped in a mixture of forms for all eternity. Then again, Ron was right in that Sirius was there to guide him. Messing up the potion would be the least of his worries. And if that was so, he really could just spend more time on it if he was forced to start over. ''Hey, you don't happen to want to try it together, do you?'' Harry asked.

''You mean, you want me to become an Animagus too?'' Ron laughed, sounding a bit disbelieving. ''Not sure if that isn't out of my league… Transfiguration is one of my worst subjects.''

''You got a lot better,'' Harry encouraged Ron, getting excited about the idea himself. ''You had a bad start in first year because of your wand, but ever since getting a new one you haven't received worse than an Exceeds Expectations in any practical tests. It's the theory that gets to you. I'd feel much better knowing that you were watching my back while I try even more dangerous rituals.''

''Maybe… What about 'Mione?''

Harry grimaced. As much as he the girl loosened up a bit on her love for rules over the past years, Hermione had certain principles still. ''Not that I don't want to include her, but I have the feeling that she would force us all to register and… well, I honestly do not see the point of having an awesome second form if everyone can look up what I am. That kind of defeats the point.''

''You're right,'' Ron agreed. ''Especially with the amount of enemies you managed to gather, having a secret identity is the best bonus you could get. Imagine You-Know-Who showing up and then you just peck his eyes out when you turn into a giant eagle!'' Harry started snickering at the idea. He had the feeling that Voldemort would pluck him alive if he attempted that. Ron was onto something though, using it as a secret form to fool enemies wasn't such a bad idea. It would be infinitely easier to escape the Dursley's house next year if he could pull off being an Animagus, providing that he got a practical form.

It was annoying that one couldn't know one's form until the very end. The first transformation was at the end of the process, and while the book described that some mages had dreams before about the animal they would be, it wasn't guaranteed. ''It would completely suck to put a load of work into it and then turn into a fish or so.''

''Oh, I don't know. As a fish I could jump into the pond in my backyard and hide indefinitely from Fred and George if they want to prank me again. No chance anyone will find me, much less recognise me. And hey, if a heron comes to scoop me up, I can transform back before being eaten alive!'' Ron said, enthusiastically waving his arms as he mimicked being unsuccessfully eaten by a heron.

''Such positive thoughts,'' Harry dryly commented.

Ron got up from his own bed and let himself fall on Harry's, leaning over to look at the book as well. ''Imagine, having a large secret together that no-one in Hogwarts must find out! We could sneak out with the invisibility cloak again, find a room where we can practise. Is there any practise involved?''

''Not really, sorry. We have to be careful about brewing this potion absolutely right though, and gather some ingredients, like dew that has not been touched by human feet for at least seven days. With how large the Hogwarts grounds are, I suppose we could gather some near the edge of the Forest or so, where student nor teacher usually goes. Making it look unsuspicious is a different story. Even when being invisible, we need excuses to be absent early in the morning to gather dew.''

Ron stroked his chin. ''Hmm, still exciting enough,'' he decided. ''Trying to keep this from Hermione will be a massive task by itself.''

''Yeah… I'll go and try to find Sirius again to talk about it. He's been strangely absent whenever I tried in the past days. He's told me that he can't go outside, so he must be** somewhere** in the house, and his Animagus form also isn't exactly hard to miss.''

''Strange, what reason would he have to avoid you?''

Harry frowned. Sirius had many reasons to avoid him at the moment, the massive wall standing between them being their beliefs on who should emerge victorious in this hopefully-not-a-war. He highly doubted that Ron would understand, having no context whatsoever, so he merely shrugged. ''I'll try to talk to him right after breakfast, before he can slip away again. Here, have a look at the book while I take a shower.''

He went to the bathroom and undressed, thinking of nothing in particular until his hand grazed the locket. Halting, the teen held the trinket up and gave it an uncertain look. It probably was best to take it off, to not damage the metal or risk the emeralds coming loose. But the more he thought of taking it off, the more he felt as if his throat constricted. From the corner of his eyes, in the mirror, he could have sworn that the chain had moved on its own. He wished that he'd have a dream with Voldemort again to tell the man of it. The many restless nights had kept him from doing so. He'd even debated whether or not to take the risk of pulling the two-way mirror out that Barty had given him last winter. No, it wasn't worth the risk of discovery. Once he was at Hogwarts, he could try that if he still hadn't had another dream. He thus showered with the locket dangling on his bare chest, unable to bring himself to take it off in the end. He couldn't let such an important object out of his sight, not even here.

After, Harry quickly dressed in a plain t-shirt and rough jeans. Both items had belonged to Dudley until Harry had received them when he'd been eight. He'd finally grown into them, although he'd had to magically lengthen the trousers and shirt a bit to fit his height. Oddly, the teen never regarded his Muggle clothing negatively. He'd never liked having only received Dudley's broken toys, but there was nothing wrong with these clothes. Dudley had always wanted new things, which was why Harry had received most items in pretty good condition by the time that Dudley was old enough to clearly communicate that. He hadn't been able to wear those until much later of course, making do with the tattered, worn-down shirts from when his cousin had been younger, basically until starting Hogwarts. Now though, he could finally use all those that had been relatively untouched which Harry had stowed away, first in his room and later his trunk. In all honesty, he'd rather forgotten about his style of clothing until he came downstairs and the old guy with always-smoking-pipe remarked:

''Hey, Potter. How come you always look like a Muggle?''

Being rather caught off guard at the sudden question, especially since he hadn't conversed much before with Mundungus Fletcher, he failed to reply before Mrs Weasley scolded the man.

''Leave the boy alone! He's used to this from home, aren't you dear?'' Then, she gave his clothes a critical look. ''Though you** could** do with some more colour. Maybe this Christmas, your pullover will be brighter. What do you think?''

''Erhm, sound great Mrs Weasley,'' he spoke. He honestly didn't care what colour she made it. That she made him a pullover as she also did for all of her children was so touching that he wouldn't have complained if she only gave him chestnut brown ones like Ron's for the rest of his life. ''Where is the rest?'' he asked, looking around at the table and seeing only a handful of people who had come down for breakfast, which appeared to just have been served. Had he and Ron not come down now, he imagined Mrs Weasley to have called for them in a minute. After the night shifts, most people devoured breakfast here before quietly returning home or to work. As breakfast was always served around 10:00 am, those who worked at the Ministry and thus started early, had taken to popping in for an early lunch break. At the moment, only Fletcher, Sirius and the usual Weasleys minus Arthur were there apart from himself. Without a word, Sirius took a folded up Prophet that lay on the table and threw it at Harry.

''Catch and read,'' he said, as Harry plucked it out of the air. Giving Sirius a wary look, the teen spread it out on the table, his heart jumping a bit when reading it.

** _Hidden horrors revealed by Beauxbatons Champion!_ **

_Not long after rising to the top of her country by winning the Triwizard Tournament, Miss Fleur Delacour has admirably used her newfound position for charities, sponsorships and aid, as reported last month. All of those had significant impact, yet none so much as the tearful story shared with your reporter three days ago._

Harry silently commended Voldemort on thinking of moving the time the interview had supposedly been held at, it would have been quite suspicious to publish it right after the chaotic revelation of Voldemort's return. Harry's only concern was that not enough time would be left. The beings and beasts in the room had made a deal with Voldemort for action within one month as of that day as opposed to the three that the Dark Lord had wanted to influence the political climate among magicians. Now, almost a week more was gone from that timespan.

_Miss Delacour, revealed to be part-Veela during the Tournament, had a scheduled interview to talk about her latest choice to financially support a facility for mental care of various beings. When asked why this was so close to her heart, the conversation took an unexpected turn. ''My grandmother never had this before,'' Miss Delacour said. ''I wish dearly that she had had the opportunity to access such a facility back when-'' The Champion broke off here, and almost called the rest of the interview off until your faithful reporter managed to calm her. In a shocking reveal, it turns out that Miss Delacour's grandmother, Séraphine Delacour, was kidnapped during her youth and taken to a place only known as 'the Cages', to be sold off to bidders. This was instantly followed by Miss Delacour informing me that this was not an isolated case, and that many beings have suffered the same fate since. Yes, you are reading this right, ladies and gentlemen! Against the internationally recognised Being-Ownership-Ban from 1830 that protects the rights of intelligent Beings plus the exceptions of Centaurs and Merpeople, a group of wealthy wizards and witches from various countries has set up a trade system. Plucked from all over Europe as younglings, Beings are sold and kept in captivity with few managing to escape this life._

_To bring you full accuracy on this story, the Daily Prophet put an overnight team at work to find out more based on several names and stories that Miss Delacour could provide us with. Read more about these individual stories on page 2 to 5. Reader discretion advised, images may be frightening for young children._

_As last words on the situation, miss Delacour calls us all to action: ''Now that this is out, I hope that some good will come of it. I realise that many might not care for the fate of other races, but these are thinking, breathing people deserving of their rights. Men and women from all over Europe have broken the law and abuse those they think are beneath them daily. Do not let them get away with this. If enough people call for justice, it is my firm belief that justice will be delivered.''_

Harry was about to turn the page when Molly snatched the paper away. ''You shouldn't look at the other pictures dear,'' she said with a nervous smile. ''They are quite… horrifying. I'm shocked that they were allowed to print them.'' He didn't protest, Voldemort had already described the contents of Fleur's envelope vividly enough. If the pictures were anything like the abused Muggleborns he'd received images of himself, he could do without. Ron was not so silent about it.

''Mum! It said 'frightening for young children,' we're fifteen! Besides, can you really say that Harry hasn't seen horrors before? Have you forgotten that he saved Ginny from a Basilisk by stabbing it with a **sword**? In the **throat**?''

Mrs Weasley gave Harry a look that could only be described as pained. ''I… I know… I… you shouldn't need to see** more**,'' she almost pleaded. As heart-breaking as her whisper was, the teen steeled himself. Sirius hadn't defended him during that first meeting for nothing. He had seen too much already to really be considered a child, and it would be counterproductive to shy away now.

''It sounds important to know,'' he spoke, holding out his hand again. ''I know Fleur, she would never have called out for help if the situation wasn't desperate.''

With trembling fingers, the woman let go of the paper so Harry could leaf through the rest. That the pictures were black-and-white did nothing to conceal the awfulness it showed. A grainy shot of the auction room, a stripped-down woman being forced to kneel on the podium as she screamed into the camera, fangs visible. A thin centaur fowl with too many scars to count lying in a cramped cot, breathing heavily. A ring where two werewolf cubs were engaged in a dog-fight, spurred on by gleaming whips. Each photo came with its own story, and many other stories followed that were not accompanied by visuals.

''To answer your question of before, the Order is up in arms,'' Sirius spoke at last. ''Trying to find out what is true about this. It seems that Dumbledore had no knowledge of an operation going on as described and certainly not about involvement of any British politicians as is mentioned in one of the stories. Our priority lies in blocking Voldemort's plans, but we cannot ignore such an outrage. We're still gathering information first while trying to see whether or not the various Ministries take official action. Sadly, I doubt they will since it is mainly werewolves and other dark creatures who appear to suffer.''

''The Order will act?'' Harry asked, surprised. That had been unexpected. He'd thought that Dumbledore's organisation would only support Light causes.

''We'll see about that,'' Mundungus sniffed. ''It all sound suspicious to me. This has supposedly been going on for centuries and** now** they're all coming out with stories? I think that there is a lot of scum that wants to distract us from the fact that their buddy You-Know-Who is back. Most are stronger, heavier and faster than us humans, you really think that all of them just got 'caught'? I don't trust any dark creatures as far as I can throw 'm.''

Sirius slammed a fist on the table, interrupting Fletcher, his face entirely red. ''I won't have that sort of talk in my house!'' he barked, enraged. ''How **dare** you say that while Remus puts his life on the line for all of us!''

Fletcher reeled back and started muttering: ''Remus! Well, but Remus isn't **really** dark, is he? He maybe has a werewolf problem, but he's a light wizard still. Surely, he's an exception.''

Harry threw the man an incredulous look. ''You think that the people who kidnap and sell werewolf children make a difference between those who are light and dark magicians during the rest of the month? You can't honestly say that you think they deserve this.''

''Not** deserve** no,'' Fletcher spoke, eyes flicking left and right, the hostility around the table had clearly been unexpected. ''I'm just saying that they might be exaggerating a little to better their standing.''

''You have lived through a war led by a Dark Lord, Dung,'' Harry's godfather spoke, his voice icy. ''You know what horrors humans are capable of.''

''Dark witches and wizards, yes! And dark creatures! They describe well-known politicians and even a philanthropist here as having to do with this, I can't believe it!'' He stood, angrily extinguishing his pipe with a dirty piece of cloth. ''I see when I am unwelcome, I hope that all of you have more sense next time I am around. I don't understand why you all suddenly take the word of the Prophet for granted; they write drivel half of the time.''

The tension left the room with Mundungus Fletcher, Sirius lowering himself on his chair again, glaring at the door. ''I hope no-one else has a problem with werewolves?'' he harshly asked, squinting at most of them. Neither Harry nor Ron were subject to his scrutinising look, most likely since they'd aided Professor Lupin before.

''Of course not,'' Mrs Weasley spoke. ''Right, boys?'' the tone was even sharper than usual, but it had been unnecessary. Bill maintained respectful relationships with Goblins and other beings, and Fred and George instantly started defending Lupin as one of the best Defence teachers they'd ever had.

''When the news first came out, I couldn't believe it,'' Ginny finally piped up. ''I think it helped that we got to know Professor Lupin as a human first without prejudices getting in the way. I admit that, had I known first that he was a werewolf, I might not have taken the time to get to know him. I only ever heard of them as bloodthirsty… you-know-what. I think that Professor Lupin greatly changed the minds of most people he taught. He didn't only teach us Defence, but also acceptance.''

''Well-said,'' Harry smiled. ''I always liked the talks I had with him over a cup of tea. Where is Professor Lupin now?'' he asked Sirius, who shrugged.

''Missions, trying to convince other werewolves that siding with Voldemort would not be ideal for them. He didn't keep any of his promises the first time around either.''

''I thought promises are usually kept after winning?'' Harry enquired coolly. ''As far as I know, he didn't win the war before dying.'' Judging by the raised eyebrows he got, he was the one with the unpopular opinion at the table now, but he didn't care much. Not everything was the fault of the evil Boggart-like Voldemort they'd all created.

''I **guess**,'' Sirius replied, looking slightly pissed off as he attacked his egg on toast.

In an attempt to deescalate the situation, Harry nudged Ron and asked: ''Hey Sirius, Ron and I had something we wanted to talk to you about after breakfast. To do with the book you gave me…'' This captured his godfather's interest, Sirius' mood changing instantaneously, a far more youthful and delighted expression appearing on his face.

''I didn't think you would still want… Of course! Wo needs breakfast?'' he said, jumping up. ''Let's go now!''

''**You** need breakfast,'' Harry sternly said, at the exact same time as Mrs Weasley did. He looked at Ron's mother and couldn't help but chuckle. ''You're still terribly thin, Sirius. Come on and eat, talking won't run away. As long as you don't,'' he added, hinting at all the times he hadn't been able to find Sirius. The man at least had the decency to look guilty. Harry proceeded to load his own plate with mushrooms, tomatoes and toast. During breakfast, he got engaged in an interesting conversation with Bill about his work at Gringotts as a curse breaker. It was fascinating to hear how much Bill knew about wards. Only when Ron tapped him on the shoulder, did Harry look up.

''We'd be ready to go now if that's alright.''

''Oh yeah, sure!'' Harry spoke, shovelling he last few -now cold- mushrooms in his mouth. ''Speak to you later Bill!'' Getting excited, he followed his friend and joined up with Sirius, who had been lingering at the entrance to the large kitchen. Together, they went upstairs to the drawing room.

''Least likely to be bothered here,'' Sirius once more said while eyeing his family tree with a glint of hatred. ''So,'' he turned to the two teens who were looking at him with expectancy. ''This means that both of you…?''

''If that would be alright,'' Ron said, suddenly looking a bit self-conscious, the tips of his ears turning red.

''Course it is! Much more fun -and smart- to attempt this… uhm...** project** with another person. You both have a general gist of it?''

Harry nodded and answered: ''I read through most of the book by now. I had no idea how complicated the process was going to be to be honest. Or that I wouldn't know my form until the end. One question that the book didn't answer, is if everyone can technically become an Animagus or not.''

''Everyone should be able to, yes. Most people just don't bother, especially because of the registration. Don't let that stop you,'' Sirius grinned with a wink. ''I wish I would have had a book to describe it back then. It took James and I the better part of three years to figure out all the details by combing through countless tomes about transfiguration and potions, and picking up snippets from the only Animagus we knew, McGonagall.''

''I got the impression that you had used the same book as you'd given me?'' Harry asked in surprise.

''No, that was written during my stay in prison. It looks like there are multiple methods. I have a copy of this book and while the potion used is the same as we had, James and I went for a different approach. Wouldn't have been able to manage it within a year otherwise. Clear night skies aren't exactly a guarantee in Scotland.''

''So how did you do it?'' Ron asked, leaning against the windowsill.

''The first part was mostly the same. I stuck a mandrake leaf beneath my tongue with a sticking charm, gathered all other necessary ingredients and prepared for brewing the potion. James meanwhile looked into weather magic.''

''Isn't that illegal?'' Harry asked.

''Well yes, it is dark magic I suppose,'' Sirius nonchalantly shrugged. ''I told you that your dad and I didn't like following the Hogwarts curriculum to the letter, certainly not when we were younger.'' Harry threw a short look at Ron, who appeared to be both horrified and impressed. ''Anyways, we weren't about to risk having to deal with a foul-tasting leaf in our mouths for longer than necessary. Peter set up the base potion while your dad and I ensured the sky was clear. It helped that Remus couldn't catch on as it had to be done during a full moon and he was in the Shack already.

The next part was something we were less sure about. There was much information about the creation of the Animagus potion and how to store it, but none whatsoever on how or when to take it. All three of us figured that it made sense that we would have to practise the transformation somehow, and as we knew that it was connected to lightning storms, we took a small dose of the potion each time a storm appeared and tried to transform body parts while chanting the incantation we'd figured out. To not fall out of practise, we used weather magic a few more times to create storms when we had free time, usually around the full moon. This is also why James and I managed it first: when having a bit left of the potion still, we managed a full-body transformation. Peter needed three more times and only did it in a fit of panic after swallowing the very last drop of the potion that we had: he'd already emptied his own vial and used the leftovers from James and I.''

''Sounds a lot more exciting of a method if you'd ask me,'' Ron commented. ''It would also solve the whole 'having to chant 24-hours on a single day or else you have to start over.''

''It was not without risks,'' Sirius warned, though the glint in his eyes told Harry that he added that more as an additional bait to use the Marauder's method than a real warning to shy them away from it. Predictably, Ron took it.

''We're Gryffindors! We don't mind a bit of risk! Right, Harry?''

Harry started pacing and thought about it. It did sound more convenient with timing than the one that was written down in the book he had. Additionally, he would realise his form earlier on from single body parts and could perhaps break it off if his animal was an undesirable one. The Marauders had all been very lucky to be mammals however, where the anatomy of their bodies still lined up with their animal form, making it easy to practise it one arm or leg at a time. What if he would transform into something that didn't have four legs? What if, theoretically, he would be a fish or snake, glue an arm to his side and then would be unable to reverse it? Or if he would be an insect and was left with a few more limbs when unable to control the full transformation yet? Partial transformations were even seen as dangerous to fix when it came to regular human-to-animal transfiguration. Krum had admitted to having problems with his teeth ever since transforming half into a shark, having been left with a couple more teeth that had to be removed in a painful process afterwards.

''You think the risks are worth it?'' Harry asked Sirius, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear the reasoning behind it.

''Personally, yes. Your friend here makes a good point about screwing up on the very last day. It could take years to complete still if you stick to the book. And hey, you have one of the best Healers and two transfiguration masters available at Hogwarts even if something does go wrong.''

''True, Dumbledore could fix any mistake in a heartbeat!'' Ron agreed. Harry gave an unhappy huff at that. He'd rather try apparating across the country to get to Voldemort before showing his Animagus form to Dumbledore. He wanted to be able to get away from the Dursleys with this, having the one man who insisted on having him there know of his secret form would be very counterproductive. Trusting any other staff members of Hogwarts with it was still a maybe in his mind, especially Madam Pomfrey wasn't one to instantly tell the Headmaster about it if he asked. All Healers took vows of secrecy, including the school nurse. Unless she thought his life would be in danger, she couldn't inform Dumbledore. The most he'd get to know was that Harry had attempted becoming an Animagus, which was possibly not even something the man would disagree with per sé.

''Let's do it then,'' he decided, sitting down on the floor. ''The potion instructions are already in the book, so I think it would be best if you first tell us a bit about the weather magic you used.'' This was comfortable territory, Harry found. He hadn't touched weather magic yet, but knew of the theory and that it was heavy magic. ''What kind of sacrifice is needed? What other conditions have to be fulfilled?'' Ron and Sirius settled down on the floor as well -as there were only two chairs in the room, it would have been odd for any of them to use those- and his godfather began telling him everything they needed to know.

''I can't** wait** to get started!'' Ron said afterwards, sitting in their bedroom again. ''The thought of having to use dark magic is a bit intimidating though…'' he grimaced. ''Never thought I'd ever touch that.''

''As long as it is nothing with ill intent, I don't see why it's illegal really,'' Harry spoke. ''Also, the sacrifice is nothing to worry about I think, no wonder that weather magic was used often in the past. For each time you summon weather, you get two more days of unfavourable weather within that month? I couldn't really care less if it storms outside the castle. And from what Sirius told us, it's not like there will be sudden floods or other natural disasters that come out of it, only mild annoyances.''

''Agreed, it's fair for having the weather we want at our disposal when we need it. Makes me wonder what other dark spells are similar to this.''

''Oh, do I have a book for you,'' Harry smirked. He stood up and rummaged through his trunk, withdrawing _Praecantatio_ _Levis et Gravis: a correct classification_. When returning all the books he'd borrowed from Voldemort, he'd been allowed to keep one, and hadn't been able to resist holding onto this particular book. It might be a tad dry and not be the most useful one, being only a list of spells and descriptions, but having a tome filled with Voldemort's familiar handwriting was too hard to give up on. ''This is the book I read before starting the Tournament. I think I mentioned a couple of spells to you that were, surprisingly, actually dark or light. You can borrow it until we go back to Hogwarts.''

''Don't recall, sorry'' Ron said, taking the book and eyeing it. ''Thanks, Harry. Hey, what animal do you think you'll be?''

The teen let himself fall back on his bed. ''You know, I haven't a clue. It is supposed to reflect one's personality but… I don't know how to describe myself at all. Some people can instantly be linked with an animal, you know? Like, I have no doubt in my mind that Snape would be a vampire bat, and that Sirius is a dog is hardly surprising to me. Myself though? No idea. I'd like to be something flying if I'd have the choice, flying is the best feeling in the whole world. As much as I love brooms, it would be awesome to do without.''

''Think I'd prefer to have something sturdy myself. I also don't know what I'll be. I wish with everything I am that it's not a weasel, I don't want to give Malfoy an excuse to make endless jokes over it if he'd ever find out.'' Harry burst out laughing at that. ''Hey, it might well be!'' Ron protested.

''I really doubt that you'll be a weasel,'' Harry sniggered. ''But who knows? If you will be one, I solemnly swear that I'll do everything in my power to prevent Malfoy from ever knowing. ''You know, I wonder if one's Animagus form is the same as one's Patronus,'' he theorised. ''Both are supposed to reflect the caster's personality, so it would make sense for them to be the same animal, right? In that case I'd be a stag. Not very practical…''

''There might be something to that, but I'm not sure if it's accurate,'' Ron said. ''I've heard that Patronuses can change in one's lifetime, there's more to it than only personality. I always thought that your Patronus was a stag because it was your dad's Animagus form and he protects you. Maybe it's just wishful thinking from my side. Dad's Patronus is actually a weasel,'' he said, grimacing. ''That might mean bad news for me if they're the same and can be inherited or so.''

''I'm pretty sure Sirius can cast a Patronus, I think I'll go ask him,'' Harry spoke, jumping up. ''I'll be back in a bit!''

''Kay, I'll have a look at this,'' his friend replied, waving with the book he'd just received.

Once again, it took a frustratingly long time of wandering through the house before Harry came to the conclusion that Sirius was nowhere to be found. Again. Resolute to solving the mystery, he asked the Weasleys downstairs and the few people who popped in and out of the common room over the course of the next hour. When that didn't help, he started searching for clues, trying to be careful about other people seeing his use of magic. Twenty minutes later, he stood in front of a door he had never noticed before, tucked away in a shadowed corner of one of the common rooms at the backside of the house. To and from it led many muddy paw prints, most of which were faded. On closer inspection, Harry saw that the bottom part of the door was movable, like a type of giant cat flap. Dog flap might be more appropriate here. He turned the handle to no avail, and even a whispered **'**_**Alohomora'**_ didn't work. Figuring that he was still smaller than Sirius was when transformed, Harry ducked and tried to wring himself through the opening in the door, scrambling out of it on hands and knees.

He stood and blinked into the sudden light. In front of him was a small patch of rough tiles, overgrown with all sorts of half-withered plants. In the middle of it sat Sirius, transformed back into human form, looking up at the sky.

''Siri?'' he asked. The man's head almost whipped around.

''Regi?'' he asked, and Harry's blood froze in his veins. But no, Sirius' eyes were not clouded over this time, only confused. It had been Harry's own mistake. After reading so much of the diaries, he'd accidentally used Regulus' nickname for his brother, a nickname that no-one else seemed to use, not even Lupin.

''No, Harry, sorry,'' he spoke, walking towards his godfather. ''Sorry, am I not allowed to call you that?''

''It's… fine. Unexpected,'' the man answered, giving him a calculating look. ''Only my brother ever used to call me that. The others stuck to 'Padfoot or Paddy','' he explained. ''I hadn't thought anyone would find me here.''

''You underestimated how nagging and determined I can be,'' Harry grinned.

''And curious, don't forget curious,'' Sirius snorted.

''Insanely curious,'' he agreed, sitting next to the man. ''Didn't know there was a garden here. There are no windows to this side, are there?''

''Not on the first few floors. There is a window looking out over it in my old bedroom, as well as in my brother's next to it. The floor below also has a window, see?'' Sirius said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the back of the house. Indeed, Harry saw a couple of windows, as stained with age as the ones in front. ''There used to be a veranda, ages ago. My great-grandparents, whom my dear father inherited it from, decided that they weren't a fan of plants or taking care of anything in general. They removed the veranda and had it all tiled up. As you can see now, some weeds survived, that's all. My parents never bothered with it either. Only I came out here often to look at the stars or to get out of the house in general when I wasn't allowed to go anywhere else. It helped me to not go crazy then, and it has the same effect still.'' He sighed. ''I hate being cooped up.''

''I understand that fully,'' Harry muttered. Sirius threw him a slightly scathing look, as if he couldn't believe that. It was then that Harry realised that he'd always avoided the topic of the Dursleys. He'd confided in his godfather bits and pieces: that he'd been beaten occasionally, had had to do many chores and was looked down on, but he hadn't breathed a word about his isolation punishments. ''You know the Dursleys didn't treat me well,'' he muttered. ''Their preferred way of punishment was to shut me in, sometimes for days or weeks with only two short bathroom breaks for the day. They even installed bars on my windows at one point when I got the larger room instead of my old cupboard. So yes, I know how you feel.''

''Harry…'' the man said, lost for words. Harry let himself be drawn into a tight hug. ''I'm so sorry that you went through that,'' he whispered. ''As much as I am questioning other decisions you've made, getting out of that house at any cost was the best thing you ever could have done.''

''Thank you,'' he whispered back, his throat constricting. ''I was so afraid that I'd grow mad there, each and every summer. Even before I went to Hogwarts, summer holidays were the worst as I couldn't go to school and have out-time then. I'm so grateful for all the times I didn't have the stay there. Ron broke me out once, ripped the bars out of the window frame with a flying car to save me. Once I ran away at the start, when I'd just caught Wormtail and last month…'' he hesitated, unsure if he should keep speaking.

''You ran away again?'' Sirius guessed. Harry wrestled with himself. Letting Sirius know that Voldemort could waltz into the Dursley's place without problems brought risks with it. Then again, he could trust his godfather not to spread this information, and it might pull the man on his side with the whole 'returning there once a year for protection' bullshit rule.

''He came for me,'' he said, unable to stop the relief and gratitude from entering his voice. ''Voldemort took me away from there.'' Sirius tensed up, the only indication of his feelings about that information.

''And the Dursleys are still alive?'' the man spoke at long last.

''It would have been suspicious if they'd all mysteriously died,'' Harry said, pulling away to gauge Sirius' reaction. ''He promised them a very painful demise in the future . I'm not sure what to think of that yet.''

''I'm sure you won't cry when they die, but murder…?'' Worried, silver eyes met his.

''I don't know,'' Harry said, looking away. ''One of my goals is for him to stop killing Muggles. But the Dursleys have brought me nothing but grief. It is hard** not** to hate them once I realised how much abuse they put me through. I tried to deny it when it was first pointed out to me how abnormal my treatment there was, defended their actions even,'' he spat, disgusted at the thought. ''But they don't deserve it. They don't deserve any of it. For years, they depended on the exploitation of a child to run their household. They should have some sort of justice at least. Not death maybe, but** something**. What they did was criminal and they knew it. You told me yourself how your own parents treated you. Can you honestly tell me that you never wished they would just stop breathing?''

Sirius gave him a tired smile. ''I even considered doing it myself the night I left,'' he admitted. ''I thought 'the world can do without you'. Only because of Regulus did I leave them alive ad ran away in the dead of night.''

''Then you know how conflicted I feel. And I don't even care about Dudley, he was as bad as them from the start.'' They sat together in a strange silence. Harry felt as if he was connected to Sirius at this moment, two kindred souls with the same kind of upbringing and thoughts about that. Whether it was healthy or not was a different point altogether.

''What animal do you think I'll be?'' Harry blurted out.

''A lion would be fitting,'' Sirius chuckled. ''You're naturally brave and sometimes a tad lazy when it comes to school work if I may believe all of Hermione's nagging that I heard when stalking you as a dog.''

''Hey, I've tried to improve that,'' Harry pouted. ''I even started doing extracurricular learning and I'm not just talking about everything that He has taught me. I figured that Runes and Arithmacy would be rather useful in the future. The Triwizard Tournament didn't make it easy to catch up to that though, I hope to do enough extra learning this year that I can take the additional O.W.L.s. If not, perhaps the year after. It would be a shame to block off so many career options, I was stupid for picking Divination and Care for magical creatures as electives. I have no talent for either and no desire to pursue a career in them.''

''You did not officially change courses?'' Sirius asked.

''I never heard of that being an option, I only know that one can opt to take extra O.W.L.s, but not the courses before it once the electives have been chosen. Hermione dropped some during and after third year, but that was only allowed as she had already signed up for the rest in the first place. I missed an entire school year in both subjects.''

''Shame, self-study isn't easy, definitely not with everything else that always manages to land on your plate.''

''Good thing that I have you to help with the Animagus transformation. Thank you, really. It means a lot to me.''

''I'm happy to help.''

''Since you think I'll be a lion, I guess that the form of one's Patronus has nothing to do with it?''

Sirius scratched his ear in thought. ''Complicated. Both do take specific animal forms based on the caster… It is possible for them to be the same, yes. James had a stag for his Patronus and Animagus form. McGonagall has a cat for both as well. For people who have a strong tie to one particular animal, I suppose it is logical for both to be the same. It's not too often the case though. My own is a lion for example. I always saw it as a symbol of my House defending me against the rest of the world. Patroni take into account a lot more than only personality.'' He eyed Harry critically. ''It is still possible for you, you are very alike James. Also a bit of Lily of course, but she never learned to be an Animagus so I have no idea what her form was.''

''What was her Patronus?''

''A doe, which I doubt is her Animagus form. Patroni often change to match with your loved one. The first time she cast that spell, she was already married to James.'' A stag wouldn't be too bad, Harry figured. A bit large and flashy maybe to use when running from a town like Little Whinging, but easy for hiding in forests if he ever wanted to not be found. ''in the end, you won't know till you've tried it kiddo,'' Sirius smiled. ''Go at it with an open mind. No matter what your animal turns out to be, it is a reflection of yourself, and it won't do to scorn yourself.''

''Says the one with one of the most awesome animal forms ever,'' Harry snorted. ''Who wouldn't want to be a giant bad-ass dog that superstitious folks believe to foretell death itself?''

Sirius' smile turned sad. ''That same superstition also makes it so that most magicians avoid me. It was handy when I was on the run and yet… I sometimes wish I would turn into a more loveable dog.''

''You're very loveable!'' Harry protested. Sirius only shook his head and started staring at the sky again.

''If you don't mind, don't tell Molly where my hiding spot is. She means well, but she's been trying to find me often in her cleaning rage. I'd rather not decide over what stays in this house and not every moment of the day. I'd prefer to burn it all if possible.''

''Maybe one day,'' Harry said, nudging Sirius' shoulder. ''One day you burn down this place and I set fire to the Dursley's house, how does that sound?''

''Lovely,'' the man replied, completely unironically for once.

''I'll go inside again if you don't mind,'' Harry spoke. ''I told Ron that I'd be right back, that has been quite a bit of time ago, he might be worried. It was good talking to you. If I can help you with anything or if you want to talk, don't hesitate okay?'' Sirius waved him off, which did not diminish his worry over the man. What would Sirius have done if this garden hadn't been there? Would he have just gone outside anyways? And would he still, once more time passed or Harry wasn't there anymore? How long until other people would notice Sirius' lapses in mental health? Today appeared to be a good day, but that wasn't always the case.

Harry made more attempts to speak to Sirius over the next few days, which was rather hard. The articles kept pouring in with each Daily Prophet, reporting more stories, calling people to action, calling out involved witches and wizards, painting a target on the back of each and everyone who profited from this trade. The tactic was rather bold and aggressive, which thankfully did not come across as odd since this was how the Daily Prophet had operated often. The 'negative' part about it was that many in the Order reacted like Fletcher had: doubting the credibility of the paper as well as the published stories within. On the other hand, this ensured that not everyone in the Order was willing to do something about it, stalling missions to help in order to wait for a response from the Ministries, which didn't come. Even if they would agree to an active course now, it would take many more meetings and concrete plans to set it all up. By now, that definitely meant that Voldemort would get there first if he was able to uphold his promise by the end of August.

Conversations with Ron turned more interesting too, he'd been baffled by the book Harry had given him and wouldn't stop asking about it. Harry perhaps let on more than he'd originally planned to about his knowledge of Dark Arts, but Ron kept questioning further. He'd firmly believed in the reasoning behind why dark spells were dark and light spells were light, as most people did. Having a text that challenged that was a fascinating thing for him. When Harry asked why Ron was so enthusiastic about this when he didn't usually like reading books so much, he said:

''I'm not a fan of long-winded texts that try to describe endless theories on as many pages as possible. This is more like a handbook. It has short, to-the-point descriptions of spells and I can skip the ones I don't know anyways. It helps that I can directly apply this too, it's about spells that we both already know or will learn in the coming years. Knowing the true nature of things is key in understanding everything around us.''

Harry was impressed by that insight, he hadn't expected something so deep from Ron of all people. It appeared that his friend's way of thinking did not only apply to chess. Now he thought on it, Ron had always been the one to come up with analysing situations around them. He'd not only been the one to win that war on the chess board when getting to the philosopher's stone, but had also figured out which key had to fit the lock using deductive logic. In addition, Ron had been the one to put all the clues together about the location of the Chamber of Secrets and dealt with Lockhart after by forcing him to come with.

With the company of Ron and occasionally Sirius, the days went by fast even if he wasn't allowed to go to meetings or did anything interesting. At night, he kept reading, though the more sleep he'd miss due to constantly waking up from shallow dreams, the harder it was to concentrate on the handwritten texts, especially when the rest of Regulus' second year at Hogwarts did not turn out to be much more exciting than the first had been. The teen started gathering newspapers with Voldemort's activity, occasionally making analyses of the Dark Lord's progress or plans, but it was all very one-dimensional, a clearly spoilt Pureblood child agreeing to whatever he'd been taught by his parents, admiring Voldemort from a distance for righting the 'wrongs'. It was disturbing to see how far Voldemort had really gone back then to convince Purebloods that he was on their side. If Harry didn't know better, he would think that the man really had bought into the blood ideology himself back then.

He recalled the words of his parents, about Voldemort being saner and more reasonable now he was connected to Harry in a way. Could that hold truth to it? But Voldemort had been that way before, hadn't he, before the resurrection ritual…

He wished dearly to speak to the man again, ask about the progress with plans for freeing the locked-up Beings, about how Voldemort kept his return under wraps so well even with a Death Eater confirming it at the Ministry, and a million questions about magic. His hand wandered towards the locket that rested on his chest, an idea forming. The Horcruxes were pieces of Voldemort, and the ones locked in objects were supposedly active. Hell, Diary-Tom had been able to even show him memories and speak to him. Would this locket have the same kind of abilities?

He glanced over to the other side of the room where Ron lay, his eyes used enough to the darkness that he could make out a bulge of blankets where his friend lay, soft snoring noises reaching him. Did he dare?

Abruptly, he let the locket slip from his fingers. Was he going insane? He only kept the Horcrux safe until he could give it to Voldemort, nothing more. No good would come from experimenting with this. He'd been warned multiple times by its creator how dangerous these items were. The diary had almost sucked Ginny's soul out! Surely, he would be able to get in contact with the Dark Lord soon. If only he could dream again… The locket felt suddenly very heavy and he could have sworn to hear an angry hissing in the room. Harry shook his head, the lack of rest was getting to him. With a sigh, he lay down, wishing for sleep that wouldn't come as his fingers absentmindedly wound themselves around the chain.

Harry's insomnia did not go unnoticed much longer. Ron had already commented on it a couple of times and Mrs Weasley expressed concerns as well at breakfast. What he hadn't expected, was for Ginny to corner him two weeks before they would leave to Hogwarts. Harry had just returned to another trip into Regulus' bedroom. As the diaries had not proven as interesting as he'd thought and his sleepy eyes could barely decipher the handwritten words, he'd started reading a few of the other books that interested him from the room. He'd barely stashed away _'Confronting the Faceless'_ when the Ginny entered.

''Knocking was invented for a reason,'' he grumbled, not feeling particularly up for conversation.

''Yes, for you to say 'Enter', after which I would come in anyways a second later,'' she retorted, letting herself fall on Ron's bed. ''Where's my brother?''

''Helping your mum. Who was searching for you.''

''Ah, that was why she was yelling my name before? Good thing I didn't react.'' She cocked her head and frowned, giving him a critical look. ''Have you looked in a mirror recently? You look… pretty bad.''

''Can't sleep much,'' he mumbled. ''Too much on my mind.''

''You haven't picked up any weird stuff in this house, have you?'' she asked after a moment of hesitation. Harry's heart started pounding. How did she…?

''What do you mean?'' he asked as neutrally as he could muster.

Ginny's expression became clouded for a moment. ''This house…. It is full of dark things.'' She shivered lightly. ''You arrived later so you might not know… we found so many **twisted** objects. Instruments used for vile purposes, cursed mirrors, poisons. This whole place breathed hostility when we first arrived. I understand full well that your godfather does not want to stay here. I know how affected you were by Dementors, I just wondered if you maybe picked up something else that could… influence you.'' He shifted uncomfortably as the chain around his neck tightened. His heartbeat grew more rapid. ''Ever since I've been…'' she paused a few seconds, gathering up resolve. ''Since I've been possessed by that diary, I am a lot more sensitive to these kinds of things. And wary, very wary. I don't want to pry but… if you took anything from this house that you can't really place, anything that maybe called out to you… I suggest you put it back where you found it.''

''There's nothing like that,'' he lied flatly. She didn't seem to believe him entirely. ''Maybe I am just picking up bad vibes or so,'' he added.

''Yeah… yeah, that must be it. Sorry for worrying, I hope that you will be able to sleep again soon,'' she muttered, then stood. ''In either case, it'll be good to be at Hogwarts again, won't it be?''

''Absolutely,'' he agreed, managing a weak smile that didn't feel like it reached his eyes even though he had intended for it to.

Hogwarts… home.

The chain loosened again, the locket humming pleasantly.


	45. End of Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Before I start with this chapter, I want to give some info: Voldemort does NOT know that it was Regulus who took the Horcrux. Barty retrieved all the Horcruxes, but out of fear for Voldemort's reaction, he only told his Lord that the locket was missing, not that he found a fake one with a note in its place. As Regulus is already dead, Barty deduced that it might do more harm than good to Voldemort's sanity to know that Regulus had actively sought to destroy him instead of 'only' leaving his side.
> 
> Aside from that, here an answer to the reviews of Fivefatducks: Regulus does not have any moving paintings, as he died quite young. (I honestly think that if there would have been one, Harry would have found it to aid in the Horcrux-hunt in canon. I am glad that you like Voldemort's appearance and effects, I also much prefer how he looks now over the typical 'older Tom Riddle' look haha.

All eyes were on him in the meeting, a buzz of brimming excitement hung in the air. Voldemort had never thought that he would come to even slightly enjoy the part he played as head of the national press. The job was hectic, with unregular schedules and many idiotic people to deal with without being able to hex someone within an inch of their life. Yet there was also something to be said for the way that enthusiastic employees came to him with ideas, how they listened to him attentively and tried to carry out his words because they agreed full heartedly. Not because they had to, not out of fear. It was… a very** different** experience from how he ran the Death Eaters. Of course, this environment was much harder to maintain. He couldn't let his anger show to the extent he wanted to and had to be careful about removing unwanted staff to not break down the morale or cause suspicion. It was good practise for when he would set foot in the political scene personally.

''We have exhausted the source material for the stories about this trade,'' his assistant reported. ''We have received many letters from our readers. We could perhaps work with that.''

''There is little we can answer truthfully at the moment,'' Voldemort decided, picking up one such letter. ''Questions about the scale or level of the threat, the possibility of exaggeration on the part of these Beings, how many countries are involved… No, we can only answer inquiries regarding concrete, legal issues, nothing more. I wish you to investigate deeper into the mentioned involved parties and see if they can be linked to other crimes. Furthermore, I have heard rumours of different organisations stirring up at this news. I need information on that.''

''Organisations?'' one of his reporters asked. ''You mean Dumbledore's?''

Voldemort felt his eye twitch. **That** had been unpleasant news indeed. He couldn't even begin to guess why the Order of the Phoenix cared for a mainly continental issue involving dark creatures.

Was the headmaster trying to use this to gain back popularity? Dumbledore had taken quite a blow at his openly spoken concerns about Voldemort's return and activity of Death Eaters. That had been a massive headache to deal with as he tried to take control of the chaos that had ensued after Rosier's revelation. The only relief had come in the form of a very stubborn government led by Fudge who refused to accept the truth as it was, so they wouldn't have to take action. Voldemort had been more than happy to keep mostly silent about it in the Prophet apart from the mandatory small article over it happening, painting Rosier as a senile old man who had gone crazy over the death of his son. In the eyes of the public, this meant that Dumbledore, who had before speculated that Barty had not worked on his own and now claimed that the Dark Lord had returned without any further apparent proof, took the words of a Death Eater more seriously than those of the Minister of Magic himself. Needless to say, not many believed Dumbledore outright and had even taken to scoffing at the name in the span of barely a month. That was only on the surface however, Voldemort did not know how many people secretly questioned the official answers.

''The Order of the Phoenix?'' he asked, sighing deeply to show just what he thought of them. ''Them as well, I suppose. I doubt they will do much if I am honest. The only sources that confirmed their interest also gave me some insight in how they work. This is not the structured organisation it was during the last Wizarding war. Dumbledore gathered the leftovers of this old crew and added whoever believes his speculations. It appears that rather than taking orders, each member works only on what they feel is right when Dumbledore wants to get something done. They are busier discussing among themselves if this is worth their attention than actually doing something about it.'' His staff muttered amongst themselves for a while at that. He smiled thinly. Voldemort had ensured very early on that no-one questioned his own sources.

''I have heard from our other branch that there are many whispers in the streets of Paris.''

''Whispers of** what**, McDougal?'' he asked the woman with barely veiled annoyance. ''Speak clearly, we do not have all day for this meeting.''

''Yes Sir,'' Larissa Macdougal scowled, one of his reporters for international news. ''Whispers of a new party, unaffiliated with any government, making promises to take care of this problem.'' Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He'd expected the news to spread amongst Beings, but hadn't thought that any of them would talk to humans about it. He was also certain of that Miss Delacour was smarter than that. Thinking quickly, he replied:

''Third parties are difficult to track down, it could be no more than whispers. Let us concentrate first on organisations we know the existence of like the Witches Coven of white magic, the Mediterranean Mages for Support of Magical Mammals, the National Union of Tactful Sages, the Creature Support Assembly, and even the Anarchist Union. And yes, the Order of the Phoenix too. We have to gauge their views on this issue. I will keep this supposed new player in mind in case we find that any unknown party suddenly acts.''

''What about the International Confederation of Wizards? This issue got political as soon as it was known that politicians from across Europe are involved.''

''We haven't had a statement from them yet,'' Voldemort spoke. ''However, it is unlikely that the International Confederation will do much. After all, Dumbledore is the supreme Mugwump of the ICW, why would he try to mobilise the Order of the Phoenix instead, if he could use a much larger and more respected organisation? The fact that he prefers his little terror group to take care of this speaks volumes. Belby, I'm sure you can give me insight as to why?'' he asked, casting a glance at the small, nervous wizard who sat to his right. The senior assistant had reminded him so much of Wormtail at first that he'd completely been overlooked, until that one meeting where Belby had been the only person to ask an intelligent question. Ever since, he found that while Belby was a nervous wreck and easily intimidated, the man had a sharp brain that noticed sharp things others did not. It had earned the man a firm place by his side, and the Dark Lord was considering to have Belby replace his current personal assistant, who was getting more and more annoying with her little crush.

The senior assistant cleared his throat and spoke in his feeble, whispery voice: ''While the ICW was founded to be an independent, international organisation, fact remains that all members are representatives of their respective Ministries. If doubts are being cast on politicians of certain countries, things may get hectic with internal organisation. It has been rumoured for years that the Portuguese representative has a pet mermaid on her property. It was always a bit of an inside joke that hardly anyone took seriously, but in the light of recent events, there may well have been truth to it. Also, Dumbledore and Minister Fudge have a falling out at the moment due to the Headmaster of Hogwarts spreading panic about the former Dark Lord rising. Fudge can withdraw Dumbledore as a member of the ICW and in result leave the organisation without a Supreme Mugwump. What good would starting investigations do right now if they might end up in chaos when Fudge decides he's had enough of Dumbledore? Combined with the previous mentioned internal problems, it would leave the ICW scrambling for a new leader, which might take months. Or years. In conclusion, it is unlikely that they will mobilise their forces unless the matter is already clear-cut and they only need to arrest people who have already been irrefutably proven to have committed international crimes.''

''Which will be a long time from now, I'm sure. The entire matter is murky and mutual distrust between humans and non-humans isn't helping matters. Focus on the groups I mentioned before.'' Voldemort ordered, pleased as all of his staff members nodded in agreement.

They went on to discuss further projects -the paper could not run by focusing on only the main issue at hand- and Voldemort finally closed the meeting. By the end of it, he was tired and desperately wished he had a bit of time to get an hour of sleep in before the next planned meeting for the day with his Ministry spies. He didn't have time, he never had. Things had been easier when he'd still had a follower in the Department of Mysteries and he'd been able to occasionally borrow a time turner from there without raising suspicion. But Rookwood was imprisoned now and even if he'd ever be freed, it was unlikely that the man could take up his former position. He'd considered building a time-turner himself, then had rejected the idea when concluding that it would most likely take up the better part of the coming year to do so,** if** he even obtained all necessary materials.

He apparated home, went through the entrance that granted access to the dimensional bubble in which his house stood, and granted himself exactly two minutes of rest and a glass of water before dropping his disguise. He ignored Nagini's worried hisses about his sleep schedule and called his followers. Less than ten minutes later, Corban Yaxley and Lucius Malfoy sat at his dining table.

''Most members of the Wizengamot appear to be opposed to the idea,'' Corban spoke instantly, rushing the words as if that would make them better. He appeared to be no less stressed than Voldemort, only worse at hiding it. The tight braid he always wore was slowly coming undone, stray hairs peeking out and falling to the sides of Corban's face. ''I have spoken to many members by now and I always get the same answers. Changing or adding laws, any laws, is seen as undesirable as long as it is not a reaction to an immediate problem. They do not want more work and hassle for something that has been working.''

Voldemort let out a slow hiss in displeasure. They rejected the idea of introducing new laws because of** laziness**? The** nerve**. He had asked Corban to probe around to get an overview of how best to introduce the idea of drafting up a full, separate law system for the Wizarding community instead of relying on Muggle laws that hardly anyone knew or had access to. The next step would have been to present the ones he had created one by one, starting first with all that were currently ungoverned by the Ministry of magic. These would have been the least controversial to introduce, paving the way for reforms of existing magical laws. ''How many are in favour?''

''Thirteen percent of active members, accounting for seventeen percent of seats, mostly our own people. Most members are still fully on Dumbledore's side as well. He** is **the supreme Chief Warlock.''

Corban went on the describe who exactly was on their side in this and Voldemort did some quick math in his head. 7 of 54 people were in favour, who held 23 of the available 135 seats. Since not all members were active though, at least thirty seats weren't in use at the moment. The Potter family held two, the Black family four… If he played his cards right, those were six additional seats that he would be able to use once Harry was a legal adult and hopefully inherited Black's seats. While that would not solve his predicament now, it was something to think about in long terms. Perhaps he should wait with radical changes until then. For now, he had to concentrate on getting these imbecilic rodents to do their actual jobs.

It would be so much easier if there would be a separate institution for law creation instead of that being an additional Task for the Wizengamot. It just showed how alarmingly little change was being implemented in their society when law-making was a side task of the High court instead of a full-time job for a Parliament like in **functioning** countries. As much as he loved Britain and wanted to own it, sometimes he wished to burn it to ash for the stupidity of its people.

And to avoid headaches, the very first thing he would do as Emperor or whatever other title he'd give himself -Emperor sounded nice though-, would be pushing through the proper constitution he'd written down on paper instead of leaving it to several generations of legislators and judges to make a contradicting mess of it all with an uncodified constitution. Especially when considering parliamentary sovereignty. He would definitely not take** that** mind-blowing garbage over from Muggle Britain.

''Dumbledore might not be Supreme Warlock for long.'' It was the hope he clung onto. Until Dumbledore was removed from that position, there was little he could do. ''He's been riling Fudge up for too long and is getting more and more pushy about spreading the word that I am back. Perhaps Fudge will need only a few more of those pushes until deciding that Dumbledore is unfit to have such power.''

''I could take on Fudge,'' Lucius suggested. ''He is exceptionally susceptible to suggestions over a lavish dinner. I have fully convinced him that I am one of the few members on the Board of Hogwarts governors he can still trust to not take Dumbledore's side, backed by my frequent attempts to oppose Dumbledore openly.''

''It does not seem that the Minister was very supportive of your latest action as governor,'' Voldemort spoke with a touch of frost in his voice. ''Banning a book from the Hogwarts library because it stars a romance between a witch and a Muggle? That either gives people the idea that you are a blood-supremist, which Fudge is against, or that you are getting desperate in finding ways to make Dumbledore's life harder. Even if you pray that our dear Minister thought the latter, we need to make him believe that we have** credible** evidence that Dumbledore is insane. Which I have no doubt you will find with a little bit more** effort** put in.''

Lucius bowed his head slightly. ''That ruse was admittedly a tad too transparent, My Lord. Forgive me. I shall do my utmost best to oppose Dumbledore with subtler issues that reflect negatively on his character and actions instead.'' He wetted his lips nervously, obviously wishing to justify his actions to avoid punishment. ''However, if you allow me to say so, at the time I needed an excuse to cast Minister Fudge's attention on my feud with Dumbledore again and it worked. I was the first person on the Board he spoke to once Dumbledore started his theories about Crouch Junior.''

''**Crouch**,'' Voldemort corrected harshly without acknowledging Lucius' justification, getting irritated. Lucius blinked and looked confused. ''Crouch Senior is dead, so omit the Junior. I do think that Bartemius deserves your respect of not being referred to only in relation to his filthy father.'' Anyone at school who had dared to refer to** him** -even jokingly- by his full name of Tom Riddle Junior, had suffered the bad end of his wand once he knew his father was a Muggle.

''Of course, my Lord,'' the man mumbled, although Voldemort could see signs of rising hostility in the man. He inwardly sighed over Lucius' fragile ego and spoke:

''I understand the circumstances, the results are what matters. Regardless of your intentions, Hogwarts really could do without a piece of 'literature' like _the Fountain of fair Fortune_. Rest assured that writing spreading dangerous ideas about copulation with Muggles will not be tolerated under** my** reign. If this strengthened your ties to Fudge, good, but be more careful next time.'' Lucius relaxed and looked rather victorious. ''Well then, I will leave Fudge to you for now. Try to play on the idea that Dumbledore is getting in far too deep by actually using all the titles that were bestowed upon him over the years. Stress that Fudge does not** need** the support of this man anymore after being in office for so long. Corban, it will be useless and perhaps even suspicious if you keep pressing about new laws. Try to warm the Wizengamot up to Dumbledore leaving his position so there will not be an outrage when Fudge strips the old fool of his title. It is unfortunate that none can cast him entirely out of the Wizengamot, but his family only has a single seat so that is no cause for worry.''

Two 'Yes, my Lord's were uttered, following sharp intakes of breath as Nagini entered and heaved her massive body up the table, curling up in front of him like the demanding beast she was. It appeared that she sometimes forgot that she wasn't two feet anymore and did not entirely fit the width of the dining table. Slowly, he started stroking her scales, berating his pet would only cause to sour her mood and he did not wish to hear passive aggressive comments all evening.

''The remaining point of discussion is the slave trade in Europe,'' Voldemort spoke. ''There is not much time left before we move. Have the reactions in the Ministry changed any since last time?

Corban shook his head. ''Still denial and disbelief.''

''Good. That will prevent anyone from interrupting. Lucius, your home is ready to receive so many visitors?''

''My house-elf has had everything cleaned and cleared out. Even the pond is in pristine condition.''

''Your house-elf? You gave it permission to pass the barriers?''

''It follows my orders, which was to prepare the rooms. How it got there is not my concern, only that it did,'' Lucius commented with a slight air of surprise. Voldemort supposed that Lucius did not really give his servants much thought usually. ''My Lord, what will we do with saltwater beings such as sirens or selkies?''

''A different accommodation has been prepared for those on the southern coast. There is a cave system which I merely needed to expand and hide.'' He'd chosen a similar spot to where he'd placed one of his Horcruxes in the past. Not exactly at the same spot in case Dumbledore went looking for the locket, but close by.

Thoughts of the locket still filled him with rage, even if there was nothing he could do about his missing Horcrux. He did not know who had taken it, how, or even when. When Barty had come home with all of the Horcruxes and had found the locket missing, Voldemort's thoughts had instantly gone to Dumbledore. However, it had appeared that for once, the old fool was not the culprit, otherwise he would not have shown Harry memories of it. No, Dumbledore was still on the hunt and even more clueless than Voldemort was about the locket's whereabouts. At least he knew that it wasn'tin its original hiding spot, which would be the first place the Headmaster would look after puzzling together the clues. He'd still left the protections in the cave intact. Who knew when a lake filled with Inferi and a Nightmare Potion would come in handy. In fact, he had a couple of nice ideas about that already.

Voldemort pushed the Horcrux dilemmas aside. Without any sort of lead, he would get nowhere when investing time and effort into a fruitless search across the globe. He had other matters to focus on now. Lucius might say that all accommodations were ready for the horde of beings and beasts they would save, Voldemort found it hard to trust his follower's word on that. Putting them all together under one roof wasn't a fool-proof plan. Neither did they have the resources and knowledge available to know what each species would need other than food. Still, a temporary solution was better than none, and he also got practise in for dimensional shifting again. He certainly needed it if he wished to hide the entirety of the Wizarding world with it one day in the future.

''That was all for now then,'' he decided. There was much left to do that did not consist of meetings.

Perhaps he really could close his eyes for a bit… it was regrettable that his irregular sleeping schedule meant that he was barely ever asleep at night. He'd wished to keep an eye on Harry, but that was nigh impossible when they did not sleep at the same time. The few times he had miraculously had a few hours at night, he hadn't been able to reach the boy after that one time. He chalked it up to a lack of concentration, perhaps on both ends, and on bad luck. With how fickle their mental connection was, it was always a guess in the first place when a dream connection would fully establish. Perhaps he could look up spells to help with that if he found the time… it was highly annoying to be cut off from Harry so completely, especially with how suddenly the teen had needed to leave. Next summer was far away…

_~You're sad again,~_ Nagini hissed. He jerked his head up, not having realised how far into thoughts he'd fallen. Both of his followers were gone, and it took a moment to remember that he'd dismissed them. _~Is it about Harrison?~_

_~I told you his name isn't Harrison,~_ he snapped. She instantly reared her head and stared at him with glinting eyes.

_~I did nothing to be mad at,~_ she snapped back, sounding hurt. _~It is your own fault for sending him away to other people.~_

_~I am not __**sad**__!~ _he returned, getting highly annoyed

_~Denial won't bring you a thing,~_ she replied, then promptly slid off the table again, her body heavily thudding on the wooden floor.

~_What in the world are you getting at? Nagini_!~ But she was already gone, and Voldemort had time nor energy to devote to the fickle moods of his companion.

About two hundred miles away, Harry was having the exact same problem. He lay on bed and dispassionately watched as Ron was stressing out completely. The school lists had just arrived, together with their results from last year. Harry wasn't entirely sure how his school notes had even been put together, for he hadn't done any of the regular exams and hadn't kept track much on his homework grades or small tests, in between trying to survive the Tournament. Luckily, his grades were average to good when not counting Divination, so he was slightly relieved about that. Ron's were roughly the same, and neither of them had received anything besides their book list and notes.

''I don't understand why they only came** today**!'' Ron said. ''Mum will be a banshee, having to buy everything on the very last day before school. And just imagine how Diagon will look!'' he looked the list over once again. ''_Theory of Magical defence'_ doesn't sound thrilling, wonder who they dragged out of a ditch this year for the position.''

Harry hummed. He'd be incredibly surprised if Dumbledore managed to find anyone worthy of filling Lupin's and Barty's shoes. Doubtful.

With a loud bang, Fred and George apparated into the room and let themselves fall on Ron's bed as if it was their own. ''We were already wondering who put that new book on the list,'' Fred spoke, leading Harry to suspect that they'd been listening in on the conversation before already. It was a miracle that the Twins hadn't found out about Ron and Harry using magic too in the house. Or maybe they had and were waiting for a prime opportunity of using 'Ron used underage magic' as blackmail to their mum. ''Became time that Dumbledore found a teacher, we heard mum and dad talking a couple weeks back about that Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone willing to fill the position, what with the fates of their predecessors.

''True; dead, memory loss, fired, vanished…'' Harry spoke airily. ''I wager that the next one has to either be a madman or extremely desperate.''

''Or both,'' George threw in. ''Maybe we should start a betting pool for what happens to the next one. Poisoned by Snape might be a popular opinion. So, onto the reason we came here: do we need to congratulate our new Prefect?'' he spoke with a gleaming grin that promised ridicule and pranks.

Harry yawned and shook his head. ''Sorry to deprive you of a target, but neither Ron nor I got a badge.''

Instantly, Fred jumped up to hug Ron. ''There is some decency left in the family!'' he exclaimed. ''Blessed be this day! We already feared you'd listened to Percy a tad too much over the course of your short and feeble life.''

''Who'd listen to** Percy**? Ouch, Fred, get off me!'' Ron shoved his laughing brother away and threw him a glare. Rubbing his sore neck, he huffed: ''There's no doubt about Hermione becoming a Prefect, good luck trying to prank her and getting a thousand points deducted.'' Both Twins made a face at and in that moment, Harry decided that they had rightfully deduced that Hermione was too scary to bother.

''We still thought you would get it,'' Fred continued, addressing Harry again. ''Champion of the Triwizard Tournament and all. Damn, you killed a Basilisk so the school could stay open!''

Harry merely shrugged his shoulders, unable to gather the energy to care much. ''I was also nearly expelled a couple of times and my grades aren't outstanding either. I probably gave them too much trouble.'' Then there was also the little thing about Dumbledore knowing he'd used dark magic more than once. Even if the Headmaster trusted him again for now, surely he would have spoken against making Harry a Prefect for that alone. ''I do wonder who got it.''

''Neville is out,'' Ron said. ''Not to be mean but… he's only good at Herbology and far too scared of anyone and anything to do something in prickly situations. Besides, imagine Neville having to patrol the castle at night, he'd run off scared. I'm personally hoping it's Dean. He'll be the most relaxed about it. I'm sure that Seamus would actually dock points when knowing we're sneaking out.''

''True… that would suck.''

''Why, you are not suggesting that you want to sneak out of the common room!'' Fred gasped.

''At night!'' George spoke with equal drama, a hand to his chest.

''Oh shut up,'' Ron grumbled, throwing Harry's pillow at them, which Harry regretted allowing when the Twins caught it and promptly set it on fire. He was really rather glad that neither he nor Ron got a Prefect badge. Added responsibility and visibility was not high up on his wishlist at the moment, and as he was sure that Hermione would become a Prefect, Ron being promoted to Prefect as well might have become one more thing standing between the three of them. After all, Ron was rather lax when it came to rules and Harry had no doubt that Hermione would have constantly have to scold Ron to actually do his job, causing frustration and fights. Also, if Harry was completely honest, he didn't want to be left all alone either. So, he relished in the news that his best friend had no added duties either.

When the Twins finally left, with much convincing from Ron, the boy said: ''I didn't think of that Mione would probably be a Prefect this year. We could use the time she has patrols or meetings to practise our Animagus form.''

''That's a brilliant idea!'' Harry said, actually getting excited. It had been hard to be excited about anything these past weeks. The days had passed in an exhausting blur in which he'd passed the time with trivial things even as he felt something heavy starting to weigh on him.

Realistically, he knew it was the Horcrux, the locket burned or went ice-cold at times, or throbbed as if it had a heartbeat. Ginny had been right to warn him, Harry knew that. But what else could he do than wear it? Telling anyone, even Sirius, about its existence or dangers, could lead to its destruction, and he had no possibility of contacting Voldemort. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow evening, he would be able to use the two-way mirror to speak to Barty about it so they could figure something out, perhaps speak to Voldemort himself.

He let himself fall on the bed again while Ron went downstairs to show his mother the booklist. They had decided that a small group of people would go to Diagon to not flood the street too much. As Harry needed to finally get some money from Gringotts again and he was somehow uncomfortable trusting other people with his vault key now he knew that the Goblins also had some other private information about him, he had insisted on coming with. That decision had at first been met with heavy protest until Sirius threatened that if Harry wouldn't be allowed to come with, **he** would go instead and that none could stop him. That argument had finally won, as no-one was willing to risk Sirius' discovery. It was unfortunate that they did not have any Polyjuice potion at the moment -Snape had been quite absent, stating he was busy, ever since the talk with Harry - and Disillusion spells or an invisibility cloak would become obvious in a crowd.

He did feel rather sorry for Mrs Weasley when they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and were immediately separated by dozens of other children and their parents all frantically trying to rush to Diagon Alley from the pub, to get the necessary items the day before school started. Making one's displeasure about the whole situation known and cussing out the Hogwarts staff turned out to be popular conversation topics among shoppers and shopkeepers alike. The poor clerk at Flourish and Blotts looked even more close to breaking down than he had when Hagrid's _Monster Book of Monsters_ had been on the list. Harry, deciding that trying to find the others like this wasn't going to happen anytime soon, weaved his own way through the mass of people, first doing the necessary shopping with what money he had left in his coin pouch, and finally going to Gringotts, figuring that it would be best as the last stop. It was the largest building out of all and even if the Weasleys had visited before, he was sure that he'd be easier to spot when standing on top of the staircase leading to the doors after he was done.

''I have my key this time,'' Harry sheepishly said, going up to the goblin who'd helped him in July. The creature blinked slowly at him, black eyes revealing no hint of the humour having been appreciated, which instantly made nervous sweat appear on the palms of his hands. ''Errr, I was here last month? Didn't have my key then.''

''I know, Mr Potter,'' came the clipped answer. ''You wish to enter your Vault?''

''Yeah. Well, the trust fund one,'' he said, placing the key on the counter for the Goblin to inspect. ''Still haven't figured out where the key to the other one is, no-one ever gave it to me and my guardians don't have it either.'' He'd casually brought the second vault up in conversation with Sirius before and had loudly wondered where the key to it might be. His godfather hadn't been able to answer with more than speculations, so it was obvious that Sirius didn't have it. As Dumbledore had also held the trust vault key for some reason, Harry had a suspicion he knew where it was, and also where it was likely to remain until he turned seventeen. Asking Dumbledore about it would reveal that he'd seen his papers and thus his knowledge over the Headmaster not having any legal power over him. That wasn't something he was willing to tell the man.

''Your key has been stolen?'' the Goblin hissed, leaning forwards, making Harry take a quick step back.

''I… I don't know. My parents left these vaults to me when I was one year old. My Muggle guardians have no knowledge of it and my magical guardian has never been handed either of the keys. This one,'' he said, gesturing to the one at the counter, ''was kept safe by Albus Dumbledore and given to me when I turned eleven. I didn't even know of a second account till last month.''

''I see… one moment please.'' The Goblin abruptly slid form his chair and went through a door in the wall again. Harry sighed deeply, wondering if he'd have to wait as long as last time. He was wrong, it took even much longer. It felt like ages had passed when a familiar voice called out to him.

''Well well, Potter. Found new friends to hang out with? They're certainly wealthier, I approve.''

''Malfoy, bugger off,'' Harry groaned. ''I thought we agreed to be civil?'' He turned around to see Malfoy and two other Slytherins, neither of whom were Crabbe and Goyle to his surprise. Instead, he vaguely recognised them both and deduced that they were higher year students. The Quidditch team, that must be it. Or what was left of it. Flint was gone now, and both Beaters would have had their last year of Quidditch last school year if Quidditch would not have been cancelled. After wracking his brain a bit, he was able to put names to the faces: Warrington and Pucey. Pucey had been a Chaser until the end of 1993 and had been replaced with Warrington after for some unknown reason. Harry wondered if he was back on the Team again now to replace Flint, or if he just hung out with Malfoy more often. Somehow, Harry had thought that the reason for replacement had been graduation, but that appeared to not be the case if he was shopping in Diagon today. Well, he didn't generally pay much attention to the Slytherins.

''I** am** being civil, Potter,'' Draco huffed, striding up to him and giving him a one-over. ''I am talking to you, after all.''

''And manage to insult both me and my friends in the first sentence, if that is a normal conversation to all of you, I'm so very grateful for being in Gryffindor.'' Warrington let out an undignified snort for which Malfoy threw him a foul look. ''What?'' Harry said, a tad aggressive.

''Come now Potter, after everything we heard from Draco, you need not pretend that you are **really** a Gryffindor,'' Pucey spoke with a secretive smile on his admittedly rather handsome face.

The Goblin appeared again at last, so Harry did not respond with more than a whispered 'You are so** dead**, Malfoy,'' before turning around and trying to ignore the Slytherins. Irritably, they just kept standing there as he continued the conversation from before with the Goblin.

''Your main bank account has not been touched since 1981. This would also not have been allowed without a permission slip from you or your legal guardians, but it is standard protocol to ensure this on such occasions. I advise you to freeze the account nonetheless, as permission slips** can** be forged, and the one who might possess your key at this moment **could** use this.'' It appeared that he wasn't alone in his suspicions of Dumbledore having it then.

''Is there no way to track the key somehow?'' he asked.

The goblin grimaced. ''If there was, that would be rather poor security. No, you will have to procure it on your own or go through a legal process of closing your bank account and opening a new one, both of which can only be done with either the permission from both of your guardians or when you are of age.''

''Well shit, one of them is a Muggle,'' Harry grumbled. ''Anyways, thank you for the effort. Erhm…'' he took a moment to recall the phrase the Goblin had spoken to him last month. ''Degamih i sonlouri,'' he spoke, stumbling a bit over the foreign syllables. He still wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but from context he'd gathered it was a sort of polite goodbye phrase, so it couldn't hurt to use. Hopefully. He stared up in the inky eyes of the Goblin for a fearful moment. The creature's mouth split into a disturbing grin that showed the spiky, needle-like teeth. ''Saomeit ou,'' the Goblin replied, a strange sound that was almost like a light giggle coming from his throat. ''Griphook will escort you to your vault now.''

Harry nodded and wanted to walk to the other end of the hall where the guide goblin Griphook was waiting, when his path was blocked by the three Slytherins. Malfoy gave him a strange look. ''You speak Gobbledegook?''

''No, but this might be good life advice for you,'' Harry said. ''Being civil includes actually being invested in your conversation partner, no matter who they are. That might include a few key phrases in other languages. Oh yes, and an absence of insults also does miracles. See you around Malfoy.''

''Wait,'' Pucey called out when he rushed past them. Taking a huge inward sigh, he stiffly turned towards them a last time. The teen stepped closer to Harry and leaned down a bit, whispering: ''If certain rumours are true, we -that is Warrington and myself – would love to get to know you a bit better. The Slytherin Prefects always throw a party at the start of the year, after the Feast. We're still missing a guest of honour.''

Harry looked at Malfoy and hoped his eyes conveyed how much he was dying inside right now. ''Such rumours shouldn't exist in the first place.'' Then, he steeled himself. He had been the one who'd wished to see if he and Malfoy could actually be less juvenile this year and start working together. ''I'll see if I have time and opportunity, you must understand that a trip from the seventh floor to the dungeons at night without being spotted is not the easiest feat, definitely not as I'm sure one of my close friends is a Prefect this year.''

''Oh, I'm a Prefect too, Potter,'' Draco smugly said. ''So no worries about being caught out at night.

''Hmm, misusing your power already,'' Harry said with a strained smile. ''Wonderful. I really have to go now. Maybe come find me on the Hogwarts Express, we might have some things to** discuss** first.'' Thoughts and worries of Draco Malfoy occupied his thoughts during the ride down to his vault. Had Malfoy not been sworn to silence? What did the Slytherin hope to gain from spreading information about Harry? How much had Lucius told his son? For surely, Draco had to know more than last year, he wouldn't risk his reputation for spreading only the knowledge that Harry was somehow on the Dark side. He could have done that months ago if that would have been enough.

Harry took enough gold from his vault to easily last the year and absentmindedly said goodbye to the Goblin who brought him upstairs again. He wanted to step outside to see if he could spot any of the Weasleys, when a small group of people drew his attention: two very out-of-place-looking Muggles and their daughter. ''Hermione!'' he exclaimed, ignoring the fact that the usual elation he felt at seeing his friend after a long time of absence didn't follow. Hermione certainly did feel it, her eyes practically lit up when she turned around.

''Harry!'' she squealed, enveloping him in a hug. ''Oh my, it is so great to see you! I have** so** much to tell you!''

''I wish I could say the same,'' he spoke. ''My summer was much more boring than one would expect when spending it at the headquarters of a secret order,'' he said with a wry smile. ''I'm sure that Ron will moan a lot about it for the first couple of days too, but don't be too hard on him for it. It really was disappointingly dull. The only good thing about it was that Ron and Snuffles were there.''

''That was only one month though, wasn't it?'' Hermione reminded him. ''How was France?''

''Oh. That,'' Harry said, drawing a blank. He had forgotten that he might be expected to talk about his supposed time with Dixie again. ''Errr, fine, but she didn't like much that I left early. To be honest, I think she might be quite mad at me, haven't heard from her since so…'' He hoped that was an appropriate explanation for why he didn't want to talk about it. ''Saw some pretty nice sights while there though. Went to the grave of Merlin.''

''I've been there too!'' Hermione enthusiastically said. ''Last summer, my parents and I went to some magical sites in France.

''Did you now?'' Harry asked in surprise. ''I didn't know that Muggles could even enter that town.''

''Ah, not the town, only the grave,'' Hermione smiled sadly. ''There are unfortunately indeed rather strict separation rules there. I wish it didn't have to be that way. Well, hopefully the future will be more inclusive.'' Harry tried not to shuffle uncomfortably at the sudden reminder of that they wanted entirely different things. He doubted his own views would be appreciated here. He thus didn't reply to it at all, rather switching topics.

''I'm sure you have much more to tell about your current holiday,'' he spoke. ''Does Viktor have a nice house?''

''Harry!'' Hermione cried out, slapping his head playfully, her cheeks getting red. ''My parents are here!'' Said parents only gave the two of them amused looks.

''Hey, I only asked about his house, not his bedr-OUCH. That actually hurt!''

''You deserved it,'' she huffed, but a small smile played on her lips. ''I'll tell you all tomorrow. Unless you have time to go to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit still?''

''Not too sure about that, I came here with Mrs Weasley, Ron and Fred. We got separated pretty much immediately because of how crazy it is out there. I've been searching for a spot where I might find them and thought the stairs in front of Gringotts would be good, to have an overview and all.''

''Are you crazy?'' Hermione scolded him. ''You'd be like a sitting duck there with a target painted on your chest, don't forget that…'' she hesitated, then glanced over to her parents. Harry guessed that she hadn't told them anything about the current problems in the Wizarding world. ''Anyway, I'm sure they'll find you better in the pub. We'll just tell the barman that we're there so he can carry on the message if any of the Weasleys ask around about you, okay?''

''And you?'' he asked. ''Don't you need to go home again?''

''Yes, but it is literally a thirty-minute drive home from here. I'm lucky enough to live pretty central in London. I planned on staying at the Leaky for a bit to read ahead for tomorrow and take the underground back.''

Having no reason not to, he agreed to her plan. They said their goodbyes to Hermione's parents and made their way towards the Leaky Cauldron, having to hold onto each other's hands not to be pushed apart. ''Merlin, I hope that next year there'll be more time for shopping,'' he complained, feeling like hexing a majority of the people out of the way. At long last, they stumbled into the dark and smoky central room of the pub. Hermione went up to the bar and informed Tom that they were searching for the Weasleys, while Harry managed to obtain the last free table, which was in a far end corner. His friend returned, having had the sense to immediately get some drinks for them both, two cold bottles of butterbeer.

''This is probably the only thing I'll ever order here,'' she mused when sitting down and opening the bottles. ''I don't trust anything that isn't hermetically sealed,'' she joked. ''They don't even want to tell you what's in the soup.''

''Still better than Aunt Petunia's broth,'' he shrugged. ''Thanks. How much do I owe you?''

She waved his comment away. ''Nothing, of course. Cheers. Viktor sends his regards by the way.''

''How is he?''

Hermione got a far-away look and a smile that was very atypical. ''He's so great,'' she sighed lovingly. ''He even got time off from training for me, because he found it would have been rude not to. Honestly, as much as I dislike Quidditch, I would have been happy to spend the weeks seeing him fly. It always puts him in a good mood.'' She went on to describe the rest of her holiday, which had mostly consisted of talking to Viktor about all kinds of topics, from politics to magic. Ironically, it sounded much like everything he talked to with Voldemort. ''He just has so much** insight**,'' Hermione gushed. ''He has an informed opinion on… well** everything** I brought up, it was a breath of fresh air. Not.. not that Ron or you… I mean…'' she stammered, suddenly red. Harry only shook his head, completely understanding her on this point. He too had felt that those weren't really topics he could have debates over with his friends at school.

''Sometimes, discussions with someone older bring much more,'' he spoke. ''Especially when they've had very different experiences. I can imagine that his education at Durmstrang differed much from ours.''

''Absolutely,'' she nodded, clearly relieved that he took no offense.

''I imagine that you will have more opportunity to speak to people from higher years soon,'' Harry hinted, giving her a small grin. ''If Ron and I are right in our assumption of you becoming a Prefect?''

Hermione ducked her head, unable to hide the broad smile on her face. ''I did. Did you..?'' he quickly shook his head.

''No, Figured I got up to too much trouble. On the other hand**, Malfoy** was made Prefect, so I'm not sure what is all taken into account.''

''Hmm, it is mostly the Heads of Houses that appoint the Prefects, since they are supposed to know their students best. Only on rare occasions does the Headmaster step in. I'm not surprised that Snape picked Malfoy. And as much as I hate to admit it, he** is** good academically.''

''Still sucks at Quidditch,'' Harry snorted. ''And people skills.''

Hermione laughed openly, then suddenly quieted down and looked at him oddly. ''Harry? I thought it was the light before but… you don't look so well. Are you okay?''

He grunted and leaned back in his chair. ''Why does everyone keep saying that?'' he said, a tad more aggressive than he'd wanted to. ''I'm** fine**. I have had a bit of trouble sleeping lately, that is all.''

''If you say so,'' she muttered, clearly concerned. ''So, is there anything I have missed while away from England? I literally only returned a few days ago.''

''I'm not sure. Did you still receive the Prophet while away?''

Hermione's expression became thoughtful. ''Yes, I did. They really did go big on that slave trade, I certainly hope it will have positive influence in time. Also, is it true that a Death Eater confirmedYou-Know-Who's return? The Prophet was rather vague about that, though in between the lines…''

''Dumbledore thinks it is true,'' he replied carefully. ''And so do some of the Aurors who heard Rosier's confession. Personally, I'm not so sure, he could have been lying or wanting to spread chaos. He was a man with little to lose, having no family or job.''

''But if Dumbledore suspects it…'' Hermione pressed, whispering now. ''When has he ever been wrong when it came to You-Know-Who?''

''You'd be surprised,'' Harry darkly said, taking another sip.

''I don't understand.''

Harry bit his lip, wondering what to say. He looked around to make sure no-one was listening in on their conversation, then told Hermione with a low voice: ''You know that he has shown me memories and what those contained. Dumbledore and I have vastly different views on how to interpret those. It is as if Dumbledore was determined from the start to label an 11-year-old as evil, and I don't agree with that. No-one is born evil, but it is no wonder that someone who was always treated at such would also grow up twisted. So, while I'm sure that Dumbledore is good at figuring out how Voldemort thinks and acts now, he was certainly wrong on many occasions. Dumbledore is not infallible, and I will not blindly trust each and every one of his theories. Thus, until there is solid proof that He is back, I'll remain sceptical about it. I advise you to do the same.''

They sat in silence for a bit, both lost in thoughts. Harry wondered how Voldemort was doing right now and hoped that the man would not succumb to his hunger for death anytime soon. Harry** knew** that Voldemort could be a better man, if only he had a reason for trying. Hermione's words from before also suddenly made him realise something important. It was exactly one month ago that they had been at the Delacour residence. Voldemort had agreed to act within the month. As Harry very much doubted that the Dark Lord had planned for this operation to be completely covert, the Death eaters would act today. Perhaps at this very moment, they were busy raiding the cages.

He brought out of his thoughts by Mrs Weasley, who practically ran to their table and started scolding him for running off while he protested weakly that it hadn't been his intention. Ron informed him later that they had all received the same talk, none of them had been able to stick together. Other than Harry though, who could do the shopping on his own, he and Fred had been dependent on their mother and thus tried to find her again soon after.

Hermione declined Mrs Weasley's invitation to stay at Grimmauld Place for that last day, saying that her parents were expecting her to come home still and she wished to have a proper goodbye before leaving for Hogwarts. After a last shared round of Butterbeer between all of them - which was slightly awkward as they only had two seats and ended up all standing around the tiny table – they all hugged Hermione once more before taking the Floo back.

There was no quiet last evening to speak of. Many members of the Order for some reason or the other dropped in and wished Harry well for the coming school year, even the ones he hadn't spoken much to before. It made him feel odd, like the very first time he'd stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and everyone had wanted to shake his hand. He'd hoped that people had slowly started to get used to the idea that he wasn't some miraculous hero. When he expressed that, Fred and George were quick to remind him of that he shouldn't have won the Triwizard Tournament then. He couldn't even argue against that. To escape the many hands and stares, he fled upstairs after dinner, while the Weasleys stayed downstairs to enjoy a last family evening together.

He sat down on his bed and almost automatically took the next diary from its pile. He didn't have many left, the sleepless nights ensuring that he could read fast. It was probably the only good thing that had come out of it. He held it up towards the light, for once not having to read it under his blankets with only a Lumos illuminating the pages. He was in the middle of the 1976 diary now, at the end of the summer where Sirius had left home to go to the Potters instead, a theme that appeared to constantly be on Regulus' mind.

_August 26, 1976_   
_I don't know why I always thought that Siri was exaggerating. I envied him so much for being the first-born, always said that I would have done everything so much better had I been the Heir. Now my wish came true, I am finding out slowly why he rejected it so strongly. These past three days have been hell. Ever since Mother crossed the line of punishing me with curses for not trying hard enough with dark magic, that line appears to have been erased completely. I foolishly thought that all of Siri's scars came from how rough he always is with his friends. _

_August 27  
Why is she doing this? And why is my father just calmly watching as Mother berates me? I'm doing all I can to follow her instructions, brew the poisons she asks me to, cast the curses she wants me to. So what if I can't perform a perfect Cruciatus curse? No spell is instantly learned!_

_28  
I'm going insane. No matter how hard I try to please her, it's never enough. The magic she wants me to do makes me sick to my stomach. This cannot be what we are fighting for! _

_29  
I want to get out too. I can't. My family is everything I have. Damn it Sirius, why did you leave me alone here? Why couldn't you be what you were supposed to be?_

Harry looked disturbed at the pages, the writing having become more illegible, large scratches over the pages and blots staining the aged parchment that looked suspiciously like tears. Even Regulus' meticulous way of dating each entry was gone now. It was frightening to see how much the entries had changed in the course of a couple of days.

He flipped the page with dread coiling in his stomach. Then, he blinked. The following entry was as perfect as all the others he'd read.

_August 30_ _th_ _, 1976.  
He visited today, the Dark Lord himself. I knew that a change in Heirs was an important event, but for Him to visit was unexpected. I have kept track of all his activities in the past years of course, and have attended multiple speeches, but I've never been able to speak to him personally. It was a life-changing experience. We spoke nearly all evening and all of my doubts about Dark Magic are gone now, it was my parents who used it wrong. Mother got an earful about the way she tried to educate me, it is the very first time that I saw her so meek. After everything that happened in the past weeks, meeting him was truly a blessing, he saved me from my parents' madness. His Magic was indescribable, and his mere presence commands respect. As I am now the Heir to the Black family and I will be of age in only a few years, I will be invited to various events now too. It is so thrilling to be a part of the elite, to be in a position where I can be close to the most powerful wizard of this time! I hope to soon become an official part of his army, there is nothing more I wish than to fight for him._

So Regulus had finally met with Voldemort. Harry was rather surprised that it appeared that the Black family had been even** too** extreme in their usage of Dark Magic in Voldemort's opinion. When Sirius had said that his parents hadn't followed the Dark Lord, but thought he had the right idea, Harry had imagined them to perhaps have less fanatical ideas, not more. He could understand why Regulus was so eager to enter the Dark Lord's servitude if it meant more moderation than at home.

The meeting appeared to have been a life-changing day for Regulus. Gone were the entries about trivial happenings in Hogwarts or homework notes. He didn't even write about Sirius anymore. The diaries became a documentation of every snippet of news that Regulus heard about Voldemort. Among the lines, the teen noted down students who could or couldn't be 'trusted', the Marauders being the very first few to jot down as untrustworthy. From what Harry could gather, Regulus planned to make himself useful by giving Voldemort this information next time they spoke. Not finding anything worth of interest in the next couple of pages, Harry put the diary away again, deciding he could read more at Hogwarts. Tomorrow morning, he'd need to find a good time to sneak back into Regulus' room once more to place back the books he'd already read and take a couple more interesting ones with to school.

Harry let his head sink into the pillow and closed his eyes, feeling a headache building up. If only he could find sleep… His hand moved towards the locket on its own, thumb sliding over the emeralds on its surface. Even when knowing how dangerous the Horcrux was, it still calmed him down. Could the locket feel that he was a Horcrux too? Probably not, he doubted it would try to suck out his energy otherwise.

For the hundredth time, his mind wandered to that dangerous place of trying to reach out to it, find a way to speak to it. He knew that the object was messing with his head, yet he found himself caring less and less about that. With a massive amount of resolve that almost felt physically exhausting, Harry once again shoved that thought away. Tomorrow evening… he clung to that. Tomorrow evening, he could tell Barty or Voldemort that he'd found it. They would know what to do.

Harry evened his breath out, concentrating on nothing in particular, letting his mind drift a bit. Even if he couldn't sleep, resting was always good. Vague thoughts of Regulus crossed his head, then Sirius, Hogwarts, his friends, Quidditch, Voldemort… they stuck there, images blooming behind his eyes. He heard shouts and screams, saw a cloudy night illuminated by flashes of spells.

He was moving now too, raising a bone-white wand in the air and striking down people who ran out of a burning building. His Death Eaters had the house surrounded where today's auction took place. It had been a challenge to track it down, for the Beings he was in contact with all had been bought already. A trail had finally been found when the owner of a Centaur had expressed a desire to buy a mate for him to breed with, to experiment with creating Centaur breeds similar to racing horses. That owner had been trampled by a furious horde of the beasts today. Voldemort had smiled with glee as hooves had smashed the face into a mess of broken bones and bloodied flesh.

Séraphine Delacour appeared next to him, proudly displaying her beak and red feathers. ''Finally,'' she spoke, sounding as satisfied as he felt, her eyes shining. ''It became about time.''

''Remember not to kill all of them,'' Voldemort spoke, giving her a sideway glance. ''We need a couple survivors for information.'' She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

''I understand. We can take it over from here, I am certain that Aurors will arrive soon, your people should leave.''

He did not answer her directly, concentrating on his own magic to call to the Marks of his followers. They apparated to his side one by one. ''We will retreat for now,'' he ordered, before turning to Delacour again. ''Be careful with the Portkeys, the loss of a single one would mean a security breach. Any who cannot leave in the designated time should be left behind. Do not attempt heroic rescue actions if someone is too late, you will risk this entire operation blowing up. We may have struck one auction, there are bound to be many more people involved who did not appear here today.'' With those last words of warning, he apparated back to England, making his way to Malfoy manor to ensure that their guests arrived safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One funny comment from my bèta that I would like to share with you all: 'The Dark Lord. Future Emperor, genius, chosen one by magic herself and slave to his pet'  
Pretty much sums up him and nagini lol.


	46. The Horcrux

The hardest goodbye on the morning of September first was to Sirius. Their hug was slightly stiff and awkward on both ends, laden with unspoken truths and mutual pain, yet it lingered long as neither wished to truly let go. Harry's godfather had fought hard for hours to convince everyone that it wouldn't hurt to come with as Snuffles. Mrs Weasley hadn't budged, and even Kingsley had spoken out against the idea, saying that Dumbledore had expressed concerns about Sirius leaving this place of safety. They thus had to part in the gloomy entrance hall of Grimmauld place, echoes of Walburga Black's screams and insults in everyone's ears even after the curtains were firmly shut again. The last glimpse Harry saw of Sirius before leaving, as the front door closed behind him, was how the man's wavering smile fell and he was swallowed up in the darkness of the house. A house that was barely a better prison than Azkaban had been if Sirius was to be believed. Harry's hatred for Albus Dumbledore burned stronger than it had in months, and he hardly spoke a word on the way to the Hogwarts express, too much rage and worry on his mind.

Somewhere in the distance, he registered himself saying goodbye to the Weasleys and Tonks, who had escorted them. Or rather, escorted Harry. There had been supposed to be more 'guards', including Lupin and a man named Sturgis Podmore, but word had reached the Order last night that there had been raids in central Europe, and Dumbledore had been adamant to send people out immediately to gather information. Harry was glad for it, an entourage of bodyguards was rather unwelcome and unnecessary, especially since the Order had no more than vague hints of Voldemort's return and a couple of Death Eaters 'running loose' as they called it. The teen shivered lightly as he thought of the news, flashes of what he had seen last night still on his mind. He hadn't been dreaming exactly, he thought. It was more as if he'd been in a trance, unable to move or free himself from it. Voldemort hadn't noticed this time either, Harry had just found himself back in his bedroom at one point again. It was all very strange. Was the link destabilising again? Could the Horcrux be at fault? It hadn't reacted to anything since, as if the piece of soul inside was inactive.

He was practically shoved in the train at the last moment by Mrs Weasley after a warm hug, and he joined the Weasley children at one of the windows to wave goodbye. All but Ron left soon after, and the two of them went to search for Hermione. They had already shoved open the compartments of half the train and disturbed a great many people, before Ron came to the realisation that Hermione was most likely in the Prefect compartment. Harry had never heard of there being separate compartments for Prefects, but his friend explained that Percy had pranced around about getting special treatment for ages after getting his badge.

''She'll show up in time,'' Ron said. ''Let's try to find seats, I hope anything is free still.''

There was, in fact, nothing completely free anymore after all the time they spent searching Hermione. The only compartment in which someone tried to invite them in was Cedric's, but none of his friends looked happy at the prospect of two extra people joining as it was already cramped, so they declined. After a rather desperate search which had Harry's arms hurting from dragging his trunk and Hedwig's cage around for so long, they finally found a compartment in the far back which only had one person in it. It was the same compartment that Ron and Harry had shared on their very first journey to Hogwarts and brought back rather nostalgic feelings. In front of the door stood a very nervous Neville, who held a cactus-like plant.

''Oh, hey, great to see some familiar faces,'' the round-faced boy sighed in relief. ''Everything is full, huh?''

Harry peered through the glass and pointed with his thumb to the compartment they stood at. ''Looks like there are at least five seats here still. We could just ask if she doesn't mind.'' Inside sat a younger girl he recognised as one of Ginny's friends, Luna Lovegood. ''Didn't you go to the Yule Ball with her?'' he asked Neville, raising an eyebrow. His friend became red and shuffled his feet.

''We-ell, yes… She is… I don't know. It was nice but… I got bullied even a lot more afterwards for bringing her, she's a target for a lot of Slytherins, and so am I. Don't want to get her in more trouble either.''

Anger instantly welled up in Harry's chest as he was reminded of the many bullies at Hogwarts. ''The behaviour of other people is no reason why you can't make friends with people,'' he growled. ''You're just giving them what they want, Neville. Let's go in.'' As Harry opened the door and asked if they could join her, she only peered at them over the edge of an upside-down magazine for a moment and gave a vague wave and a hello, eyes lingering on Neville for a bit before shifting to Harry. Harry's impression of the girl was 'weird', which wasn't improved by a necklace with a butterbeer cork and earrings that seemed to be made of actual radishes. If he'd learned anything in the past year however, it was to not judge people only by their appearance, and if he could even deem** Voldemort** acceptable company, he certainly wasn't going to instantly reject a slightly eccentric girl. Ron did not appear to have the same opinion, trying his hardest to look anywhere else and making smalltalk with Neville about summer after putting the trunks away. Neville went along with it, although he glanced at Luna a few times as if wanting to say something.

''Hey, thanks for not minding sharing this compartment,'' Harry said in the end, figuring that Neville was probably too nervous to strike up a conversation. A few seconds ticked by without reaction, so he cleared his throat and continued with: ''Really, the rest of the train is swamped, we might have had to sit outside otherwise.'' The magazine rustled as she flipped a page and turned the thing the right way up again so Harry could see the words '_The Quibble_r' on the front. Pale blue, slightly bulging eyes looked at him again.

''You were talking to me? Oh, most people try to ignore me,'' she said in a rather floaty voice.

''Yeah… I have that problem often too,'' he replied, thinking of the Dursleys. ''You're Luna, right? Ginny introduced us last year before the Yule Ball.''

''I know,'' the girl replied, ''You're Harry Potter.'' Her unsettling gaze fell on his forehead as if her stare could pierce through his bangs. ''We didn't speak much then. Ginny enjoyed her date a lot, even if she was rather disappointed that it had to be cut short. You don't seem to be a person many would ignore.''

''It depends on the people,'' Harry shrugged, shooting an annoyed look at Ron, who bristled at the word 'date'.

She hummed. ''Watch out for those who want to be your friends with other motives. Most people are good, but most are also greedy. Wisdom lies in finding out who is good, yet not greedy.''

''Err, thank you, I'll heed that advice,'' Harry replied. The girl went back to reading.

During Harry's brief conversation with Luna, Neville had enthusiastically shown Ron the strange, slimy grey cactus he'd carried before. Harry had never been really interested in Herbology and had developed a healthy dose of wariness for magical plants since encountering Devil's Snare. He couldn't really understand Neville's fervour as the thing, which was covered in odd boils, reminded Harry most of a half-dead intestine. Ron did not look very happy either as it was shoved into his face. Without much of a warning, Neville suddenly poked the plant to demonstrate its defensive system, streams of a rancid, pus-like substance instantly spurting everywhere, covering the front of the girl's magazine and Harry's face.

As Neville panicked and started apologising profusely, Harry spit the stuff out and drew his wand, cleaning up the mess with a Scouring charm. It had been one of the useful charms he'd taught himself to be better at during summer to make cleaning up after dinner much easier. Flitwick had taught them in class midway through last year, but he'd been so caught up in everything back then that he hadn't properly gotten it down then. Neville and Ron both stared at him as if he'd performed a miracle, probably also not having successfully cast it before. Harry could vaguely recall Hermione trying to help Neville with practising it. ''Nice one,'' Ron said, looking impressed. ''I can barely remove a stain in my robes with that.''

''That was unpleasant,'' the girl said, somehow managing to not sound accusing at all, waving her magazine up and down which was, while clean now, still slightly wet.

''I can try to dry it too,'' Harry offered. ''Haven't practised that much yet though, so no promises.'' She wordlessly handed him the Quibbler. While trying to dry it with medium to bad success, his eye fell on a few of the headlines, and he started reading with growing astonishment. Fudge as Kobold-killer, Sirius as innocent singing sensation, the Tutshill Tornadoes as torturing manipulators and cheats… ''This has some… interesting articles,'' Harry said with slight concern. He hoped that she was reading this as entertainment, it was a dangerous thing to consume media with so many conspiracy theories at once. Merlin, the power of the media was the exact reason why Voldemort had seized control over the newspapers. Now Harry thought about it, that didn't make him feel much better about his own sources of information.

''They are, aren't they?'' the girl said, sounding pleased. ''My father is the editor,'' she said, pointing to the cover, where in various letters of which the fonts did not fit together at all stood: '_The Wizarding World's alternative voice by X. Lovegood'_. ''I liked last week's edition better, it was a special about all the helpful neighbourhood creatures found in magical gardens like Aquagnomes and Gulping Plimpies.''

''You like magical creatures then? Do you take the Care of Magical Creatures course?'' Harry asked. He'd never heard of either one of the creatures she mentioned, but figured that it must be his Muggle upbringing. The most exciting thing he'd ever found in Aunt Petunia's garden had been an exceptionally large leopard slug which he had brought to the park before his aunt could order him to put salt on it. He missed the strange glances that Ron and Neville threw each other.

''Yes, although I don't know if I like it very much, Professor Hagrid is not a good teacher,'' Luna said, causing a round of protest from Harry and Ron. Luna only gave them a blank look until they fell silent and continued: ''The creatures he shows us are often very misunderstood even by him. I am very glad that he has proven that Fiery Crustapions exist though, even if he called them Blast-ended Skrewts. That made a lot less people laugh at me, my dad wrote another article on them last year as soon as I found out.'' Harry frowned slightly now, knowing that Hagrid had illegally bred the Skrewts himself from Manticores and Fire Crabs. He was about to open his mouth when he caught Ron's raised eyebrows and shaking head. Deciding that he wasn't enough of an expert on magical creatures to continue this conversation, Harry returned the magazine.

''So, should be all dry now. Hey, we're still expecting a friend to join us soon, is that okay?'' It** had** been 'her' compartment first after all, so it would be terribly impolite not to ask. Lovegood cocked her head, gaze drifting off to the window.

''Sure. My father always said that 'the more the merrier' is a Muggle saying that might one day prove to hold truth to it. I can try today.''

Not quite knowing what to do with that comment, Harry didn't reply, talking with the others instead. Almost an hour passed until their compartment door was shoved open. In front stood Hermione, but rather than her usual excited self, she had a scowl on her face that didn't promise much good. Harry saw why a moment later, when she stepped in and was followed by Draco Malfoy. ''I said go away, Malfoy! Or do I need to break your nose again?''

Neville's eyes grew wide and he mouthed to Ron 'She broke his nose?'

''My my Granger, threatening violence on your fellow prefect,'' the boy drawled. ''I might have to report that to your Head of House to see if you are unfit for the position.''

''I'm sure Professor McGonagall will be of the same opinion,'' she hissed back, throwing another glare at the Slytherin. Malfoy lingered in the doorway as Hermione sat down and tried to ignore him, his eyes wandering across the compartment. ''So Loony Lovegood joins your strange band of associates, Potter?'' he said with a disgusted sneer. ''Your choice of affiliating yourself with Mudbloods, freaks and traitors is getting more and more questionable.''

Harry tried hard not to take the bait and rose slowly from his seat, drawing his wand from his back pocket. ''You seem to have a very short memory span,'' he calmly spoke. ''I did tell you that insults aren't a good way to start a conversation. If you can't treat my friends with respect, then I have nothing to say to you.'' Pleased, he saw the simmering hatred in Draco's eyes die down and make way for a calculating glint. Malfoy wanted something he could give, the boy wouldn't be here otherwise, or have pulled that stunt at Gringotts.

''Fine. I… apologise, Granger,'' he spoke, looking as if he wanted to wash out his mouth afterwards. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but didn't look as surprised as Neville or Ron. Well, she had attended that one party with Draco and probably knew a bit more about Harry's odd not-quite-a-friendship with Malfoy than the others. ''Potter, a word.''

With a roll of his eyes, Harry stepped out of the compartment and shut the door, carefully throwing up a silencing barrier. He sighed, wondering where the hell he should even start this conversation. He'd hoped that they would have somehow… gotten further. Malfoy had been forced to spill out his heart while under the Imperius, he'd aided Harry with the second Task, had been a part of one of the Champion parties. But no matter what, it looked like the boy always searched out the comfort zone of bullying others to not have to look at himself. ''You're not doing anyone a service by acting like this,'' he muttered. ''Not even yourself.''

''I don't need more of your life advice, Potter.''

''Fine, then don't listen to me. You have some explaining to do,'' he continued, irritation rising. It wasn't his responsibility how Malfoy felt or acted. ''What in the world are you trying to do, telling other students about my… truce?''

''Truce?'' Malfoy chuckled. ''My father told me that it is a bit more than that. You stayed at the Dark Lord's** home** over summer. I heard he has been… teaching you.''

Ah, that explained a lot. Malfoy most likely saw Harry's closeness to Voldemort as an opportunity to climb the ranks of the Dark Lord fast even when at Hogwarts, without his daddy being around. To gain respect from his peers and information about what was going on outside of Hogwarts. ''I don't see what that has to do with you,'' Harry spoke coolly. ''Each time I tried to rely on you, you broke your word. You don't really expect me to let you benefit of my connections, do you? I offered being friends with you, I fully wished to uphold that. You didn't exactly do much to reciprocate that, treating the people I have counted among my friends for years like garbage.''

''I stopped bullying Gryffindors!'' Malfoy protested.

''Oh wow, it should be absolutely commended that you don't do something awful! Plus, that hardly counts when you bully children from other houses instead. It has nothing to do with trying to be a better person.''

The Slytherin huffed. ''I don't** need** to be a good person, Potter. I need people to listen to me, and fear is a great tool for that. I stopped harassing your little friends because you disliked it, but you can't make me ruin my entire reputation by suddenly being** nice** to everyone. Besides, don't be hypocritical, the Dark Lord himself rules through fear, you don't appear to have much of a problem having him as a role-model.''

''Maybe because he is actually capable of listening and intelligent thought!'' Harry bit back, feeling a great urge to defend the man. Sure, Voldemort wasn't a good person either and liked to cause pain to others, but he'd left the days of being a school bully long behind him and did not try to get people to join him by brainwashing or torture. Other than Malfoy, he fought the morally skewed urges he had instead of taking the easy road of giving into them. ''You know nothing about the Dark Lord.'' As he said it, the locket, which had been apathic since the morning, flared up with heat so suddenly that Harry almost grabbed it in shock, stopping himself barely in time.

''But you do,'' Malfoy said, mustering Harry with a serious expression. ''You could have been great in Slytherin.''

The echo of the Sorting Hat's words made a shiver run over Harry's spine. ''I'm perfectly happy in Gryffindor. So, just to be clear, you want to somehow parade around as my friend now that you spread rumours about me having influence in higher circles. The only thing I have to say to that is 'No thanks'. I don't like being used, Malfoy.''

''I have something you want too,'' the blond said, lips curling in a way that was eerily similar to Snape. Shit, he hadn't given Snape any thought anymore, he was not looking forward to seeing the man again after their last conversation.

''What could you possibly have that I want?'' Harry scowled.

The smirk widened. ''A way to survive this school year. Give it a week, Potter… I'm sure you'll come around once meeting our new Defence teacher. In the meantime, I do suggest still taking the invitation to the Slytherin opening party. After all, it wouldn't do to miss the opportunity of so many contacts… contacts of students who wish to help the side you picked. It starts at ten, I'll be expecting you.'' Malfoy gave a vague wave and walked away with an air of smugness practically radiating off him. Somehow, that conversation had not gone the way he'd imagined it. At all.

He could of course tell Barty or Voldemort about this, but he really didn't feel like letting other people fight his fights, or coming across as too weak to handle Malfoy on his own. Mood worsening, he joined his friends again, merely shaking his head when they questioned him about Malfoy. They all fell into silence soon for the rest of the ride. Harry rested his head against the window, looking at the landscape rolling past and the raindrops sliding down the glass with ever-increasing speed. Hermione was propped up against the other window, engrossed in a book, while Luna pulled more Quibblers from her bag to read one after the other. The only brief conversation came from when they bought a bit of candy from the trolley and from the sparse words exchanged between Neville and Ron.

Harry was absolutely fine with that, lost in thoughts. Another year at Hogwarts… his feelings about it were rather split. The castle always held a certain magic and warmth to it, but he wasn't looking forward to homework, exams, or dealing with many of the people who occupied the castle. Dumbledore might want to continue those strange lessons, it would be very weird to talk to Snape again, and he couldn't tell his friends much of what he was going through. He hoped that nothing strange would happen this year again to put him in the spotlight, but the ominous words of Malfoy about the new Defence teacher put him on edge. Harry just wished to have a normal schoolyear for once, was that too much to ask? Even though it was a magical school, plenty of his peers managed not to get entangled in dangerous situations. Him ending up in lethal danger had been Voldemort's fault three out of four times though, and once indirectly through Pettigrew, so that would drastically lower the chances of odd happenings now the man was not involving himself with Hogwarts business for a while. He desperately wished for it to be so.

The locket on his chest grew cold and heavy, a reminder of that even before the year had started, Harry might have screwed up.

Darkness fell quickly, a darkness so consuming that Harry doubted he'd even be able to catch a first glimpse of Hogwarts while in the train. They changed quickly as the Hogwarts Express slowed down, Hermione returning to the Prefect compartment to gather her trunk. Luna was allowed to carry Pigwidgeon's cage, the girl seemed very taken with the tiny owl and Ron was perfectly fine with having to carry less himself. There was something missing when they walked onto the platform though: The one calling out to the first years was not Hagrid this time, but professor Grubby-Plank. Filing that information away for later, they went to the carriages, where he was met with the strange black creatures that Voldemort had called 'Thestrals'. He stared at them for a moment, wondering if they could see him with those strange, milky eyes.

''They're beautiful, no?'' a floaty voice spoke beside him and Harry jumped, not having noticed Luna approach. She had her arms folded around Pigwidgeon's cage and swayed a bit from side to side.

''You can see them too? Who…''

''My mother. Potion accident. You?''

''My parents as well,'' he murmured, only failing to mention that it had been their second death which had made him able to see the horse-like beings. She nodded sagely and clambered into the carriage with the rest, followed by Harry. As sad as it was that Luna had lost someone too, he felt a little bit better knowing that he wasn't the only one here to see them.

He was surprised to find that Ginny had joined them, he hadn't seen her in the train or on the platform. He knew precious little about Ginny or her friends, even though they'd just spent a month in the same house. She didn't much like talking about herself, Harry had noticed, preferring to join the Twins in plotting their next prank or asking Bill about his travels and the magic he'd encountered. The short conversation in which she'd warned him against the influence of dark magic had been one of the very few moments in which she'd opened up even slightly. Now too, she was giving him concerned looks that he tried his best to ignore. He only needed to survive dinner and maybe that stupid Slytherin party, before everything would be alright. He'd already checked his trunk for the two-way mirror and put it on top to grab it instantly when having a moment alone in the dorms.

Ron and Ginny discussed Hagrid's absence further during the ride, while Harry stared out of the window again, this time hoping to catch a glimpse of light from Hagrid's hut once they entered the Hogwarts grounds. There was nothing to see, and nothing to feel but a cloud of despair descending on him that was far too overwhelming for the situation. Harry barely knew how he ended up sitting in the Great Hall, for he suddenly found himself there, among his chattering friends. Ginny was gone, sitting with her classmates on a different part of the table. Luna too had left them and Harry could not remember saying goodbye. Something gnawed at his chest, as if invisible insects ate away his heart. He grabbed the table as the locket started its low thudding again, which rang in his ears so hard that his fingers started trembling. Something was wrong. Something was terrible, terribly wrong.

''-think she remembers?'' he heard, and he jerked his head to the side to stare at Ron.

''What?'' he asked, disoriented. Sound and light was suddenly too harsh on his eyes and ears as the thudding subsided and allowed other noise to enter his head.

''You think she remembers that you punched her?'' his friend asked with wide eyes, making a sideway nod to the head table. Harry cast a glance at it and froze as his eyes connected with those of a very familiar woman. His mouth dried out as he realised that the Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic, the toad-like woman in pink whom he had slammed a fist in the face of after she insulted Fleur, was sitting at the teacher's table. From her glare, which he could see very clearly with his new glasses, she remembered all too well.

Malfoy had warned him about the new Defence teacher. Oh no.

As if in a trance, he listened to the song of the Sorting Hat, which was darker and longer than it had ever been, speaking of enemies and holding together against discord, a clear warning that was cause for many whispers amongst the student body. After the Sorting, Harry started eating to wash away the bad taste it had left in his mouth and listened to Nearly Headless Nick's explanation about previous warnings of the Sorting Hat, which was instantly followed by the first squabble of the year between Ron and Hermione about Ron's tactlessness that drove Nick off. What a great start, Harry thought to himself.

A second unpleasant surprise came when after the food, the Undersecretary -Professor Umbridge now, according to Dumbledore- interrupted the Headmaster's speech with a small cough. As bad as he felt, Harry tried to gather his thoughts and listened to it with as much rapt attention as Dumbledore appeared to have. It was clear that this woman was not going to make his life any easier, so it would be good to keep an eye on her from the start. Harry had been fooled and played too often by figures of authority to let this slide. Between the games Dumbledore and Voldemort were playing, he definitely did not want to be surprised when the Ministry suddenly became a third faction of importance.

After the experience of the Award ceremony, he was somehow not surprised when she started speaking to them as if they were all five-year-olds, blabbering on about becoming good friends, which caused many giggles and whispered comments. Harry had to grudgingly commend Umbrige: when in the next sentences, her tone changed and she turned to a far more serious topic that indicated her desire for change in Hogwarts, hardly anyone listened attentively anymore, too occupied with her behaviour from before. Because of it, he was certain that the true meaning of her words flew over the heads of many. From _'traditions that don't need tinkering'_ to _'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'_, it was clear that Umbridge's goal was to control exactly what would be allowed or not from this moment on, and that she would do everything to ensure her will would be pushed through. With her specific mention of Headmasters changing the school over time, he had a suspicion what her goal was. He only wasn't sure what to think of it.

Harry was relieved to find that he hadn't been the only one who had paid attention, when Hermione started muttering about the speech. Perhaps tomorrow he could talk about it in greater detail with her. ''That was very enlightening,'' she said. While Ron declared her mad, Harry nodded.

''I thought so too. Let's see how her classes are, that we only have a theory book for Defence doesn't sit well with me.''

''Agreed,'' she replied. ''Hopefully it will all stay at words only. In either case, the staff clearly doesn't want her here, did you see the looks she got?'' Harry hadn't seen it, needing all energy to concentrate on Umbridge's words and Dumbledore's reaction to it. ''Anyhow, we'll talk later. I need to guide the first years to the dorms now. Meet you there?'' She got up from the table and called for the new Gryffindor students, joined by Dean, who had indeed gotten the second Prefect badge, much to Harry and Ron's relief.

With a vague excuse about not feeling well -which was most definitely true,- Harry quickly asked Hermione for the password - _Mimbulus Mimbletonia _– before she could disappear, and hurried out of the Hall rather quickly, taking every shortcut known to him to reach Gryffindor tower faster. He was the very first to arrive and practically ran up the stairs to the sleeping dorms. A pressing headache was forming between his eyes again, and he did grab the locket now, uncaring that it was so cold that it almost froze his hand. He needed a solution, desperately. Harry fell down on his knees in front of the trunk that had been placed at the end of his bed, throwing open the lid and grabbing the mirror as if it was a cup of water for a man starving of thirst. The solution was here…

He barely had the sense of mind to realise that talking to a Death Eater through a two-way mirror was not going to look favourable to anyone coming in, and he would also make himself suspicious if he'd shut his bed hangings so early. As no other students had arrived yet, he exited Gryffindor tower again, clutching the mirror to his chest. He needed a place to be alone, somewhere where no-one would find him. Sirius had told him about something like that, had shown him a room on this very floor. Harry found his way to the tapestry of dancing trolls with little difficulty and paced up and down in front of the blank wall.

_I need a place to have a private conversation, a place to be alone!_ He thought furiously. At the third passing, a door materialised and he sighed in relief. Help was so close.

Harry rushed through the door, hardly taking note of the room around him, all that mattered was that others wouldn't find him here now. ''Barty!'' he rasped, staring in the mirror, holding it up to his eyes, heart thudding wildly as seconds ticked by. ''Barty!'' he cried out, slightly more desperate after not getting an answer. He held his breath as finally, the surface of the mirror rippled slightly, his own reflection making way for the familiar face of his favourite Death Eater.

''Evan! Great to hear from you again, I've been worried sick about you, our Lord had such an irregular sleeping schedule that he said he hasn't been able to connect to your dreams. Survived the Order, did you?''

''Yeah, yeah I did. Everything fine in that regard. Barty, listen, I need advice, I found-''

A rushing sounded in his head, his lips became unable to form words. Harry blinked once, then twice, trying to make sense of where he was. When he looked down on the mirror again, it was empty. ''What? No…'' he whispered in disbelief, shaking it. His hands started sweating and he withdrew his wand, Ginny's words of warning ringing in his head. ''_**Tempus**__._''

He should have expected it somehow. Still, he stared at the numbers '21:47' with a growing numbness. Dinner had ended at eight thirty. He couldn't have arrived in this room later than nine. Nearly an hour had passed. The chain of the locket constricted around his throat as he furiously tried taking it off, crying out as he struggled with it. ''No, **NO**, **Bastard!**'' he yelled at it, torn between terror and fury. It was too late, the Horcrux had grown far more powerful than it had shown before. How could this have happened so fast? Ginny had written in the diary for months before Riddle had been able to cause her blackouts! It hadn't been more than a couple of weeks since he'd started wearing the Horcrux, and he hadn't even interacted with it! Did they all work differently? Was his connection to it stronger?

He calmed abruptly, wrapping trembling fingers around the damned thing. Voldemort had been able to listen to reason. Harry was a Horcrux himself and thus far too important to drain the soul of. Riddle, no matter what age or in what form, would never go down the road of self-destruction. If Harry was caught up this much already, he might as well face the Horcrux on his own terms. He'd put off talking to it in the hopes of Barty or Voldemort being able to take it off his hands before anything like this would happen. That was no longer an option if the Horcrux cut off his contact with anyone who could help. He raised the trinket up, glaring at the shining emeralds, feeling magic radiating off the metal. Almost instinctively, he knew what to do.

_~Open~_

A seam appeared across its surface and the metal clicked, two little golden doors swinging open. Harry wasn't exactly sure what to expect. A picture of Riddle maybe… or at least a sort of core. Instead, he was met by two dark green eyes that stared at him from within the polished metal for a second before disappearing. He sat there like an idiot, waiting for Riddle to come back. ''Can you… can you hear me?'' he started with uncertainty. It would be just his luck if this thing couldn't actually communicate in words. It slipped from his fingers as tendrils of thick smoke started coming out of the locket and he had half a mind to shut it when it formed a figure.

Riddle was clearly older than the one from the diary had been, but not by much. Harry guessed him to be in his early or mid-twenties. He didn't have red eyes yet despite splitting his soul three times already. Although, if Harry remembered correctly from Dumbledore's memory, they could certainly flash red already by this time. All in all, he looked pretty human still... and just straight-up pretty too, a crazy thought that Harry blamed on his sleep-deprivation before pushing it far away.

''Well hello,'' the apparition spoke, taking a form that was far too solid to Harry's liking. Riddle was wearing rather plain robes and a travel cloak, looking at Harry with a calculated glint in his eyes that Harry didn't like one bit. The teen felt as if he was being sized up by a predator. The young Dark Lord had his hands clasped behind his back, a stance that Voldemort took rather often even now.

''Evening,'' Harry said, trying his best not to glare at the one who had caused him such problems over the past weeks. Even if the thing was trying to suck out his soul, he knew how much Voldemort disliked impoliteness, and it wouldn't do to start this with hostility no matter how much he wanted to pummel Riddle's face in with rage. He knew how far that had gotten him with Voldemort…

Though he still wasn't going to call Riddle 'Lord' if he didn't show he deserved it. Harry had no disillusions about that this was surely a very different man than the Voldemort he had come to know. For one, it was only a sliver of soul with a mind of its own. The last Horcrux had tried to gain a body with no regards to the main soul. This one cutting him off from contacting Voldemort - first through not letting him dream and now with the mirror – didn't bode well. Riddle mustered him quietly in the same way that Voldemort had when trying to test how patient he was. Harry tried to hold out under the unnerving stare as long as possible before twitching.

''You look rather unsurprised at my appearance,'' the Locket-Horcrux finally spoke.

Harry didn't answer instantly, thoughts racing through his head about how much he wanted to reveal. Information was precious, both dangerous to give and good as bargaining material for a piece of soul that had been shut off from the outside world for who knew how many years. ''How much do you know about me?'' Harry asked, crossing his arms and frowning. He had no idea how much the piece of soul within the locket had been able to hear of the outside world in the past weeks. The vessel had seemed to react to some of Harry's words before, but for all he knew that could have been purely magical.

Riddle raised his eyebrows and wetted his lips before speaking: ''You found me at the Black's home, where you stayed for summer. You defended the Dark Lord and are clearly a Parselmouth. Yet you are a Gryffindor and people around you spoke negatively of the Dark Lord as well… You try to hide who you really are.''

''Good, then I know more about you than you know about me,'' Harry said with a small, victorious smirk. Holding the cards when talking to a person more dangerous than oneself was great. ''I know you're Dark Lord Voldemort's Horcrux. I also know what you can do and how I could potentially destroy you. So if you keep sucking out my life energy, I swear I'll stab a Basilisk fang through you or get one of my friends to do it.'' Riddle didn't need to know how much he was bluffing with that statement.

Unexpectedly, Riddle merely laughed softly, throwing Harry off, and stepped closer. With a movement so quick that he didn't see it coming at all, the man raised a hand, causing more tendrils of smoke to shoot out which wrapped themselves around Harry's throat. Okay, so maybe he didn't really know what this one could do. The Diary definitely had not been able to choke him with air. It was also a very red flag that he found himself in a far-too familiar situation, his air supply being blocked off as the man came closer and loomed over him, eyes shooting fire. Why did Voldemort have such a throat fixation?

''If you know who I am, then you also know that my power has no limits. Do not think that you can control me,** boy**. You will give me whatever I want, whenever I want it, or I will crush your skull and move to the next best person.''

Harry thought fast. The first tactic had failed, he had to throw something better on the table ''I… I'm a Horcrux too,'' Harry managed to rasp out. If he didn't want to become an empty husk, he needed to have at least the importance of his continued survival be known. The tendrils retreated, though Riddle did not.

''That explains… much'' the apparition hissed softly. ''A human Horcrux… And where, pray tell, is my soul?''

Harry shrugged. ''It didn't happen on purpose. Had some side effects, but that I am able to speak Parseltongue should at least be an indication that I'm telling the truth, unless you know of some more illegitimate children in your family?'' He pressed his lips together when Riddle stilled completely and gave him a murderous look, to not let any further snappy comments slip. The man didn't say anything in reply, which was possibly even worse than if he'd started throwing curses. Riddle retreated, walking around the room, pale fingers brushing over the surface of a table that stood in the centre of the room. It looked like he was in deep thought.

''We are at Hogwarts, no? Where?'' the man demanded to know, wandering around. It was… disconcerting to see how far he could stray from the locket already.

The Gryffindor looked around, really taking in the room for the first time. It wasn't very big, a rather simple room with a single chair and a small table. Well, he'd asked for privacy, there hadn't been much he'd expected from a wish like that. The teen did feel rather hesitant about telling Riddle the truth: that there was a room at Hogwarts that could change into nearly everything one wished for. Giving a Horcrux such a place of retreat was most definitely a bad idea. ''I just stumbled in here,'' Harry said, which wasn't really a lie. He followed the other's movements with wary eyes, feeling incredibly uncomfortable as he didn't have the slightest clue as to how he should react to Riddle. The man clearly didn't deem his comment worth a reply, instead crooking a finger at Harry.

''Come here.''

''Thanks, I'm fine,'' he replied.

Riddle stilled again, with that dangerous glint in his eyes. ''Come here or I'll do unspeakable things to you, boy. A Horcrux you may be, limbs are not vital to staying alive.'' Harry felt like it was his first meeting with Voldemort all over again, which in a sense was true. He'd almost forgotten how much he'd had to walk on eggshells before gradually starting to get more liberties. Ones he only now really recognised, the Dark Lord hadn't cursed him in ages anymore for insolence, usually only making threats about it in an ill attempt at humour. This version looked more likely to follow up on the threats. Voldemort's protection spell specifically excluded harm done by himself, and Harry wasn't willing to test quite yet if being harmed by a Horcrux was possible. The choking of before was a bad indication that it might be.

Riddle sat himself down on the table surface, gesturing for Harry to take the chair, which gave the other man even more of a height advantage than he already had.

''We need not do this the rough way,'' Riddle spoke in a velvety voice that made Harry swallow a tad harder than usual. ''You clearly know my older self and are aware of more details than most. I need information. Answer my questions faithfully and you will come out of this unharmed. Fail and… well… I'll leave it up to your pretty head to come up with suitable punishment. I might even pluck it out of your brain and use it.''

He certainly wasn't joking. With a bout of courage, Harry replied: ''Can I ask one thing first that has been bugging me?'' Riddle raised an eyebrow, which Harry, who was very familiar with Voldemort's facial expressions and body language by now, instantly took as an indication to continue. ''You don't seem very hyped about meeting your older self, you blocked all of my attempts to reach him. Why?''

Riddle furrowed his brow ever so slightly. ''All of your attempts…?'' the man muttered, then looked as if he'd slipped up and smoothed his expression. Inwardly, Harry gained a spark of hope again. So the Dark Lord hadn't been as good at hiding his thoughts when younger, that could work to his advantage. Catching Riddle's slip-ups by asking questions that threw him off was the way to go then. Interesting, so Riddle hadn't known about him trying to reach Voldemort, or perhaps just not the dreams. It would make sense if he hadn't known Harry was a Horcrux. Perhaps the lack of sleep really had been a 'normal' side effect of the energy-drain.

''I have been locked up for decades with very few opportunities to connect to the outside world,'' the Horcrux spoke. ''No sight, smell, taste, touch… even hardly any sound. Tell me boy, how would you like for all of your senses to be taken away for years? When my other self created me, I had no idea what was coming. To ensure survival, I know that this is the state I shall have to remain in for eternity and am willing to sacrifice this part of me for the good of the whole, but I think that after all that, I deserve a bit of freedom… and fun.'' He showed a smile with too-sharp teeth and leaned over to Harry, a hand reaching out to lightly stroke Harry's hair. The teen stiffly remained seated and only glared at the young Dark Lord ''Being in Hogwarts will give me plenty of opportunity to have that fun I so crave,'' he whispered, dark eyes glittering. ''And you are going to help me with that.''

''Why would I do that?'' Harry bit back. There was absolutely no way that he was going to let Riddle run rampant in Hogwarts only to feel alive again. He was pretty sure that Riddle's idea of fun would not involve Quidditch or exploding snap. Exploding humans were more likely to be on the list.

''Because if you don't help me willingly, I will take over your thoughts, possess your body like I did before, and kill your precious friends with your own two hands,'' the man answered in an airy voice as if he was talking about the weather, a deceivingly sweet smile on his lips.

It felt as if Riddle had punched him in the gut while drenching him in ice water. Slamming his hands on the table, Harry stood up, the chair falling to the floor, Riddle's hand quickly retreating. ''Don't you** dare** touch a hair on the head of my friends!'' he yelled, uncaring about how much emotion he was showing. Hatred boiled in his veins and he wanted to smash a fist in that handsome, smug face. Riddle reached out and grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair, drawing him closer until their noses almost touched.

''Oh yes, this** will** be fun,'' the man said before pushing Harry away again and smoothly sliding off the table again. ''You have no power here. If you knew what I was, you shouldn't have been so stupid to carry me around on your naked chest. Now, I can control you however I want, so don't even dare to try anything. To my older self, we should have equal value, and as you only have a dormant piece of soul in you, I doubt he'd care if I used you to further our goals.''

Harry snorted. ''Except you were stuck in that locket and have no idea what went down in the meantime. Trust me, if it is between you or me, I'm rather confident.'' This clearly displeased Riddle greatly, for he glowered and demanded, more aggressively now:

''Tell me what you are to him!'' The words sounded magically amplified and Harry instantly felt compelled to answer, having to greatly resist the urge. He bit on his tongue, the sharp sting and taste of copper on his tongue clearing his senses.

''You'll have to ask more nicely if you want answers from me. Even if you can control my body, my thoughts are my own.''

A light trembling of Riddle's hands was all that betrayed his fury. ''Don't be so sure of that,'' the other said, a light hiss in his voice. ''I can make your thoughts hell if I want to. So, **Harry**,'' The teen got a slight shock as his name was uttered. He'd been positive that he hadn't introduced himself. ''We can do this two ways. Either you're with me or against me. Aid me willingly, and I'll make sure that no harm comes to those who are** precious** to you. Fail, and I will utterly destroy your life so much that you wished I would have killed you after all. If you expect help from my older self, don't bother. It is the first day at Hogwarts and I can keep you here until next summer if I so desire.''

''He'll know something is wrong,'' Harry protested.

''Perhaps, and? I very much doubt that he can enter Hogwarts, being a Dark Lord. I saw today that Dumbledore is still Headmaster. So, your answer?''

Harry very much felt like being stubborn and not answering at all. Taking into consideration that he was a human of flesh and blood, while Riddle was a spirit-like being that needed neither food nor sleep, it was very doubtful that he would win when trying to outlast the other in patience. Was there any right answer to this? Agreeing to aid willingly would be the same as bringing a powerful sacrifice by letting Riddle take control of his actions, which could be interpreted as heavy magic with unforeseen consequences. He had no idea how much power he'd give the young Dark Lord with that. If he resisted, it might well be that Riddle kept true to his word of attacking Harry's friends, which was absolutely unthinkable too.

''You leave me no choice,'' he said in the end, weighing all options. ''Thus, I am** forced** to agree to your demands.'' There, that should at least limit the other's influence a bit.

A wry smile curled on Riddle's face. ''What interesting wording. You have been taught well.''

''How will this work?'' Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. ''Your… **fun**?''

''All in due time. For now, I can relish in having access to a body again, even like this. Your emotions fuelled me quite well…'' That answer wasn't very satisfying, far too vague to Harry's tastes, though better than some things his frantic mind had imagined. He silently vowed that if Riddle was going to stall his own plans, the teen would try to do everything in his power to ensure the stalling would last as long as possible. The young Dark Lord continued: ''I also want information, it wouldn't do to stand in my own way. I know just what will give me that. You have been invited to a rather interesting party, haven't you? It has just started, you should hurry down to the dungeons. I'm curious to see how a Gryffindor will fare when surrounded by Slytherins.'' Harry didn't answer, looking away when the ghost-like form came closer again and tried looking him in the eyes. ''Such defiance,'' Riddle chuckled. ''I shall return to the locket now. We'll see each other soon. Very soon.''

''Will you let me sleep again at least?'' Harry asked, a hint of traitorous desperation worming its way into his voice.

''Maybe…'' Riddle spoke, eyeing him carefully ''You did agree to my arrangement, so I will not deprive you of all your energy anymore. You need to do well enough at school to keep off the radar.'' Harry found it funny how casually Riddle used such a Muggle expression, but decided not to point it out. ''I'll help you brew a dreamless sleep potion, you may sleep when you take that.'' Harry's heart sank. He'd sleep but… he could not reach Voldemort without dreaming. ''Do you find this… disagreeable?''

''No, no…'' Harry quickly lied, uncomfortable beneath Riddle's stare and afraid that the man would take the promise of sleep away again. ''I'll go to the party now. Do you think I'll need dress robes?''

''It is the start-of-year party, many students of the younger years won't have any, so no. Good luck, do keep me entertained.'' Riddle didn't wait for another answer, dissolving into smoke that was sucked up by the locket, which snapped shut again and slipped between the folds of Harry's robes.

This could have gone worse. Riddle could have had plans to slaughter the entire school or something. However, Harry didn't think it could have gone** much** worse.

And yet, while Harry quietly made his way down to the dungeons, passing through winding, familiar corridors and staring at all the portraits that surrounded him, an odd feeling settled in his chest that he tried to place. His stay at Riddle manor being cut short so suddenly had been unpleasant, and he wasn't able to reach Voldemort now either. Draco Malfoy was an unreliable git and Barty wasn't a teacher anymore. He had no one to talk to when it came to topics on dark magic. Except… now he had.

He realised that the odd feeling was content. Maybe Riddle would try to use him like the diary had used Ginny, but it wouldn't end in the same way. He** knew** Voldemort, and Riddle was ultimately but a younger part of the intriguing man he'd come to admire so. That Harry had felt out of his depth during the conversation with Riddle now didn't mean it had to stay that way. Riddle was Horcrux, Harry was a thinking and living Horcrux-vessel, surely they'd have things in common or could talk. He wasn't alone. He had to think of the memories he'd seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve, of Tom Riddle in the classroom. Brilliant, quiet, wanting to prove his worth to those who'd already decided what path he'd go. Just maybe, Harry could help him.

''You're late, people were already starting to question me!'' Malfoy finally hissed, slightly red in the face as Harry finally stepped through the wall that blocked off the Slytherin common room from the rest of the dungeons. He'd been stumped about the password for a few moments as everyone was clearly already inside after ten, but a low hissed '_Open_' that originated from the Locket had made the wall reveal the passage behind it. Harry should have known from the Chamber that Slytherin had liked Parseltongue passwords.

''I never said I would definitely come,'' Harry answered, raising an eyebrow at Draco. ''It's not my fault that you went around telling people that.'' He let his eyes roam over the crowd. He'd only been here twice and both times, the room hadn't been incredibly full. Now, it was absolutely packed, the leather couches shoved to the side to form a dance floor and tables laden with all kinds of fancy food standing near the walls. The room itself was stunningly decorated; strategically-placed lights illuminated the windows to the lake to increase the green glow, silver and green ribbons had been woven through the chandeliers and hung down in tresses, shimmering each time they moved; garlands of ivy and mistletoe were draped across the walls. The fireplace flared a constant green too, several students amusing themselves with making the fire turn into different shapes. It felt like a much posher party than the ones in the Gryffindor common room, but Harry could see why people like Malfoy would enjoy it. Was that a whole, stuffed swan to the side? Who paid for these things?

''Impressive, isn't it?'' Malfoy spoke with a slightly puffed chest, clearly having misinterpreted Harry's bewildered look. ''Snape makes sure we have the best of the best to welcome new students every year, in collaboration with some members of the board of Governors, my father included.''

''We** just** had an all-you-can-eat dinner in the Great hall,'' Harry remarked. ''Like, two hours ago.''

''An all-you-can-eat of common chicken drumsticks and bacon,'' Malfoy scoffed. ''That isn't** food**, we give that to our house-elves!''

''No wonder they all look so unhealthy, Elves are herbivores.''

''As if I care. Come on, let's stop standing here. It is bad enough that you're late, don't start defending House-Elves too now.'' Harry cared a lot, in fact, but he had no choice but to stay silent as Malfoy dragged him into the crowd of Slytherins who looked at him with curious eyes and pointing fingers. Fucking great, what wild rumours had been told? He wished now that he hadn't come, he was still tired as hell and just wanted to rest in bed, lose his eyes and listen to nothing but silence-

Malfoy stopped when they reached two familiar faces: the two boys who had accompanied Malfoy at Gringotts. Harry also knew why Malfoy had bothered with them now: on Pucey's chest he saw the badge of Head Boy, and Warrington had a Quidditch Captain pin on his. Harry wondered why neither had mentioned that before in Gringotts, only Malfoy had flaunted with his power of being a Prefect. Both greeted him with nods and curious looks.

''Good that you came, Potter. Just in time too, I almost started my speech without you,'' Pucey said with a nod. He raised a bottle with butterbeer -which apparently wasn't too 'common' for Slytherins- and clanked on it with a spoon, a clear sound ringing through the common room. The Head Girl and a few Prefects shushed the few people who wouldn't shut up. Harry grudgingly had to admit that he was slightly impressed, not a single person in Gryffindor would be able to command near-instant silence except their Head of House.

''This year, the honour falls to me to welcome all of you, as your new Head Boy,'' Pucey spoke. ''Today, most of us had the pleasure to return to Hogwarts. Some of you are finally able to start. Our newcomers have already been welcomed by the Prefects, so I'll keep it short. I expect all of you to represent our House well: show your abilities, look after your fellow Slytherins, dispel rumours as soon as they come up. I warn all of you to always be careful about showing too much of yourself, be it to other students or teachers. The Sorting Hat this year called for inter-house cooperation, and while I agree that making the other houses our enemies even more than they already are isn't wise, your housemates always come first, remember that. There is some truth to it however, and for this purpose we have invited a non-Slytherin to this party for the first time in centuries: the Champion of the Triwizard Tournament last year, who represented our entire school: Harry Potter!''

Pucey clapped and gave Harry an expectant look, who only stared back with hollow eyes. His brain, trying to use what little energy he had left, was slow to catch up. Was he supposed to do or say anything or…

''Go on, idiot,'' Malfoy whispered in his ear, giving him a shove in the back. He stumbled forward a bit, sure that he was getting red in the face when Pucey hauled him up to the table. Did they really expect him to give a speech now?

It appeared so, so Harry took a deep breath and said: ''Err, hello everyone. Thanks for letting me crash your party. I mean, I didn't come to crash it of course but… you know.'' Absolute silence followed, and his own awkward laugh sounded in his ears like the cry of a dying parrot. ''Right, so, as your Head Boy just said, the Hat wanted the houses to cooperate.'' He squared his shoulders a bit. If he had to be here, maybe he could actually get a message across. ''I think it** is** very important that we all stick together. It is clear that some higher-ups in the Ministry want to start controlling Hogwarts, but only** we** get to decide how this school is run. Please do not be tempted to rat out fellow students, no matter from which house, and try to create a helpful environment. I received quite a few points in the Tournament just because I cared not only about winning, but also about helping my fellow Champions on the way. Sometimes, your eye shouldn't just be on the prize, as it might not be worth as much as you think it is. Connecting to other people is just as important and can give you many better opportunities in years to come. So… so when you have the chance, be kind.''

The applause he received was kind of unexpected, and he tried to look for a free spot to jump down from the table again. There was none. Instead, he was bombarded by questions, ones that showed just exactly why they'd all listened to him.

''Is it true that you beat Krum and Diggory in duels in that maze?''

''Did you fight the Giant Squid?''

''Did that dragon wound you badly?''

He tried to answer them best he could, giving them details for everything the monitor spells had not picked up or kept track of during the Tasks. As the minutes ticked by though, people got bolder.

''Did the Headmaster speak the truth about Moody being a Death eater?''

''Have you really been personally trained by Crouch? ''

''Did you use illegal spells during the Tournament because of that?''

Harry realised it was getting out of hand and waved his arms. ''Whoa whoa, just want to cut you off there. Yeah, Barty Crouch impersonated Moody like the teachers said, but I won't say anything else about it. You should all know he was a wicked teacher, that's it. Whatever else Professor Dumbledore said about it, I won't confirm or deny.''

''You've met the Dark Lord though, haven't you?'' Pucey said in a calm voice, dark eyes twinkling unpleasantly. Harry tried to shoot Malfoy a murderous glare, but the boy had paled and was busy trying to whisper something to Pucey, who completely ignored the blond. This was getting out of hand and Harry had no idea what to do. Obviously, admitting it in front of over 70 students, most of whom he didn't know, was an idiotic thing to do. But to deny it, when he knew that these were the people most likely to wish for Voldemort's ideas to bear fruit, was also not great.

''**What** are you doing here, **Potter**?'' a voice spat from the back of the room, and Harry's gaze was drawn to a stone pillar shaped like a tree root with a snake curling around it. From its shadow stepped the Head of Slytherin house. ''Did you wish to already lose the Gryffindor House points once again before the school year started? Thought it funny to sneak into another common room after curfew?'' Harry blinked at the absurdity of Snape's words. If he would have snuck in, surely he wouldn't stand on a table with the Head Boy and Girl and several Prefects calmly watching him, would he? ''My office**, now**.'' For once in his life, Harry was relieved to be taken aside by Snape, for while surely horrible things were waiting for him in the Potion Master's office, at least he was spared from answering at all. He only threw a look back at Malfoy, who was in a heated debate with Pucey right now. As soon as they had reached the office and the door closed, Snape had his wand out and pressed it against Harry's throat.

''Of all the stupid things I thought you could do,'' the man slowly spoke, coal eyes boring into Harry's. In the flickering light of a nearby wall torch, it almost looked as if they were burning. ''Thought you'd gather some fame in my house now you can't flaunt with your actions among your friends?''

''I was invited,'' Harry bit back. ''By Malfoy, Pucey, and Warrington. I had no idea that it was only to bombard me with questions I can't answer. Maybe your Slytherins do not have as much self-preservation as I always believed. Pucey asked if I met the Dark Lord! No matter what I would have answered, things could have turned disastrous.''

The wand was removed, but Snape still eyed him suspiciously. ''And who told my students about this?''

Harry shuffled his feet. ''Well, I did tell Malfoy last year, but he heard it from his father anyway. The Dark Lord was rather angry about it for a while, but decided not to wipe Malfoy's memory or anything. Malfoy clearly told the rest, I'd even told him to stay quiet.''

''Have a seat, Potter.''

Harry blinked. Had Snape really offered him a seat instead of ordering him to sit? The usual venom had even lacked. He hastily sat down on the nearest wooden chair. ''Sir, I didn't think-''

''You never **think**, Potter,'' Snape sharply retorted. ''That's the problem. I will take care of my students to remind them not to ask dangerous questions or spread the word of there being something... odd about you, as difficult as that is. You should try not to jump into dangerous situations just because you can for once.'' Snape's robes swished as he walked past Harry and opened one of the many jars that stood on his shelves, withdrawing a root-like thing from the slimy container. It was dropped on a chopping board and Snape quickly diced it up with a knife. Harry followed the precise movements with his eyes, wondering if this actually had a purpose or if Snape was taking his anger out on a random object instead of Harry's throat. He received his answer when the Potion's master put the diced blocks of root into a satchel and handed it to Harry.

''You go back in there, Potter, and ensure that every single student eats one of these. I don't care how you do it, but you shall. It will make their thoughts of this evening incoherent, so they will not remember the details, including the detail of you being asked such a question and failing to answer. Now is not the time to either show your allegiance to the Dark Lord within Hogwarts, nor to reveal that you even know of his return beyond Dumbledore's suspicions.''

''Why are you helping me?''

Snape gritted his teeth. ''I am helping** me**. One wrong move from your side, and my own position could be compromised. Keep low, act like the dunderhead you were before and don't. get. in. my. way. Go now.''

Harry was about to leave, both confused about not actually receiving punishment and relieved by that the first conversation with Snape wasn't totally awkward, but he turned around at the last moment. ''Sir, I need some ingredients to brew a dreamless sleep potion. Could I reserve one of the labs somewhere in the next few days?'' Telling Snape about it wasn't something he'd wanted, but the git** was** Hogwarts's resident Potion Master, and it was better to brew it himself than going to the school nurse and making Madame Pomfrey aware of that he had sleeping troubles. At least Snape wouldn't care about his health. Or so he thought.

''Nightmares, Potter? Is your conscience getting to you?''

''If mine is getting to me, I can't imagine how many years of sleep** you've** missed,'' he retorted, almost instinctively. Snape instantly raised his wand at Harry again, lips trembling.

''**Out**, before I practise a new curse on you.''

Exhausted though he was, Harry stubbornly stood his ground, not wanting to leave before he got an answer. ''I request a reservation.''

''I do not see why I should give a precious spot of my labs to a student who does not even know the proper name of the potion he wishes to brew. It is a** Sleeping Draught**, Mr. Potter. While it indeed gives a sleep so deep that dreaming isn't possible, this informal name is incorrect.'' The wand was still raised in the air, and a feel of malice spread through him, appearing to originate from his heart. If Snape would fire a spell, it wouldn't be his fault that the man would be injured by a backfiring spell if Voldemort's protection activated… He opened his mouth to comment on Snape actually teaching more out of class than in it, when noticing that the locket had heated up again. With all willpower he could muster, Harry turned on his heel.

''Fine, I'll find another way then.'' With loudly beating heart, he exited the office, grasping the locket through he front of his robes. Had that malevolence been his own? Or were his emotions being influenced? Harry didn't want to talk to Riddle once more today, so his suspicion would remain unanswered. The teen slipped back into the Slytherin common room, where the party was in full swing now, people crowding around the tables with food and dancing with each other to slightly rocky music. Malfoy was easy to spot, and as soon as he reached the blond, Harry dragged him to the side of the room.

''Look Potter, I'm sorry, Pucey promised-''

''Yeah yeah, just like you did, you mean? Snape will have a talk with him still. You can redeem yourself by helping me.'' He opened the satchel and withdrew a cube. ''Every single person in this room needs to eat one of these. Well, you and me excluded, I guess. Maybe Pucey too, it wouldn't do to have him forget what Snape wants to reprimand him for.''

''Fine. Whatever,'' Malfoy agreed, far too quickly. He was still pale, and Harry guessed that Malfoy had never forgotten the one time that he, Harry and Voldemort had been in one room together. ''Crabbe!'' Malfoy called out, waiting impatiently until his lackey had trotted up to them. Without another word of greeting, the blond handed Crabbe the small cube. ''Eat this and tell me how it tastes.''

The other boy wordlessly opened his mouth and chomped down on the cube. ''Sweet,'' he shrugged.

Malfoy looked pleased and snatched the entire satchel away from Harry. ''Perfect, I'll hide them in the desserts then. Even those who stuffed themselves before won't miss out on the last toast with elf wine and dessert. I hope that was helpful enough to not have any sort of debt with you now?''

Harry sighed deeply and nodded. ''I'll be leaving then.''

''Leaving?'' Malfoy asked. ''Don't be daft! We've barely even started. Your speech wasn't too impressive, so you need to interact a bit with more people. Look Potter, I know you're not the most social person, but do make an effort at least. You're a Champion now, your opinion matters! Look what Delacour did with her title: organising a continent-wide debate and calling many groups to action. You can't rely on only a few allies, no matter how powerful they are. You have to carve your own name and getting to know your peers, the people who will ultimately be your colleagues in whatever field you end up working in, will open far more doors to you. Don't miss this opportunity! Merlin, it is really clear that you've been raised by some Muggle buffoons.''

Malfoy's comment was probably meant to be hurtful, like the insults that Harry's long-time rival threw at his friends, but the Gryffindor couldn't help but start laughing at the image of his family as three buffoons with exaggerated details like Aunt Petunia's craned neck and Uncle Vernon's moustache. ''Sometimes, Malfoy, you're pretty okay. Alright, if you insist…''

The start was annoying as he mingled with the Slytherins, stupid questions still being asked that he didn't want to answer, but as the desserts -some magical muffins with moving liquid chocolate on top- were served, all students indeed because a lot less talkative. The next hour passed rather quickly and peacefully, Harry spending more time looking into the depths of the lake than actually interacting with people despite Malfoy's nagging. In the end, he sat down with a few younger Slytherins who were curious about tales they'd heard about the Chamber of Secrets and the Forbidden Forest, two places that hardly any student had ever ventured to. Talk of the Forest made Harry throw in a comparison to the forest of Broceliande, which was followed by an interesting conversation about various magical forests.

''I practically live in one,'' a girl that Harry had before only registered as Daphne Greengrass' little sister, said. ''Our estate is built just past the borders of Brechfa forest in Wales, to keep all the nosy Muggles from seeing it. The forest used to teem with magic centuries ago, unfortunately the anti-Muggle wards have shrunk over time, with them trampling many of the beneficial plants. Mother tries to take care of the part that is left as best she can, forming a small area of preservation for magical wildlife. She's a Herbalist, you see. Sometimes she sells high-quality items to apothecaries all over the country as long as it doesn't damage the eco-system.''

''I must have been great to have that as your backyard, growing up,'' Harry remarked.

Greengrass shrugged. ''Sometimes. Mostly, I was yelled at for secretly playing with endangered plants. My sister Daphne stepped in a fairy ring once because she wanted to see what would happen. Mother saved her just in time and was** mad** for weeks.''

''What does happen if you step in a fairy ring?'' he asked with interest. ''They always seem like such harmless creatures.''

''They are, if you're not trespassing on their domain. If she'd stayed there long enough for the fairies to see it though, they might have taken that as an invitation into** our** home and messed up everything, or gotten into her head with magic. I'm still convinced that at least one of them did, Daphne has complained about strange dreams ever since that day. Doesn't seem too serious though. Was there nothing dangerous in the forest of Merlin?''

Harry thought about it. It had all looked so wonderful back then, he had a hard time imagining that anything in that forest could have been out to hurt him. Honestly, the most danger had come from Voldemort and he doubted that anything in there would have sought a quarrel with the Dark Lord. The way the man had sliced up that water fairy was still an unpleasant image in his mind, and was only overshadowed by positive feelings because there had been so many impressions on that day, most of them wonderful. The way Voldemort had imparted all of his knowledge, how he'd grasped Harry afterwards when being led away from those Muggles and the instinct to harm them-

''Hello? Earth to Potter!''

He was startled out of his thoughts as Greengrass waved a hand in front of his face and her three friends – Harper, Fearnsby and Edevane – all giggled.

''You look like you were thinking of a far-away lover,'' Greengrass teased, and Harry tried his best to control his expression.

''Sorry, guess I'm just tired,'' he said. ''Somehow need to find my way back to Gryffindor tower still and hope I won't get chewed out by my friends about my absence.'' He hoped he could just sneak in and have it be shrugged off by Ron. The brand-new prefect in their dorm might not be so forgiving. Dean had never cared too much before about Harry or Ron's nightly trips into danger, but he might now it was his responsibility to keep them in line.

''What's that Potter? You have a lover?'' he heard, and a second later, Malfoy dropped on the couch next to him with a shit-eating grin that didn't promise much good. For how distressed Malfoy had been before about the Dark Lord business, he'd sure regained his cockiness fast.

Groaning aloud, Harry tried to smack the side of Malfoy's head. ''No! Shut up!''

''So defensive! Sore topic?'' Trying to let the subject die fast, Harry didn't bother answering, not wanting to start any kind of rumours.

The four girls sitting around him looking at him with hopeful expressions made him slightly regret that decision, especially when Malfoy continued with the completely inappropriate comment: ''Come on, I know that you are a hopeless case and I'm sure that bird's nest you call hair doesn't attract many people, but you've been hailed by many fools as the Boy-Who-Lived before and now you're Hogwarts' Champion. You've had bloody fan clubs! Don't tell me that you've never at least slept with a single person.''

The words sounded so casual, as if Malfoy was an expert. Maybe that was the reason why, instead of the spluttered 'I'm only fifteen' that he'd wanted to say, he instantly replied with: ''Yeah, you've met him at Easter!'' The speed at which Malfoy's smug expression fell and his skin paled was so funny that Harry didn't regret it. It wasn't even a lie, Voldemort was the only person he'd ever shared a bed with, even if it had really been for sleeping. Now the thought entered his mind, he felt himself going red though, and Harry quickly stood up and excused himself, leaving Malfoy to the wolves: four nosy girls who were whispering amongst themselves and who would most definitely not let this rest.

His heart raced all the way up to Gryffindor tower, where the Fat Lady only let him in with a stream of reprimands about it being far beyond curfew. What had possessed him to say that? He couldn't even blame the Horcrux, this was not something that Riddle would have known about. He snuck upstairs, where all his dorm mates were thankfully all asleep. Harry shrugged his robes off and fell on the bed, shutting the hangings with a flick of his wand. Harry stared up into emptiness, fingers winding around the chain around his neck almost automatically. As usual, sleep wouldn't come when he shut his eyes, only more thoughts and questions popping up with each minute. What would Malfoy think now? Would Harry have to explain somehow or let it rest and hope that the Slytherin knew he'd meant it as a joke? Would his friends question him tomorrow about being gone all evening?

''You're a worrying little thing, aren't you?''

Harry bolted upright, staring at Riddle, who sat casually at his bedside. ''What.. What are you…'' he frantically hissed.

''Hush, you might wake your dormmates,'' the other spoke, far louder than Harry had. ''Oh, they can't hear me,'' he said with a hint of bitterness, answering Harry's unspoken thoughts. ''I received much energy from you, enough to materialise for you, but others can't quite notice me. I am less than a ghost, at best a hint of distorted reality in the corners of one's eyes.

''What are you doing here?'' Harry whispered, on a second thought casting a silencing charm to speak freely.

''Impressive, that is a fifth-year-spell,'' Riddle murmured. He lay down on his side, facing the other, and Harry instinctively scooted away a bit. ''So, you have some allies within Hogwarts, one of whom is a Professor? Good, although your speech was a bit tacky. Cooperation and kindness?'' the man scoffed. ''That's just embarrassing, no wonder they didn't listen to it. You need to know what captivates your audience, Harry. For Slytherins, speak to their ambition, concrete things they can gain, not an 'it might give a better reward in the end'.''

''I don't need your advice,'' Harry grumbled.

''I think differently,'' Riddle answered in all seriousness. ''You have interacted with my older self, you surely are… important to him as a Vessel. If I am now a Dark Lord comparable to Grindelwald, he will have expectations of you.''

''I know his expectations very well, better than you,'' Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. ''Listen, I know that you and him are kind of the same person somehow but… I've spent months in the same house as him, okay? You don't know how much I know of him. That trip to Merlin's grave I've spoken about before? That was a... a birthday gift from him in a way. I've spent hours talking to him about all kind of topics and learned magic from him. I don't want you to have some sort of idea that you can teach me about how your older self would act or what he would think. If you want to share** your** thoughts, please do, but don't disguise it somehow as his supposed wishes.''

Riddle stayed silent for a while, and Harry became nervous under his unblinking stare. He'd only agreed to aid the man a few hours ago and Riddle was already looking as if he felt right at home here. It was one more confirmation that Voldemort could be rather clingy, even while speaking about being inhuman and not needing other people. ''Hey,'' Harry said, getting an idea. ''I've been able to… to connect to other Horcruxes before. It might benefit us both if I try that with you.''

''No,'' the other denied. ''I am parasitical in nature, if there are benefits to a mutual connection, you will reap those. I prefer to stay this way… at least for now.'' Harry admitted to himself that he was slightly disappointed. Secretly, he'd been longing to being able to feel Riddle's magic. Did he even have magic?

''Riddle…'' he sighed. He wanted to continue but couldn't. In a flash, the other was on top of him, a furious snarl on the young Dark Lord's face, eyes a glowing red now that gave him a demonic look in the dark. Harry lay completely still as two hands closed around his throat and smoke started rising around him, burning in his lungs. Nothing had been able to faze the other much before, so Harry was paralysed. Black, tousled hair fell down in strands around the pale face that was no more than an inch from Harry's now.

~_You will__** never**__ call me that! Never!_ _Do you understand? __**My name is Lord Voldemort.**_

''Yeah…'' Harry croaked. ''I get it.'' The smoke and hands retreated, but Riddle still sat heavy on his legs, an ominous figure towering above Harry. ''I didn't realise… the only other Horcrux I've really spoken to still used that name. Sorry.''

''This was your only warning, boy,'' the Horcrux hissed, before vanishing in front of Harry's eyes, literally dissolving into smoke that was sucked back into the Locket.

The conversation had done nothing to ease Harry's hammering heart, which thumped faster than ever before. He should be more careful. Displeasing Riddle - Harry still couldn't think of him differently in thought, when comparing him to the entirely different-looking Voldemort he'd come to know - could have terrible results, Harry's friends being in danger the most pressing on his mind. Why was it just his luck that he always ended up having to deal with this unpredictable man one way or the other? Be it as an enemy, an ally, something-in-between or even as memories, Harry always crossed paths with him.

He closed his eyes once more and stroked the locket with his thumb, hoping that the gesture would calm Riddle down somewhat. ''It wasn't my intention to insult you,'' he whispered. He received no response.

Unable to properly sleep as usual, Harry let his thoughts drift wherever they wanted. Both Riddle and Voldemort appeared more than once, and the stark contrast between them already became clear. When younger, the man had been less patient, less obsessed with magic and more obsessed with himself and his place amongst people. Voldemort had power and immortality now. At the point of creating the piece of soul that resided in the Locket, the Dark Lord had still been clawing his way to it, and as a Horcrux, Riddle would never achieve either. The piece of soul could very well be killed. Harry's mind drifted in a half-delirious state, unable to tell what was real or not, thinking of Riddle, sitting on top of him. Of Voldemort, sleeping peacefully next to him. Of all the times Harry had ended up hugging the Dark Lord somehow, of the times they'd shared their minds and memories.

''I wish you were really here,'' Harry mumbled into the empty air.


	47. Umbridge

''You **are** there!'' was the first thing Harry heard when he groggily opened his bed hangings, looking with only half-opened eyes at his best friend. The night had been absolute crap again, an endless loop of falling lightly asleep and waking up every fifteen to twenty minutes. He'd need all the coffee he could get his hands on at breakfast, just to survive the day. ''Where **were** you yesterday? Hermione nearly bit my head off for not knowing where you'd gone after dinner! I wanted to dig through your trunk to find the Marauder's map, but Hermione was all uptight about 'rummaging through private belongings' and all.''

Harry silently thanked Hermione, for a lot of his rather dark books were in that trunk, and as they were the last thing he'd read, they lay close to the top. ''Malfoy invited me to the Slytherin welcome party,'' he grumbled. Telling Ron the truth was probably best. ''That was what he annoyed me about in the train. I figured that refusing would only fuel that stupid feud again and I really want to have one year without Malfoy screwing with us in class.''

''That was brave,'' Ron whistled. ''And incredibly stupid. What if you'd been caught?''

''I did get caught, Snape noticed. However, since it was his precious student Draco who had given me a personal invitation, he couldn't exactly give me detention for it, not since Malfoy somehow convinced the new Headboy to agree to it.''

''Still got lucky, Snape sometimes gives detention over literally nothing. On the other hand, classes didn't even start, so he can't use his regular excuse of 'This idiot messed up a potion and thus deserves a week of detention'.'' Ron spoke with his best Snape-voice and stance.

''Exactly,'' Harry quickly agreed, smiling at the imitation. ''It would have looked very strange if he'd punished me before the school year even started for something like this. It's not like we flew another car into a tree. It lasted until far after curfew though, so I can be very glad that he didn't wait for it to end and corner me in one of the corridors on my way up to Gryffindor tower again. He definitely could have.'' Now he thought about it, why** hadn't** Snape done exactly that? He'd left the Potion master pretty angry, he wouldn't have put it past Snape to try something so petty. ''Enough about Snape, where are the others?'' he asked, seeing empty beds all around.

''Oh, I heard Fred and George got up to something, Hermione came to get Dean because of it -poor guy- and woke most of us up.'' Harry realised that his silencing barrier must have still been active, for he hadn't heard a thing, only standing up because he checked the time every couple of minutes to find an acceptable time to stand up. ''You missed quite something last evening by the way, just a warning,'' Ron spoke, his brow creasing.

''What?''

His friend hesitated a moment. ''There have been some… stupid rumours flying around and the press isn't helping.'' Harry sat up straighter now and leaned forward. ''It is about Dumbledore… you know he told the school about that Death Eater who taught us last year. Well, of course you know, the guy tried to kill you. Not sure how much you heard at the Order since you stayed in our bedroom so often, but Dumbledore also tried to convince the public and the Ministry of that Voldemort is back. Many people are ridiculing him for it and… you as well.''

''Me?'' Harry asked with astonishment, which grew to irritation. ''I never said much about it! And there wasn't any negative press about me!''

Or had there been? He hadn't kept up with the newspapers much apart from the most recent story with Fleur. But no, surely Voldemort wouldn't try to paint him in a bad light… right?

''Not in the Prophet,'' Ron assured him. ''Not about you anyways, but they have been bashing Dumbledore pretty hard, and your reputation so far at Hogwarts is that you agree a lot with things Dumbledore says. It didn't go unnoticed that you got invitations last year for private lessons with him. It's not as if they're entirely wrong, are they? You do believe Dumbledore… I mean, if we can't trust him, then who?'' The Locket chose that exact moment to make itself known, a sharp sting going through Harry's chest that almost made him curse out loud.

Harry chose to ignore it and played off the shock by jumping up from the bed. When it further did nothing, he thought about his answer. He'd talked to Hermione about exactly this in the Leaky Cauldron, but would Ron understand his reasoning as well as she had? For Ron, so much was still black-and-white, and Harry didn't want to be the person to ruin his best friend's rosy view on life. ''Dumbledore also only said that he has theories,'' Harry spoke carefully. ''Theories heavily based on the words of a single Death Eater who suddenly went to the Aurors apparently. I won't deny that Crouch was definitely here at Hogwarts, but Voldemort himself running around? And that since last year?'' He didn't deny it either, leaving the question hanging in the air.

''Yeah,'' Ron laughed weakly. ''Maybe he did go a bit overboard, Dumbledore is sometimes a bit batty. If it were true, surely there would have been a lot more activity. Deaths, raids, whatever else an evil megalomaniac does to achieve world domination.''

Harry vaguely hummed and opened his trunk to dig out some clothes. He couldn't pack any books yet for the day since they'd only receive their schedules at breakfast. He crossed his fingers that they would start the week on an easy note, maybe with some Care of Magical Creatures and Charms. When Ron and he walked into the common room, he instantly noticed what Ron had warned him about before. He got a lot of 'accidental' sideway glances from students all around and more than a few whispers. There weren't as many as there could have been, thankfully. It looked like quite a few people were more caught up in the latest interesting topic rather than rumours about Harry. That topic appeared to be Fred and George Weasley, who were in a heated debate with Dean and Hermione at the other side of the common room. Around them, a crowd of students had gathered to watch it, which blocked the entrance for everyone who wanted to go down for breakfast.

''What's the commotion about?'' Ron asked Seamus, who was sitting nearby, clearly annoyed.

Their dormmate looked up, his gaze flicking to Harry for a moment before he answered: ''Your brothers messed up, they put up an advertisement for some products they're developing. They searched test subjects and Granger found it unethical. She and Dean cornered them before they could leave the common room, and now no-one can go downstairs to eat because a bunch of first-years want to gawk at the spectacle.''

''Great, now we'll be late for breakfast **and** class,'' Harry grumbled.

''At least I get to go to class at all,'' Seamus snapped, leaving both Harry and Ron to stare after the boy, who jumped up and stormed over to the other side of the room in a futile attempt to break the crowd apart.

Finding his voice again, Harry asked: ''What was that about?''

Ron grimaced, ears getting red a bit as he balled his fists. ''He told us yesterday that he almost wasn't allowed to return to Hogwarts because of… of what I told you before. Dumbledore and stuff.''

''And me,'' Harry flatly added. He'd expected to get angry. All the stares and whispers again were getting on his nerves, the sheer audacity of people to judge him for something they had no idea about got on his nerves. Still, he mostly felt a hollow emptiness. He didn't want to waste energy on the likes of Seamus, who treated him like a friend one year and shouted accusations the next.

''Pretty much. His mum believed all the rumours and the Prophet's statements on Dumbledore.''

''I should have known, he also avoided me like the plague when that stupidity about me being Slytherin's heir was going around.''

''So… you don't seem… angry.''

Harry merely shook his head in defeat. ''They can believe what they want to. If someone tries to curse me in the corridors for it, I'll just curse them back. I doubt it will be much of a problem, I am not going to endorse Dumbledore's words... much. The Tournament taught me an important lesson. Like the Sorting Hat said, we are stronger together and we should make attempts to communicate and cooperate. If someone refuses to do so from the start, they're nothing but competition who didn't get the point. Wasting words on it is useless now.'' His stomach rumbled and he gave the crowd an annoyed look. ''Okay, that's** it**.'' He drew his wand and walked to the other side of the common room. He didn't really care about the conversation the Twins were having with the newest Prefects, but blocking the way to not miss a spectacle was just rude.

''Here speaks your resident nutjob, I will count to five and whoever is still standing in front of the exit by that time will have a lot of nasty curses to deal with today!'' he yelled. ''FIVE- FOUR-THREE- Thank you!'' The group, mostly consisting of first years, broke apart, many giving Harry shocked looks. With a slight grin, he pocketed his wand again, giving Hermione a wave as he passed her by. ''Don't be too harsh on them, you can't stop people from trying to get money and I know they test everything on themselves before.''

''That was wicked,'' Ron laughed as they were on their way downstairs. ''Not sure if it was very smart…''

''I'm just sick of all the drama. Some see me as a hero, others avoid me like the plague. It has always been that way, maybe slightly increased now because of the whole Tournament and whatever the press is saying at the moment. As long as I know that I can depend on the people who matter, I don't see why I shouldn't look at it with humour. No good will come out of it if I get all depressed and try to live up to impossible expectations.''

''Well said. I'm there for you,'' his friend answered, giving him a clap on the shoulder. ''No matter what crazy adventure awaits us this year.''

''Hopefully nothing worse than the O.W.L.s.''

Ron groaned at that. ''I'd almost managed to forget that we are in our O.W.L. year. Almost…''

''What, after Fred and George told horror stories about it almost every day last month?''

The other looked rather glum, so Harry gave him a bump to the arm. ''We've had exams every year that we needed to pass. Sure, these are supposedly a lot more difficult, but most of our teachers will also prepare us better for them. You'll be able to get a few at least. And no matter what, you'll do better than Fred and George. Each of them only got three and they still weren't thrown out of the house.''

''Yeah, but mum chewed them out for it for **months**, and Bill and Percy each got twelve! How am I supposed to live up to that?''

''How did they even get twelve?'' Harry wondered. ''Even Hermione only takes ten subjects now since she gave back that time-turner. Did they have one for all those years?''

Ron shrugged. ''Not sure about Percy, but Bill managed Divination on self-study and Care as a side-project or something. I'd have to ask him the details about that. Didn't you also want to try Runes and Arithmacy from your own studies?''

Harry groaned. ''Good thing you remind me. Yeah, I wanted to… I will have to talk to Professor McGonagall about it still. Because of the whole Tournament, I didn't get nearly as far with it as I wanted, so I have no idea if I even stand a chance. I managed to study a bit during summer, so I **think** I at least managed to comprehend all of the subject matter from third year, but that means I am** still** one year behind. If the workload is too high, I might have to give up on my idea.'' Last year had been such a mess that even in the waiting periods between the Tasks where he hadn't trained much for them, like when trying to solve the clue from the egg, he'd mostly been occupied with worrying about the Tournament instead of studies. Barty had been able to help him a bit with Runes in July, but had preferred to focus on dark magic as Harry had no possibility of actively studying that at Hogwarts.

''You could also just pick one,'' Ron suggested, always one for simplifying ideas. ''Runesand Arithmacy are both incredibly complex. Choose which one you think you can learn quicker.''

They'd arrived at the Great Hall, where only a couple of Gryffindors were sitting at the breakfast table. It seemed that few people had managed to squeeze through the portrait hole before it had become blocked. Harry let himself fall down on the bench and instantly grabbed the coffee, downing a cup far faster than usual. During breakfast, he contemplated on Ron's words. Picking one was a good idea. This year was predicted to be the most stressful so far even when it came to regular coursework and tests. Trying to study two extra ones on his own, where he needed to even still catch up on an entire year's worth of material would mean doing even more than Hermione had, when she'd still had the time-turner. Sure, Harry did have it a bit easier since he'd picked both Divination and Care, two subjects for which he either didn't have much homework or just made it up as he went along, but everything else would be tough.

The main problem with choosing was that he didn't know what he even wanted to do after school. A few years ago, he would have said 'Auror' without a second thought. Now, the idea of hunting down dark wizards wasn't very appealing anymore. Voldemort would wring his neck if he'd seriously consider that as a job, Harry was sure of it. What else was he good at though? He loved flying and Quidditch had always captured his interest, but ever since experiencing how much there was to learn about every other branch of magic, it would seem like a waste to play sports for a living instead of delving deeper into the world he'd been shown. Defence was his best subject overall and he was apt at offensive magic too, but which jobs required that as a main focus except for Aurors?

Harry was only certain of one thing: no matter what he'd go for, it would have to be a practical job. He couldn't imagine being cooped up in an office, doing paperwork all day. Research was probably also out, it wouldn't involve nearly enough action and he'd like to work together with other people. What remained though, with the subjects he currently took? Would he even do well enough on his O.W.L.s to pursue whatever he picked as a goal? Learning wouldn't be made easier when he had other things on his mind as well. He wanted to get started with Animagus practice, and then there was Riddle, who would make his life difficult.

He should have spoken about it with Voldemort, he mused. The man had been to so many places and had held various jobs, surely he'd at least know what was all available. They didn't exactly hand out pamphlets at Hogwarts, and he'd never seen a job fair or anything like that in the Wizarding World. When he voiced his thoughts to Ron -minus the part about asking the Dark Lord for career advice- his friend shrugged.

''We're only at the start of our fifth year and thus have three full years to think about it still. Personally, I'm going to look at what I want to do** after** I know how my O.W.L.s went. Don't want to get any idle hope. I heard we do have some career counselling this year with McGonagall, not looking forward to telling her that I don't have a clue what I want to do. Although.. well, being an Auror would be cool. But you have to be** really** good for that.''

Harry almost shared his thoughts on it with, Ron, then changed his mind, it would be too difficult to explain why he didn't have that particular wish anymore. ''Isn't that what that talk should be for? Figuring it out?'' Harry asked, but Ron shook his head.

''According to Bill, you're told which O.W.L.s you'd need for certain careers you are interested in and advised in general about the O.W.L.s and grades you hope to achieve or something. I don't think McGonagall will help much in actually picking something out for you.''

''Not very helpful then,'' Harry sighed. ''I wish I knew a bit more about working life in general. I honestly haven't really met anyone whose job I'd like to have, and all of my grades are pretty average. My parents are not great examples there either, both stayed at home.''

''Can't you?'' Ron asked in such a nonchalant way that Harry hesitated to answer. Observing his friend, he saw that Ron was avoiding his gaze and the tips of his ears had reddened just a touch. The question was valid though. Harry** was** rich. If he lived sparsely, he might not need to work at all his entire life.

''I think that, without anything productive to do, life would get awfully boring,'' he thus said, digging into his breakfast to avoid having to say something more. Money was always an uncomfortable topic between them, especially since Ron seemed to have the wrong idea about it. Harry often forgot that he was rich, true, but not for the reasons his friends might think. He was used from the Dursley to not own anything. That it was revealed a few years ago that he had a vault filled with gold didn't erase the feeling he'd always had before of not being able to afford anything. It was only on occasions like birthdays or Christmas that he remembered and splurged a bit, mostly on his friends. Harry honestly couldn't imagine sitting on a couch for the rest of his life and living off the wealth that had been gathered by his ancestors.

They only really talked again when a safer topic came up, Hermione joining them and McGonagall handing them their schedule. It didn't look very promising for Monday: History, double Potions, Divination and then double Defence. With most other teachers, ending the day with Defence would have been the single highlight. Harry very much doubted he'd enjoy being taught by this Umbridge. The only thing he was glad for was that now he and Ron could bemoan the schedule together and forget about before.

The year didn't start great, Harry decided when he was halfway through the first hour of Binn's monotone mumbling. The single reason why he didn't doze off was the Locket, which kept him inexplicably awake once again. He didn't really have proof for his suspicion of that it was Riddle, but nothing had ever kept him from sleeping through Binn's 'lessons'. The only positive point about that was that Hermione only nagged Ron about paying attention after class was over. Her statement about not handing out her notes anymore however, was meant for the both of them and Harry could just see all of his hopes on passing the History of Magic O.W.L. fly out of the window. Extra studying was fine, but not if it was about some dusty historical facts about wars long gone and trade relations. Perhaps if they would have had a different teacher from the start, he might have been able to get engaged in the subject. As it was, he doubted anything could ever mend his lack of interest for History.

''On another note,'' Harry said as they were on their way to the dungeons, stopping briefly at one of the courtyards until the next bell would ring. ''What happened with Fred and George?''

Hermione let out a huff. ''Those two menaces! I couldn't talk any sense in them. The advertisement is** technically** not illegal, but I will have a word with McGonagall still to see what can be done about that. They had the nerve to offer me some of their produce, hinting at that this year I'll need it to avoid a breakdown over exams.''

''To be fair, you did have a breakdown when Boggart-McGonagall told you that you'd failed a Transfiguration exam that you hadn't even taken yet,'' Ron pointed out, earning himself a venomous look. ''You know, I really wonder how they managed their fifth year, they were still relaxed and up to pranks during all of their fifth year.''

''Yes, but they did only get three O.W.L.s each,'' Harry reminded him again. ''Maybe they didn't spend any time studying at all.''

The bell rang, and they put up their collars as they crossed the courtyard, the fine drizzle of rain showering them. ''They hinted at having other plans,'' Hermione said as she took hurried steps to keep up with him. ''Said they didn't think they'd need their NEWTs and only stayed still to test the market and come up with sale strategies. They're really serious about opening a shop, I think, I just can't figure out where they would get the money from. Renting a place, getting personnel, ingredients, I worry that they haven't thought the financial aspects through.''

Harry felt himself getting red. He had given them his price money from the Tournament. The 2500 Galleons he'd given them after splitting the money with the other Champions would surely give them a great start. Perhaps they wouldn't be able to rent a prime spot in Diagon with it, but something at Hogsmeade was not unthinkable. They'd only need to worry about competing with Zonko's.

They settled down in their usual spots in the dungeons, Snape stalking through the rows of benches and cauldrons. Harry did not have many hopes for Potions either. Even if he would manage to get an Acceptable in his O.W.L. -which wasn't unfeasible as he at least got good marks in the theory-, he could forget about studying it at N.E.W.T. level as there was absolutely no way that he'd manage an O. He wondered if many other teachers would only accept students who received an O, and if so, how many courses he would even still be able to take in sixth and seventh year. What happened when a student passed their O.W.L.s, but at such a low level that no teacher would accept them for the N.E.W.T. level classes?

''Hellebore, Harry, pay attention.'' Harry woke from his musings and quickly corrected his mistake. Even with his new glasses, which certainly sharpened his sight, it was hard to read the instructions on the blackboard through all the steam in the dungeon. He'd almost skipped the last part of the third line.

''Thanks Ron,'' he muttered.

''What? Did you say something?'' Ron answered, and Harry realised two things in that moment. One, Ron was entirely frazzled and trying to save his potion. Two, it had definitely not been Ron's voice. Carefully, Harry glanced to his right and nearly got a heart attack as he saw Riddle, who was lounging against the wall to the side of the classroom, keeping a watchful eye on Harry's cauldron.

Unable to speak to Riddle without looking like a lunatic talking to air, Harry tried to convey his question with his eyes. The man didn't reply to any of the questions that whirled in his mind, only jutted his chin at the cauldron. ''I **said**, pay attention, the fire is too hot now for this stage. Turn it down till it is orange.'' He did as instructed, relying on the fact that Voldemort had passed all of his exams with flying colours. Even if the Horcrux was trying to sabotage him, it wasn't as if Harry could do a better job himself, and at the slightest mistake, Snape would usually chew him out or refuse to mark his potions. The way he'd explicitly looked at Harry when talking about saying goodbye to those who couldn't pass his O.W.L. standard, accompanied by that unpleasant sneer, had been telling.

When Snape finally came to his cauldron to inspect it, Harry could almost feel the displeasure wafting off the Professor when Snape couldn't find any points of critique on the potion itself. Instead, Snape turned his attention to Harry's chopping board. ''An absolute mess, Potter!'' he barked. ''Look everyone. This is how your station** shouldn't** look if you do not want to damage yourself, your partner, or your potion.'' He took a leftover part of the valerian root and held it up for the class to see. ''Utterly** mangled**. Ten points from Gryffindor, I can't imagine you had enough of the precious root left to give your potion its maximum effect!''

Harry tried not to take the bait, balling his fists and glaring down at his desk to control his temper. Blowing up at Snape would be bad, very bad. After Snape hadn't docked any points for his late-night trip yesterday, he'd held a slight hope that the man wouldn't make him a prime target anymore. That bubble had burst now. He heard a low hiss from the side and glanced at Riddle, who was glaring at Snape, his eyes a definite red sheen to it.

Wordlessly, Harry filled up a vial with his potion and placed it on Snape's desk with the rest. Malfoy came after and merely raised his eyebrows at Harry, looking slightly surprised and disturbed. Maybe Malfoy had thought too that Snape wouldn't be so harsh now that they were basically on the same side. At least that was something he could be glad for. Snape would always be a bastard, but if the other Slytherins wouldn't try to purposefully sabotage his potions anymore, he might even get through the year with okayish grades. He was also happy to note that Malfoy didn't act weird, it seemed that he hadn't taken Harry's outburst last night as anything other than a joke.

''I have to do something still,'' he vaguely stated after class, when Ron and Hermione started bickering about Snape. ''I'll see you at Divination, Ron.'' Without waiting for a reply and rather annoyed by that they already started arguing again on their very first school day, he went up to the Northern Tower on his own and slumped down on the stone floor beneath the hatch that would lead up to the Divination classroom. He slightly regretted his spur-of-the-moment decision when concluding that he hadn't packed anything for lunch. Shaking off his displeasure, he took the locket in his hand.

''I know you can come out. We need to talk.''

''About?'' Harry jumped at the answer, which was a lot more sudden than expected. There had been no smoke coming out of the locket now, Riddle was just… there.

''Why did you help me with potions? I thought this was kind of a forced-deal thing? What do you gain from this?''

The Horcrux sighed and gave him a withering glare. ''If you think that I,** Lord Voldemort**, will take kindly to sharing my time with a mediocre wizard, you have another thing coming. You certainly didn't impress me these past couple of hours. You have been a Champion in the Triwizard Tournament, I heard. You have been granted a piece of my own soul, I admit that I find your performance rather… lacking when compared to my expectations.''

Harry mentally groaned. Great, it looked like Voldemort's high standards had started early in his life. ''History of Magic is taught by a ghost who forgets he is teaching half of the time and who has done** nothing** to motivate me to pay attention, and Potions is… I don't know. Maybe I would have been good at it if I hadn't constantly been harassed by Snape and the other Slytherins for the past four years. I… I'm not saying that to shove blame off myself or something, I** know** that it is also my own fault for not trying extra hard, but it is much harder to study a subject properly when everything surrounding it is so filled with negativity.''

Riddle didn't say anything, so Harry kept on rambling. If anything, having the other here was good for venting. ''I'd looked forward to learning potions at first. I figured, if I can cook, then brewing potions shouldn't be so different. Then, Snape tried to make me look dumb in every single class by asking questions to me that I didn't know, couldn't know without having read at least three books ahead like Hermione did. And every single class I was in, I had to watch my back, because either other students tried to sabotage me, or the slightest mistake was punished harshly with Snape talking me down like he did today. He** always** finds a point to criticise me on and if he doesn't, he'll create one. Once, I had actually managed a potion perfectly, and I was so proud of it. Snape 'accidentally' dropped it and as I had already cleaned the rest away, I received zero marks as I had no potion to grade anymore. It made me hate potions so damn much that I hardly care anymore. I don't even** want** to get an O in this subject, because that would mean two more years with Snape. The worst part is, everyone knows, and he still gets away with it because Dumbledore protects him.''

''Why?'' Riddle asked, interest clearly piques at the mention of Dumbledore.

''Snape once overheard something important,'' Harry said, trying to avoid telling the full story. ''Dumbledore used it against him to rope him into an Unbreakable Vow. I don't know too many details of how. Anyways, Snape is at Hogwarts because Dumbledore wants to keep an eye on him and so Snape can fulfil his Vow somehow. The other teachers all trust Dumbledore enough to not do anything about Snape's teaching methods.''

''So, I can expect more from you during the next class?'' the man asked in a rather demanding tone.

''Errr…'' With slight desperation, Harry looked up to the still-closed hatch. How could he explain his disastrous performance in Divination now without it looking like he was just searching excuses? Now he thought about it, a lot of classes he did bad at really just had incompetent teachers, but that was somehow never an acceptable excuse to most adults. ''Professor Trelawney said during the first lessons that one either has the Inner Eye or not, and I… don't seem to have it.''

''The Inner Eye?'' Riddle scoffed. ''Only Oracles use that, it has nothing to do with any other aspects of Divination than visions and prophecies. All other branches can be performed perfectly without it. Does your professor at least possess the Inner Eye herself?''

''She claims she does,'' Harry shrugged. ''I only know of two instances where she's made real prophecies and she didn't even remember either of them herself. The rest that she predicts is mostly rubbish: things so vague that they can be interpreted as correct in many situations, or just plainly wrong. She once stated that my birthday definitely had to be in midwinter. It's in July.''

''Hogwarts has gone to the dogs,'' Riddle breathed in astonishment. ''Any other subjects that are taught by fools?''

''Well, it doesn't look like Defence is going to be fun this year with that ominous speech delivered during the Feast yesterday. Other than that, most teachers are pretty competent. Well, Care of magical Creatures could be a bit better,'' Harry reluctantly admitted. ''But Hagrid is doing his best.''

Riddle stared at him. ''Hagrid. You mentioned that before on the train… Surely, you weren't talking about** Rubeus** Hagrid?''

''Oh yes, forgot you know each other. You got him expelled,'' he spat. ''That was incredibly awful.''

''I did him a favour, Half-Giants can't-''

''Yes, yes, I know, Voldemort told me about that. The other Voldemort, the real… whatever. I'm still not sure how true your theory is. Beauxbatons' Headmistress is a Half-Giant and apparently very magically competent. She is apt at high-level, nonverbal magic too.''

''A Half-Giant as** Headmistress**?'' Riddle scoffed, raising an eyebrow. ''Even when putting aside the difficulties they have with magical aspects, that sounds highly unlikely considering the social standing of Giants and the stigma that surrounds them. Are you** sure**?''

''I overheard a pretty telling conversation. Plus, she is as tall as Hagrid is. She claimed to have big bones, but no human could have bones that big.''

The other shook his head. ''No, that would be unlikely. Still… there has been quite some research done on Half-Giants during the last Giant wars, to see how much of a danger that kind of offspring poses. It was a miracle that Hagrid was admitted to Hogwarts, and that was only because Dumbledore put in a word for him. I can't imagine Beauxbatons loosening their rules. With what, admittedly limited, knowledge I have right now based upon your description, I would imagine that she might have some Giant-blood in her, but is not a direct descendant. Perhaps a grandparent or great-grandparent was a Giant and she was lucky enough to inherit only some physical traits. Or do you have definite proof otherwise?''

Harry shook his head. He hadn't even thought about that possibility. ''No, I guess that could make sense.''

''So, Hagrid now teaches Care… how did it come to that?''

''Simple, the old teacher retired and since Hagrid has been Groundkeeper for decades and taken care of many creatures in the forest, Dumbledore found him to be fitting to fill the position. His lessons really can be great, he has loads of knowledge on magical animals. The highlight was riding a Hippogriff in my third year. The only problem is that he often… prefers more dangerous ones than are on our curriculum. He's bred some monstrosities himself and feeding them was a nightmare. It doesn't look like you will see him in action anytime soon though, we have a stand-in for reasons that Dumbledore didn't care to explain.''

''Good riddance too,'' Riddle sneered. Harry sprung to his feet in a second and drew his wand, not caring at all that Riddle was a mere apparition.

''Hagrid is one of the best and bravest men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing!'' he hissed. ''I don't care about how many agreements we make, breathe another bad word about him and I'll find a way to shut you up in that locket for the rest of eternity!''

The man… flickered and disappeared again before his eyes. Before Harry had a chance to do anything, an arm wound against his waist and a heavy body pressed against his back. ''You should really do well to remember that empty threats don't hold,'' the young Dark Lord whispered in his ear. ''Thank you for revealing another weakness to me. Hagrid… who would have thought. And now… I did say that you would have to do whatever and whenever I wanted. Threatening me is not a good way to please me, Harry. Perhaps I need to show you what exactly you promised me just now.''

Everything went black. Confused and disoriented, Harry tried to yell and grope around him, but there was absolutely nothing. No sound came from his mouth, and no sound reached his ears either. He tried to walk further into the darkness, panicking as he found that he couldn't move his legs and he couldn't even tell what was up and down. There was nowhere to go, nothing to see, nothing to hear… He'd been cold before. Even that was gone now.

He spread his eyes open wide in a futile attempt to catch some sort of light, anything… Dread settled in him as he realised what exactly Riddle had done. All of his senses had been taken. He bit on his tongue, yet no pain came, nor did he taste blood. It was as if… he didn't exist anymore. Harry tried to stay calm, counting seconds, hoping that it would end soon. When he'd counted past five thousand, he gave up, trying to cast magic. He didn't even know if he was still holding a wand, his hands seemed empty, but it could all be part of the trick.

_Lumos…_ he thought_ Lumos!_ Was he thinking it? Or was he shouting? He couldn't even tell.

''Do you want it to end?'' a voice suddenly cut through the darkness, an incredibly smug voice. ''Say that you'll be good and I'll bring you back.''

Harry clenched his jaw. He wouldn't give Riddle the satisfaction, absolutely not!

But then no answer came again, and Harry's situation didn't improve. He started counting again, far past the previous five thousand now. Shouldn't class be starting soon? Surely, Riddle would have to bring him back if other people would find him, right?

The darkness became more and more suffocating as time passed. Staying calm hadn't improved his situation, neither had attempting magic or trashing about. Seconds ticked away, becoming minutes and, by Harry's own calculation, hours even. The worse thing about the whole experience was the boredom. Sure, he'd been locked up before in a dark cupboard with nowhere to go, but he'd always had something to do, be it plucking feathers from a pillow he'd nabbed or ticking on the walls. Here, he couldn't even do that. _Soon_, he thought_ Soon, it should end_. Ron would come and ask what was wrong with him. Yes, that would happen.

He would have jumped if he could as Riddle's words filled the silence suddenly again, and Harry nearly cried out of relief over experiencing** anything** again. ''Humans have more than just the basic five senses, did you know that?'' the young Dark Lord spoke with a sickly sweet undertone. ''A sense of space, a sense of balance, and then there is the most interesting one. It's very unreliable and few realise ever having it, but it is there, even for Muggles. It is a sense of** time**.''

No further explanation was given, nor was one necessary as Harry let the words sink in. His senses had been taken away. That meant… no,** no**. he was still here, wasn't he? Any movement he attempted would take a certain amount of time. Every second he counted had to really be a second. Riddle was bluffing, he had to be.

As, -he thought- two more hours passed in the nothingness, Harry wasn't so sure of that conviction anymore. What could he try to free himself? What could he possibly do without giving in to the demands of his captor? There had to be a way, Harry had been in so many prickly situations before, surely this piece of magic wouldn't make him beg for mercy.

_Think_

And think he did. For what Riddle might have thought was a curse, came in handy now. If Harry's sense of time had been removed, that also meant that he had all the time in the world now. No matter how long it would take to find a solution, he would, for he had nothing else to do. He recounted all snippets of information that Voldemort had revealed about the workings of the Horcruxes, and his own encounters with them. Each of them was a bit different, but Harry had figured out the general feel of them. In a world of unfeeling blackness, that was hard to imagine, but not impossible as long as he concentrated on his own mind instead of the surroundings. He had fully connected not only to Voldemort before, but Nagini as well. As the Locket was a mere object, he doubted it would work the same, but anything was worth a try.

He had no incantation, no sticks of rowan and blackthorn, so he had to put all of his focus into his own mind. Discipline, control, connection… he envisioned the Locket, its smoke, the form Riddle took… _Travel over_ he told himself. _You know you can_.

The first thing he noticed again was light, and he drank in the sight. There, the walls of Hogwarts, a familiar pillar, a painting… The image was off, askew, and Harry realised that it must be because the locket was hanging from his own chest still. His hearing returned too, a vague buzzing sound coming from far away. And then there was screaming, a desperate scream that brought back memories of when he'd stabbed Riddle's diary. That was unexpected, Nagini had not sensed any discomfort when he'd taken over her body.

It only lasted a couple of seconds at most, real seconds, before Harry opened his own eyes again and all of his typical senses came rushing back. He took a few moments to collect himself before he looked at Riddle, who was hunched down in the middle of the corridor, partially solid, partially smoke, still screaming as if in tremendous pain.

''I told you before,'' Harry spoke harshly. ''You don't control my mind. It looks like I can control** yours** though. Thank you for revealing your weakness to me,'' he echoed. The other didn't answer instantly, cries turning into pained groans as Riddle collapsed on the floor. A tinge of worry filled Harry, and he took a couple of tentative steps towards the form, crouching down. ''I didn't damage you too much, did I?'' he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound wavering. ''Hey, you're still okay, aren't you?''

Riddle started laughing, a coughing laugh that sounded slightly insane. He turned his head to the side, the previously styled hair all tousled now, and cracks ran over his face like old parchment, a web of scars. ''Aren't you feisty,'' he muttered, pushing himself up again. ''Who would have thought…'' Riddle mustered Harry for a moment, a hint of what appeared to be respect in his eyes. ''I can see now that…'' he broke off his sentence again, wetting his bottom lip as he stared intensely at Harry. ''My older self is lucky to have you as a Vessel. You'll certainly protect us well.'' He grabbed Harry's shoulder and brought their faces so close that Harry wanted to take a step back. ''The deal is off,'' Riddle whispered.

''W…What?'' the teen stuttered. ''What do you mean?''

''Our agreement. I free you from it. There is no need for me to wreak havoc in Hogwarts now. In fact, that would be rather… counterproductive.''

''So… so you're not going to use me to 'have fun'?'' Harry asked hopefully. ''You'll leave my friends alone?''

''Oh, I will have my fun, just in... a different way than expected. What are a few dead Mudbloods when I could take part in the creation of something much grander? I have found a better purpose… Your friends are safe, under one small condition.''

Harry had somehow expected that and waited to see what Riddle's offer was.

''You are still not allowed to contact my older self. He'll take me away and send me back into my locket. You know now how it can be…'' the grip became stronger, painfully so as Riddle clung to him, looking far less collected than he had up until this point, even less than when Harry had called him by his surname and Riddle had flipped out. Maybe Harry had misjudged him. He'd thought that the Horcrux would have been less dangerous than Voldemort was now due to a lack of experience. But if, in those years that the locket had lain in a closed, dark drawer, Riddle had experienced what Harry just had, he could imagine that this wasn't true at all. The young Dark Lord had finally been granted life again after being deprived of basic senses for decades. He'd do** anything** to hold onto that, if his crazed expression was anything to go by. Taking pity, Harry didn't see a reason to indulge in that for a while.

''So what is this new, better purpose?'' he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, ignoring the way that Riddle's cracked, smoky hands were digging into his skin.

''This incompetence all around,'' Riddle muttered. ''You could become great, much greater than you can now, if only you'd have a proper teacher to make up for the poor education here. My older self taught you during summer, didn't he?''

''Partially,'' Harry spoke, hesitating slightly. ''He didn't have too much time, one of his followers taught me most. Some duelling spells, apparition, useful charms and shields… Voldemort taught me healing, a bit of magical theory, and gave me a basic understanding of necromancy.'' He instantly regretted mentioning the latter when Riddle's eyes lit up.

''Necromancy? Fascinating… He must have learned that later, I unfortunately do not yet have that knowledge.** Necromancy**. You have to tell me about it, Harry. I wish to know **everything**.''

The chatter that had merely been faraway murmurs before became louder, and Riddle stepped away, releasing his face. The man ran a hand through his hair and composed his posture, the cracks and scars healing. For a moment, they merely stared at each other, and Harry got a strange feeling in his stomach. He was playing a dangerous game, he knew. Riddle was far less collected than he looked like, and while he might be a part of Voldemort, whom Harry had come to… trust, in a way, he wasn't the same person. Not anymore. He'd once had the potential to become the same, but not after the vastly different experiences both had had. Riddle hadn't split his soul as often yet and had delved less in the Dark Arts, but on the other hand he was more impatient and clung onto fanatic ideas that Voldemort had rejected by now.

Harry didn't know what was harder, separating them in his mind or trying to see them as the same person. A mix would have been great, he thought to himself. Riddle's appearance and Voldemort's demeanour and magic would make for one hell of a man. He suddenly grew warm at the thought and had to break eye contact with Riddle, an onslaught of confusing feelings hitting him. Why had the thought that?

When he looked back, Riddle had disappeared again. Harry shut the locket with a snap and climbed up the silver ladder when it came down. He searched a spot in one of the back rows and tried not to attract Trelawney's attention. While waiting for the rest of the students to arrive, Harry thought about Riddle's words. The Horcrux wanted to teach him? Honestly, that was not very unwelcome, especially in this year. Voldemort had a wealth of knowledge that Harry usually loved to soak up. The only drawback was still not being allowed to contact the actual Dark Lord for now, but even if Harry would reach Voldemort during the school year, it wasn't as if he had much to tell the man now apart from that he'd found the Locket, or a way to physically go to him. Riddle however, was here, and could be quite useful. Suddenly, Harry didn't dread the upcoming school year so much anymore. He'd only need to find a way to keep this 'teaching' a secret from his friends.

''Hey,'' Ron said when he reached Harry's table and sat down on one of the many coloured poufs. ''We've stopped our arguing, Hermione and I. Sorry, I didn't think it was that bad.''

Harry shook his head. ''I just needed some peace and quiet, is all,'' he sighed. ''So, let's see what she's got in store for us this year.''

It turned out to be Dream Interpretation, which Harry was instantly stumped on. With all of the Locket's interference, he literally hadn't been able to sleep enough to dream anything over the past weeks, and he wouldn't be able to in the future. Riddle's 'solution' to his lack of energy had been a Sleeping Draught, which induced a dreamless sleep. That meant that the dream diary they'd have to keep would be filled with absolute nonsense dreams. Great start.

He and Ron tried to 'interpret' pieces of dreams back and forth that either of them could remember having at some point or another, more to fill the time than to actually seriously tackle the task at hand. Riddle didn't bother showing up during class, maybe even he thought this lesson too pointless to deem worthy of his presence.

''This is garbage,'' Ron muttered when Trelawney was at the other side of the room. ''Do you actually think that dreams matter?''

Harry shrugged. ''Muggles have a theory that dreams are a way to process things that keep us busy during the day. That's why we have nightmares about exams or dream about getting together with a crush, or sorting out family problems, that kind of thing. I really doubt that dreams have such magical significance as this author claims. It is true that dreams can be used for magical purposes though.''

''In what way?'' his friend asked.

''Oh, erhm. I mean, to connect to other people,'' he said, thinking of his own dreams with Voldemort, ''Or to make other people dream of certain things, Snape once discussed a potion that could induce nightmares, right?''

''Yeah, but that doesn't makethe content of the dream have any special meaning, other than that someone wants to be nasty to you.''

''Also true. The only other thing I can think of is vision-like dreams of Oracles, but that too is nothing like described here.''

Ron hummed and started unravelling a thread in the crocheted tablecloth. It probably had been white once, but was now an odd light pink, likely stained by the many fumes of Professor Trelawney's favourite fuchsia incense. Harry felt as bored as Ron looked, so he tried to find a different subject. ''What do you think Defence is going to be like?'' he asked. ''I'm pretty wary after that speech from yesterday. What could the Ministry have planned, that they sent a teacher here?''

''I don't think they really have much of a plan. If you'd ask me, the Ministry is getting nervous about Dumbledore spreading ideas they don't like while having quite some power and influence. Umbridge is here to keep an eye on him. Well, that's what Hermione said and I believe her. No idea what she will teach, she didn't sound very sympathetic, not now and not the first time she was at Hogwarts.''

''I heard that she is very anti-creature, half-bloods and werewolves especially,'' Harry mused. ''Maybe she'll focus on trying to make us 'defend' ourselves against those.''

''I wish her good luck, most students absolutely loved Professor Lupin's lessons.''

About thirty minutes later, when sitting in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, looking dumbfounded at the Course Aims she had written on the blackboard, Harry** wished** that Umbridge would have focused on teaching them to defend themselves against werewolf attacks.

Understanding the theory behind defensive magic? Fine, it was true that they'd lacked a solid theoretical foundation for most of the spells they were taught in this course. Recognising situations to legally use it… already a bit more useless, for they weren't allowed to use magic out of school in the first place, and by the time they'd graduated and were all eighteen or older, they should really be able to judge that for themselves. The third point of 'placing the use of defensive magic in context for practical use' didn't make sense at all. And in his opinion, several course aims were missing. What was about actually defending themselves? Practising? Demonstrations?

Hermione beat him to it when for once, she refused to read a textbook as instructed. Harry couldn't blame her, the book seemed to be aimed at young children who'd never heard of what defending oneself is. She had her hand raised while the rest of class read the incredibly dull chapter and was completely ignored by Professor Umbridge. As Hermione's eyes were fixated on the blackboard, he could guess her question. He wondered for a moment if he should just passively wait and see when Umbridge would finally recognise his friend. Then, he decided that she was just being obnoxiously rude and it might take ages.

''It looks like Hermione has a question, Professor,'' he loudly spoke, receiving a grateful look from the girl and a glare from Umbridge.

''Students in my class will raise their hand when they have something to say, Mr. Potter!''

''Oh, I'm so sorry. You see, Hermione had her hand raised for a solid five minutes now and wasn't recognised so I wasn't sure what kind of rules applied for questions,'' he managed to say with an air of faked surprise. ''Are there any further requirements to be granted an audience?''

''You still haven't raised your hand, Mr. Potter, so I will not answer that particular question,'' she sweetly spoke, turning to Hermione. ''Yes, dear? I figured that, since you didn't even** open** your book, you could not possibly have any question related to the course material.''

''I don't, I wish to ask about the course aims.''

Umbridge blinked in an overly-surprised way that would not have won her any acting awards. ''Surely, they are very clear. Why, even my first-year class from this morning perfectly understood.''

''What, the first-years have the same course aims as we do?'' Ron asked indignantly.

''**Hand** Mr…''

''Weasley.'' Ron answered, quickly raising his hand. ''I'm just saying, don't all years have different goals?''

''These are the underlying goals for your entire stay at Hogwarts. Ministry-approved,** safe** goals that will guide you through the years. What is it, Ms…''

''Granger. As I wanted to ask before, none of these aims say anything about **using** Defensive magic.''

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched the unfolding discussion with astonishment, arguments flying back and forth as Umbridge lost control of their class more and more. Hermione's question had opened the door for all of them to unload their disbelief and critique. This woman was a special kind of insane if she thought that they could perform magic that had never been practised before.

Sure, Voldemort had applied the same standard to him, but only when teaching one-on-one, and after conveying a thorough, deep understanding of a single spell with a demonstration beforehand. It didn't look like Umbridge planned on doing any of that. Even he hadn't taught Harry a slew of spells by book theory alone and expected him to perform them at the end of a year during an exam. That was beyond ridiculous.

Slowly, he raised his hand. Surprisingly, Umbridge actually gave him a turn to speak, possibly because many others were just shouting. ''Mr Potter! What is it now?''

''Professor,'' he said in the most reasonable voice he could muster. If she wanted to treat them like children, then he'd just need to do the same to her. ''Your logic is that we do not need to perform spells in this classroom, because nothing will attack us in this classroom. Which is still slightly doubtful, considering we unfortunately have a history of dangerous professors and a literal Basilisk that was let loose in this school, but fair,** fair**,'' he spoke, a bit louder as she opened her mouth, possibly to reprimand him. ''However, the entire point of education is to prepare us for later. For the real world.''

''There is** nothing** out there in the real world that you cannot handle,'' Umbridge spoke. ''Not when you study hard enough, focus on the theory behind defensive magic. There aren't… dark wizards lurking around the corner, waiting for you children to graduate so they can come after you! I know that you have been fed some scary fantasies, even by certain members of the staff, but the real world is not a chaotic mess! You will be protected by the Ministry, by qualified Aurors…''

''Some of us might want to** become** those Aurors,'' Harry said again, never having lowered his hand, feeling his calm slipping. ''And from what I have heard about he training program, there are entry tests where one will already need to demonstrate their skill. That cannot be done with theory alone! If we cannot practise in these coming three years, it is **delusional** to think that we can miraculously perform the practical part well during our exams!''

Umbridge froze, eyes widening as she stared at him. ''Did I hear correctly… Mr Potter, that you are calling me,** me, your teacher**, **DELUSIONAL**?''

''Yes,'' he simply stated, standing up and glaring at her as she spluttered and deducted ten points from Gryffindor. He didn't care, this was more important that a House Cup competition. ''You know what, forget about what I said about fair points before. You think this school is safe? That nothing will attack us? You were** there** during the Award ceremony of the damned Triwizard Tournament, for Merlin's sake! You've seen what the other Champions and I needed to do, and that could have been any student up there! You think that I could have breathed underwater for an hour without practicing the spell first? That I somehow knew how to protect my clothes from catching fire by reading about it once? If you never performed a spell before, you cannot rely on it to work in a dangerous situation!''

''That Tournament was a highly-regulated exception!'' she screamed at him, complete ignoring his points. He gritted his teeth, hands balling into fists as he felt his heart starting to pound louder and faster. This was simply absurd. This whole conversation was absolutely ludicrous.

''Oh yes, so highly-regulated that Fleur's sister nearly drowned!'' he snapped back. ''So regulated that I was chosen as a Champion for a fourth school that didn't exist because a Death Eater confounded the Goblet of Fire! Your Ministry protection is worth** nothing** to me!''

The class held their breath as one, all eyes were on Harry now.

''There are… no… Death Eaters,'' she breathed, trembling all over, pointing a stumpy finger at him that gleamed with the many rings she adorned it with. ''You are an attention-seeking liar, Mr Potter. You know that you put your own name in that cup. Oh, isn't it convenient for you that Dumbledore came up with a story for you to use to cover that up? Isn't it fun to scare the public with campfire horror stories?'' Resolutely, she drew open one of her desk drawers, took a quill and a slip of the most hideous pink parchment he'd ever seen and started writing on it.

''Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,'' she spoke, her smile plastered all over her broad mouth again, holding out the rolled-up slip. ''Actions have consequences, Mr Potter, always. And the truth will come out.''

He took it, but not before leaning forward threateningly and saying: ''I sure hope it does.''

Fuming, he stormed towards Professor McGonagall's office, trying his hardest to ignore Peeves on the way, not wanting to bait the Poltergeist even more. He didn't care if people thought him crazy, but he would** not** stand for a whole year of taking crap from a woman who probably didn't even know what a wand was supposed to be for. She'd probably be using it as the stick up her ass for years.

Harry faltered slightly when standing in front of professor McGonagall's office. Was she even here? Maybe he should have checked the Transfiguration classroom first… He knocked softly and was already in the process of walking away to go to the Transfiguration classroom, when the door opened.

''Potter? What are you doing here? If my memory serves me right, you should be in class.''

''I was sent here,'' he reluctantly replied, not meeting her eyes. ''By Umbridge.'' He held out the rolled-up paper slip, which she quickly accepted and started reading, nostrils flaring when she was through.

''Come in Potter, have a seat.'' He shuffled inside and sat down, carefully looking up now to gauge her reaction. He'd seen her far angrier, that was hopefully a positive sign. ''It says here that you… questioned the authority of the Ministry, called Professor Umbridge delusional and announced that Death Eaters are after you. Is this correct?''

''I didn't question the **authority** of the Ministry,'' he protested. ''I said I wouldn't trust them to protect me! Professor, she expects us to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts without ever practising a spell during class! Her curriculum is theory only because 'nothing dangerous is out to get us' and she wouldn't even listen to Parvati's argument about having to pass the practical part of our Defence O.W.L.-'' Professor McGonagall raised a hand to stop his angry rant, then handed him a tin with biscuits, which he stared at with shock. Never in his life had he expected to be given sweets by his strict Head of House. Were they laced with anything? Truth serum, perhaps?

She rattled the tin. ''Come, Potter, take one, we haven't got all day,'' she snapped. Wary still, he took one and only dared to eat it once she'd grabbed one herself and bit into it as well. ''You must be careful,'' she quietly spoke, staring intensively at him.

''I **know** that,'' Harry said, feeling frustrated. ''I know where she comes from and that the Ministry is trying to change things at Hogwarts. But we don't have to just sit there and take it, do we? Our future depends on the education we receive, Hermione's been nagging me about that for years and I figure that she's right like always.''

''The Ministry isn't merely trying to **change** **things** as you put it,'' McGonagall sighed. ''It is far more complex.''

Harry raised an eyebrow. ''I'm listening,'' he said. McGonagall blinked and gave him an astonished look.

''Potter, you cannot believe that I will suddenly reveal all of my thoughts about Dolores Umbridge to a student.''

''She's after Dumbledore's position to limit the influence he has, she is trying to curb the ideas that he spreads. Possibly, she will check the staff and fill positions differently as she sees fit to take as much power away from the Order of the Phoenix as possible.'' McGonagall took a sip from her cup, composing herself quickly. She watched him with hawk-eyes, and he could see the cogs in her brain turning.

''Essentially, though that is not all. I fear that she will try to shape the student body too. In the staff room, she has spoken about small details she wishes to change: requiring student meetings to be more strictly regulated, influencing the power of certain Prefects and Headboys- and girls, controlling which part of the castle can be used at what times, etcetera. In short, control whom you can speak to, when, how and where. If I have judged her character correctly, she will keep increasing these regulations wherever it fits her, until suddenly even demands that right now would sound outlandish, can be implemented later on without much thought.''

''So what can we do to stop it?'' he asked.

McGonagall gave him a small, disbelieving laugh. ''Stop it? Potter, we have no power in this. As much as I dislike it, the Ministry has every right to take control of Hogwarts. We are bound to the laws and as Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic, Dolores Umbridge embodies those. What I expect you, and every student to do, is to minimise the damage she can do. Agree to her ridiculous demands as long as they don't harm anyone, play along when she can see it, and let us handle the rest. Resistance gives her the justification to push through more changes and no-one wants that. As long as she isn't provoked, there isn't much she can do right now. Show her that Hogwarts runs perfectly fine as it is and** for Merlin's sake**, don't let her get the idea even more that you or anyone else believe that Death Eaters are roaming about or that You-Know-Who has returned.''

''But Dumbledore…''

''Professor Dumbledore tried to convince the Ministry and did not succeed. I have advised him to not try further either as long as Professor Umbridge resides within these castle walls.''

''Well, at least she's playing on borrowed time,'' Harry muttered.

She narrowed her eyes and him and steepled her fingers. ''What do you mean?''

Harry shrugged. ''She got the position of Defence teacher, the job is cursed, so she won't be here for longer than a year.''

''Potter!'' his teacher said, placing a hand on her heart. She couldn't conceal the small twitch of her lips fast enough however. ''Be careful with your words, and whom you say them to. You have detention with Professor Umbridge every single evening this week and no, I cannot change that. Trying to take the detention over would only rouse suspicion.''

''But Professor, the Quidditch try-outs!''

She shook her head and pinned him with a stern look. ''You can be glad that she can't ban you from the team. Yet. Mind my words, Potter, and don't cause trouble around Dolores Umbridge. It is bad enough that you punched her last year. She'll be out for your blood.''

The Transfiguration professor didn't know then how true those words would turn out to be. Harry didn't either yet, spending that evening -it turned out that his detentions only started tomorrow- doing homework with Ron and Hermione and fuming over Umbridge. Hermione didn't have any Prefect duties that evening, so he and Ron couldn't sneak out to start practising becoming Animagi. After the less-than-amusing day and a ton of homework, Harry was actually rather glad for it. He went up to the dorms earlier, studying some runes while lying in bed. He'd wanted to still discuss the Prophet's articles about what was going on abroad with Hermione, but hadn't found the time. He purposefully left the bed-hangings open so Neville and Dean, who were both there already, could see him and Riddle wouldn't get it in his head to appear again.

Already resigned to another sleepless night -he would** have** to find a way soon to get his hands on some potions or find a brewing possibility, perhaps also in the Room of Requirement- Harry took one of Regulus' diaries out of his trunk after reading two chapters in his rune book. In Riddle's current state, the man could only hear him, not see what he was reading, and the covers of the books were blank so his dormmates shouldn't question it either. Now where had he left off…

_October 29th, 1976  
The Dark Lord led another attack yesterday. These days leading up to Samhain are the best time to gather sacrifices for our celebration, so it should have been expected. The Ministry is trying to cover up the trail of deaths rather unsuccessfully. On this day, it has been six years since the Dark Lord declared an open rebellion against the Ministry and started purifying this country. Defence is crumbling fast and soon, power will be in his hands._

Harry got a knot in his stomach when reading the words. It was strange to hear about crimes that Voldemort had committed so many years ago, especially from the viewpoint of someone who agreed to it all. Even Voldemort himself had admitted that much had gone wrong back then, had been driven too far. Yet, many had still supported it, like Regulus had. After Voldemort had 'saved' Regulus from his family's expectations, the boy had become much more fanatic, excusing everything in the name of Magic like so many other supporters of Voldemort back then. Supporters who had participated in and -if he could believe some of the snippets that Regulus noted down about newspaper articles from that time- revelled in the violence.

No wonder that Sirius hadn't believed a word that Harry said about changed ways. Regulus was very meticulous about noting down every small detail about Voldemort's rise to power and the Ministry's reaction to each raid, each known death, each political assassination. The number of notes on murders were overwhelming, and Harry recognised quite a few surnames, showing that it was hardly only Muggles that had been killed off. To think that this would go on still for five entire years until Voldemort would die his first death was… horrifying to think about.

What would have happened, had Harry not gone to the Dark Lord when he had? Would Voldemort have become so desperate to gain another body that he would have revealed himself? Would the same madness have ensued? James' and Lily's words about Harry's emotions influencing the Dark Lord positively were on his mind.

_November 1_ _st_ _, 1976  
It has been a while since I wrote anything personal… Samhain was much better this year than it has previously been. As the new Heir of the Black family, I was invited by one of the Prefects to join a secret celebration in the Forbidden Forest, which I naturally accepted instantly. Siri didn't know what he was missing out on when shunning all of the privileges he could have had, including meetings like these. I spoke with various members of the elite society, and although I already knew all of them, I've only ever spoken to the likes of Mulciber and Rosier in formal settings with our parents present. Hardly a place to discuss the future plans of our generation specifically. It's not something to be discussed in the classroom or the Great Hall either. I am glad to find so much agreement for the Dark Lord's plans, even outside of Slytherin. One Bartemius Crouch, who is a year below me, sounds very promising despite his father being notoriously anti-dark. It was the first time that he was invited as well and we talked for a while. The feast itself was interesting to say the least. Naturally, we couldn't exactly bring Muggle sacrifices onto the grounds, instead using animals. Perhaps just as well, mother has forced me before to consume Muggle meat and it tastes awful._

''**What the actual fuck**?'' Harry exclaimed loudly in disgust. He then ducked to avoid a ball of socks that Dean threw at him.

''People are trying to sleep here!'' the boy groggily said. ''I have Prefect duties tomorrow at an ungodly hour so **please** shut up!''

Harry quietly apologised and read the last sentence again. Voldemort had said before that it was a shame that Harry hadn't been able to celebrate Samhain properly… if that meant that he would have to partake in** cannibalism**, he was incredibly glad for it. Was this something people of dark families did in general? Or one of those insane practises of Walburga Black, like making her children perform curses on Squibs as an extra-curricular activity? Considering that even the Dark Lord himself thought her teachings were extreme, Harry sincerely hoped that Voldemort wasn't going around eating humans. Then again, Harry couldn't completely rule it out either… He'd killed some as sacrifices to Magic before. Weirded out, but also still quite intrigued, he kept reading.

_The evening certainly elevated my status. Even the seventh-years listened to me when I revealed that I've spoken personally to the Dark Lord. Being recognised feels good. Perhaps during the holidays, I can try to also make connections to the people who have already graduated like Malfoy. Perhaps I will ask Professor Slughorn about that. I never made it into the Slug Club, but I'm sure he wouldn't deny a student's wish to make connections._

Harry sighed and wondered how much he still wanted to read. Regulus had gone from a relatable boy who was excited about Hogwarts and worried about his brother, to someone who strove forwards without regard for others. Regulus didn't seem to care for the suffering around him anymore, even when it came to his own brother. Each year, he had fallen just a little deeper into the web of hate, until he too was advocating for ridding the world of Muggles and all those who opposed the one and only rightful ruler of the world. Harry didn't want to be like that. He couldn't imagine suddenly stopping to care for others, turning his back on his friends and giving his complete and unquestioning devotion to Voldemort.

Yes, he admired the man. Yes, he was incredibly glad to have learned and experienced so much. But he would never become a mindless puppet that repeated everything the Dark Lord did and said. Looking up to a single person while never questioning that person's flaws was stupid. At this point, Harry was sure that Voldemort could have decided to kill off Regulus' parents and the boy would still have found a way to justify it and keep following Voldemort around like a puppy.

Although… Harry glanced to his nightstand, where the remaining books lay. Something had happened to change that, he knew that the same Regulus had stolen the locket, had been killed for betrayal…

Unable to resist the temptation, he impatiently skipped a bit through the records of the last two months of the diary. It was more of the same again, information about Voldemort's activities and the occasional personal entry. Deciding that he could live without knowing the exact details about that -especially as it was all from Regulus' biased view and the way the boy listed the names of those who had had to die to 'pave the way for magic' made Harry terribly depressed – he grabbed the next one from the pile. It wasn't until July 1977 that anything changed, when Regulus went home again, and Harry held the tip of his wand closer to illuminate the pages better.

_July 2nd, 1977_  
_Today was our first unofficial meeting: the next generation of Death Eaters. None of us are marked yet, but all aspire to be. We heard that the Dark Lord tends to gravitate more to his younger followers at the moment, granting them power. Lucius Malfoy was marked shortly after graduating a couple of years ago and instantly became one of the Dark Lord's most trusted. Rumours have it that Bellatrix Lestrange even received personal training in duelling from our Lord and she is barely ten years older than me. There is a shift in power happening among the ranks, one that we all agree we should profit from. Even Snape is in now, he finally figured that that Mudblood _– Harry gripped the diary a bit too tightly when reading that sentence and the page crumpled beneath his fingers - _shouldn't hold him back anymore. They have made me their spokesperson, as the Heir of the most ancient family in our group, even if I'm not the oldest. I will attempt to contact the Dark Lord himself to see if we can do anything for the cause already. I know that Siri has been working for Dumbledore and that pretentious Order of the Phoenix, to undermine our Lord's plans._

_July 8_ _th_ _, 1977  
He agreed! I can still barely believe it. Through Malfoy, I was able to request an audience and I have been invited one week from now._

_July 16_ _th_ _, 1977  
Yesterday was as unforgettable an evening as the first time I spoke to Him. The knowledge that I am protected by this man and privileged enough to cast a glimpse of Him is overwhelming. So many talented mages gather around Him that it is thrilling to know I could be the next person to stand there. The battle is almost won too, the new Minister of Magic is barely holding up. If it wasn't for Dumbledore's damned Order, the Dark Lord would already have this country in His grasp. It pains me to know that I might have to face Siri one day, but we each chose our fates, and he chose wrong._

_I'm getting side-tracked… He initially didn't even ask me what I was there for. We dined, discussed politics and magic as if we were on equal footing, even if that clearly isn't the case. His knowledge about magic is so vast that I can barely comprehend it. When I finally was granted the opportunity to tell Him about the current student movement and our ambitions, He wasn't surprised. I am still not entirely sure what to think of the outcome: He agreed to give the Mark already to those who have proven themselves worthy as long as they are sixteen or older, but at the same time refused to let those participate in fights or spy-work. He was adamant about His opinion on the importance of education. Doesn't want followers to get side-tracked with extra burdens. I do understand, but it will be hard to tell the others about this, especially as I did not yet do enough to deserve a Mark, and I'm not too sure how I can prove myself worthy while at school. I'll have to use this summer to the fullest._

The importance of education… Harry snorted inwardly. It appeared that Voldemort had become a bit more aggressive about his teaching methods. If joining battles was too much to handle on top of schoolwork, then what about a damned Triwizard Tournament? Having read enough for now, Harry put the diary aside and closed his eyes to at least get a bit of rest. So, Regulus had been well on his way of becoming a Death Eater at that point… As he was sixteen and rather zealous, Harry could imagine the boy finding a way to get the Mark that year still. It was a strange thought… he'd been a top student, led the next wave of Death Eaters at Hogwarts, got himself connections. Barely two years later, that would all have been for naught. Two years in which Harry knew that Regulus had somehow still formed a strong enough relationship with Voldemort that the Dark Lord still muttered the teen's name many years after.

Harry was still mulling over that next breakfast, having come to the conclusion that it wasn't** too** strange for Voldemort to still have strong feelings about it. It probably hadn't been many years at all for someone who'd spent twelve years as a spirit. Regulus had died somewhere 1979, Voldemort had been robbed of his body in October 1981. It was logical that right after gaining a body -rudimentary at that- Voldemort's previous relationship was still fresh on his mind.

''I'm thinking about this far too much,'' he muttered into his cereal.

''I know that you're going on this whole 'if you think I'm insane I might as well act like it' tour,'' one of the Twins said on Harry's right,

''-But publicly talking to yourself is a whole new level.'' The other finished the sentence to Harry's left.

''Not everyone has a second half to share their one braincell with,'' he commented, making those who heard it burst out in laughter while the Twins looked mock-offended.

''At least we have a braincell! That's one more than you do if the news about you getting int rouble with our lovely Defence Professor on the very first day of school is correct.''

''Don't remind me,'' he sighed, throwing a hateful glance at the teacher's table. Umbridge was dressed all in pink again. Harry never had held much resentment towards any colour, but she was really making him start to hate pink.

Today was slightly better than the last regarding classes. It started with Double Charms, followed by Double Transfiguration. With both classes having good teachers, Riddle didn't bother showing up. Maybe it was also because for once, Harry rather excelled in the classes: During Charms they reviewed the Summoning Charm, which he'd gotten down perfectly as he'd thought it might come in handy during the Tournament, and during Transfiguration, they practised the Vanishing spell. It had actually taken him a good chunk of time to perfect that, but that had been a chunk of time in July so he could more easily clean up the kitchen at Riddle House each time it was messy. Harry almost felt like it was a normal school day, able to put the Locket from his mind for a while. Each time his hand snuck to his throat to play with the chain, he willed it to take the snake fang instead that protected him from intrusive mental attacks.

Care of Magical Creatures was slightly less great. He missed Hagrid, although grudgingly had to admit that professor Grubby-Plank was a good teacher, and drawing Bowtruckles really was a relief after taking care of Blast-ended Skrewts for most of last year. Even Malfoy and his usual cronies were relatively peaceful. He could hear them making snide comments under their breath about Hagrid's absence, but none dared utter it so loud that they** knew** Harry heard it.

Still, it didn't do much to improve his mood, especially as Ron and Hermione only half-heartedly agreed to his claims that Hagrid should come back.

''Hey Ginny, Luna,'' he dully greeted when they reached the greenhouses, the girls coming out as their class ended.

Ginny only gave a bright greeting in return, but Luna didn't leave it at that, quickly approaching him and standing still right in front, a bit too close in his personal space for his tastes. ''I believe you and professor Dumbledore!'' she breathlessly spoke, staring at him with those large, blue eyes that were slightly less dreamy than before. ''If people make fun of you, ignore them, knowing that you are in the right!'' Fiercely, she turned around to a few people who were giggling at her. Harry had the sinking suspicion that Parvati and Lavender hadn't even heard what she'd said and were instead making fun of her appearance, from the radishes she wore as earrings to the twigs and leaves she'd woven in her hair. Before she could go on a rant to Harry's classmates, he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

''Thanks, I appreciate it, really,'' he spoke. ''Don't… don't go around shouting it to people though, I don't want you to get in trouble for it.''

''I don't mind getting in trouble for the truth,'' Luna smiled. ''Daddy often gets in trouble for what he publishes too, that's never stopped him.''

Hermione scoffed slightly before Harry could answer and said: ''I don't think it's the** truth** that he gets in trouble for when it comes to the Quibbler.'' Luna didn't reply, only frowned and walked off without a word. Hermione probably hadn't meant to make fun of the girl with her words, but most of Harry's -and Luna's- classmates took it like that and started laughing even harder than before.

''You shouldn't have said that,'' he bit to Hermione. ''There are already so very few people I can rely on!''

''Surely, you can rely on someone who doesn't have her head in the clouds at all times!''

Harry shook his head, irritated at Hermione. Luna reminded him a lot of himself when he was younger, always shunned for everything he did or said at elementary school. Or even at the Dursley's, back when he'd been naïve still and tried to tell them about dreams or things he'd read in fantasy books at school. He refused to work with Hermione that hour and partnered up with Neville instead. Even Ernie declaring that he also believed Harry didn't improve his temper.

Two more hours left… Harry wasn't sure if he was glad for it or not. Evening drawing nearer also meant that his detention with Umbridge was due soon. He'd kept the conversation with McGonagall to himself for now, first wanting to judge for himself if 'keeping your head down' actually worked or not. It had never done him any good with Snape, so he wanted to follow the advice on his own for a bit before telling everyone that they should give up all attempts of defiance.

It certainly didn't help that Angelina cornered him near the Great Hall, yelling about his detentions for everyone to hear because he should attend the Quidditch try-outs** somehow**. She didn't even accept his answer of already having asked McGonagall about it. ''I can't just demand my detentions to be moved!'' he angrily retorted. ''Besides, I've never been at any previous Quidditch try-outs either!''

''That's because there were no free spots, Potter! We need new players on the team and I do not want to make this decision without the full rest of the team there! Excuse me, but you don't have a great reputation at this moment, and I need to see how other people react to you.''

''I'm sorry?'' he asked disbelievingly.

''I need a **team**. People who work well together. Look, Merlin knows that the Hogwarts rumour mill is less than reliable, so I'm trusting my gut and choose to think you're still the same, decent bloke as the previous years. I don't believe for one second that you suddenly turned into a lying nutjob like some people try to paint you. But if you're not there, I do not know if I might not accidentally accept people into the team who** do** believe that and who will not work together well with you. Bad blood between teammates can kill our hopes on winning games much faster than lack of flying talent.''

He didn't know if he should be thankful for her attempts to not take anyone who didn't believe in him, or offended for being seen as some sort of obstacle now. ''I promised McGonagall to not cause anymore problems with Umbridge,'' he sighed. ''I will ask her, beg her, offer more detentions or whatever, but if she says no, that's it.''

Angelina clearly wasn't pleased with that answer. ''You don't seem to understand!'' she bit. ''I don't care if you have to scream at her or say you and Dumbledore made it all up, you will be there on the pitch!''

Now, he was getting livid, far worse than before. Maybe he'd hung out with Slytherins too much, but her utter disregard for his reputation -whatever tattered remains he had of it- rubbed him the wrong way. There were more important things than Quidditch. Hogwarts had been turned into a political minefield, and all Angelina cared about was that the school sport wouldn't be endangered?

''You won't need to worry about bad blood in the team then,'' he spoke with icy fury that made her finally back up a bit. ''I quit.''

''W… What? Potter! Potter you can't just** quit**!'' she said, obviously startled and sounding more than a bit stressed.

''Yes, I can. Johnson, I have my O.W.L.s this year, I am trying to study two additional courses, I am behind because of the stupid Triwizard Tournament, and over half of the school decided to hate me again because** they assume** that I agree to whatever Dumbledore says. If that even influenced decisions on the Quidditch field, then I've had it. Speak to Ginny, I heard she's an excellent Seeker and more than willing to try out for that position.'' With that, he walked into the Great Hall, leaving her gaping.

He only regretted his decision a bit. He had far too much to do to also worry about early morning Quidditch training and matches. He'd miss flying, just like he had last year, but there were other things he should be concerned about. It would definitely give him more time. The most difficult part was probably how to explain it to Ron, who most likely wouldn't understand why Harry would throw away** Quidditch** in exchange for studying. Well, he could worry about all of that later.

First, he needed to survive the evening. As he walked into Professor Umbridge's office and was met with kitsch décor and a false smile, he wasn't sure if he would.


	48. Torture and Plans

The office painted a disturbing picture. Kittens ran along the walls, looking innocent, fluffy, lively. Bouquets of dried roses and wildflowers that might have been elegant in another setting became ugly splotches of beige death against the sickly pink backdrop. Amidst it all stood a massive desk, the only familiar item here. It had survived all of the professors who had sat behind it over the years, yet never had it looked so hideous, the gleaming surface covered in doilies and pink, straw decorations. Harry almost felt sorry for it, as much as anyone could feel sorry for an inanimate object. Behind it sat perhaps the ugliest thing in the entire room: Professor Umbridge with her insincere smile. In that moment, Harry was glad to have quit the Quidditch team. He would not have been able to get any words of begging over his lips when seeing her self-indulgent, righteous smirk.

''Good evening, Mr Potter,'' she said, stressing the words in such a way that he knew she expected a similar reply.

Not about to test his luck, and with McGonagall's words of warning in the back of his mind, Harry forced his mouth into something that would resemble a polite smile passably enough, replying: ''Good evening, Professor Umbridge.'' She gazed at him unflinchingly, seemingly pushing him to accept a staring contest, which he gladly did. This woman could not intimidate him, not after staring death in its face so often, Dementors, even the Dark Lord himself.

It paid off: as he sat down without breaking eye contact once, she huffed and looked away, inspecting a black quill she'd plucked out of her bag. ''You will be writing lines today, Mr Potter,'' she spoke, her voice a tad shrill. So, he'd managed to unnerve her without open resistance, good. Professor McGonagall could be proud.

''And what will I be writing?'' he asked, giving the quill a suspicious look. That he wasn't allowed to use his own didn't sit well with him. The tip of it was incredibly sharp and the feather had an unnerving feel to it. With a shock, Harry realised that there was dark magic involved. He let that sink in for two reasons. First of all, it meant that Umbridge, undersecretary of the Minister of Magic, was using dark magic. In Hogwarts. On students. Secondly, it meant that Harry had now used enough of it himself to not only pick up on Voldemort's magic, but on other dark magic as well. He'd assumed he could only feel the man because of their soul- and bloodbonds. Though Voldemort had mentioned something about his other followers also feeling him to an extent. Apparently dark mages really could be sensitive to other dark magic around them.

''-I must not tell lies,'' Umbridge finished a sentence that Harry hadn't bothered to hear the start of.

''I'm sorry?'' he asked, still thrown off a bit. A third thought came up. If she was using dark magic on him… what effects would it have? With what sacrifice would it be achieved? Would Voldemort's shields protect him?

''I find it to be the most fitting sentence to… imprint on you. Oh, and you won't be needing any ink,'' Umbridge spoke, her smirk broadening.

He wanted to scream at her that he hadn't told any lies. Instead, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of even getting angry at her. No, it would be better to expose this woman without taking damage himself. When he gave the quill another look, he somehow doubted that he would get away completely undamaged.

Sure enough, as soon as he put it to parchment and wrote the first letter, pain flared up, a red streak appearing on the back of his hand before it disappeared again. So it was a self-inking quill that used the writer's own blood for ink as sacrifice. Great, what sadistic asshole ever came up with this torture device? Harry didn't know whether he should be happy or not that such indirect damage didn't fulfil the conditions to activate his shields. It would be great to see Umbridge's hand torn to shreds, but Harry doubted he would have been able to come up with a good explanation as for why. It made sense that it didn't though, the protection he'd been granted was limited to direct harm in the form of a deliberate attack. Being hurt through an object that wasn't even held by Umbridge didn't exactly meet those requirements.

''Is something wrong?'' she spoke in a sweet voice.

Harry clenched his jaw. ''Oh, not really,'' he answered. ''You know, you are using illegal blood magic on students as corporeal punishment, the former having been banned centuries ago and the latter when Dumbledore was made Headmaster, but other than that, everything is just** fine**.'' He glowered at her as he continued writing, trying not to wince.

_Come on, this is nothing in comparison to when Voldemort carved runes into your skin. Or when he cast the Cruciatus curse on you._ Merlin, when he thought about it, it was really unhealthy how he was still rather devoted to a man who'd caused him such harm.

''Illegal?'' Umbridge chuckled. ''Mr Potter, surely** I** know our laws much better than** you** do. And I have been given full disciplinary authority by the Minister, I made sure of that.''

He didn't deem that worthy of a reply. It sounded unlikely that she could overrule the general school rules when it came to punishment, but he indeed didn't have enough information to confirm or deny it. Harry wrote a few more lines, the letters gleaming scarlet. He sensed a presence next to him all of a sudden and wasn't surprised to see Riddle leaning against the office wall next to him, frowning as he looked at Harry's hand.

''Go straight to your Head of House after,'' Riddle spoke. ''She was right, when it comes to this... Undersecretary, it is best to choke the weed before it grows, before we have an uncontrollable devil's snare at our hands. She doesn't have the power she claims…** yet**. No matter what the Minister agreed on for punishment, this kind of magic is still illegal.''

Harry was taken aback. Riddle of all people told him to go to authorities instead of throwing a Killing Curse at Umbridge? There was a first… Maybe it was because this version of Voldemort had been a student not too long ago, a Headboy at that. From what he'd seen in memories and gathered from speaking to the Diary-Horcrux, Riddle had tried to gain favours and power first through other people, before he'd had enough power by himself.

Also, Harry noticed with something he could only identify as discontentment, that Riddle didn't look** angry**. Sure, they hadn't really spoken often or long, but Harry had thought that the Horcrux would somehow… care a bit more about how Umbridge was hurting him. Voldemort certainly would be up in arms if he saw that anyone else caused one of his followers pain, possessive as he was. Riddle didn't show more than vague displeasure, that was about it. Harry didn't know if he should be glad that Riddle didn't appear to have such an unhealthy obsession with him, or insulted.

He thought upon Riddle's words and lightly shook his head. Even if he'd run straight to McGonagall, then what? Telling her what Umbridge was doing wouldn't lead anywhere without proof. And for proof, he'd unfortunately need to sit this out a few days. Each time he wrote a line, the redness on his hand became a little more visible and lingered a tad longer. Three more evenings of this, and the words would surely stay. Only then could he actively try to report it. In the meantime, maybe his friends would have ideas about how to deal with Umbridge in other ways.

The young Dark Lord frowned in disapproval, continuing to glare at Harry's hand. It was strange, the longer he kept writing, the more he felt a pressure building up, and occasionally there were tiny black sparks dancing across the surface. It looked like Voldemort's protection was reacting, yet didn't know what to do or whom to direct its hostile magic at. It would be so satisfying to provoke Umbridge now, get her to cast a nasty spell on him and see it backfire… Harry sighed, able to push on by imagining rather gruesome fantasies. The evening passed slowly, far too slowly to his liking. Only an iron stubbornness allowed Harry to sit through it without glancing a single time at his watch. The sun had long set when Umbridge finally allowed him to leave, after a short inspection of the back of his hand and some ominous commentary.

''Don't be stupid Harry, report it,'' Riddle instantly said when they were outside. Harry sighed and swung his bag over his shoulder. His left shoulder for once. ''There's no need to play the hero.''

''Aren't you wasting energy like this?'' Harry whispered. ''Don't you have limited time that you can be in this form or so?''

Riddle wrinkled his nose, which was a very funny gesture that Harry hadn't expected. Voldemort never wrinkled his nose, maybe to do with the fact it was flat nowadays. He couldn't contain a light chuckle at it, which became louder when he was glared at for it. ''I don't know what is so funny about the state of my existence,'' Riddle stiffly answered. ''It depends on the day and how much energy I take from you. Now answer my question. You appear persistent about not going to a teacher about this.''

''Adults hardly ever take people seriously who are younger than them. In my first year… hold on, let's search some unused classroom or so to talk, I really don't want any Prefects to catch me talking to myself in the corridors about this, especially since curfew was a few minutes ago, who knows whom we'll run into.'' His stomach growled slightly, and Harry wondered what he was going to do about dinner in the coming days. Sure, he'd grabbed a bite before, but that had been around four thirty and he hadn't been really hungry yet. Having detention at five was horrible. It lasting till ten didn't help. He could barely believe that Umbridge had made him cut his hand open for five solid hours.

He went for the first empty room he could find, an old classroom that was used for storage. Most rooms in Hogwarts were unused, which was rather convenient for times like this. Had it ever been different? Surely the Founders had taken the amount of students they would have into account when designing the castle. Barely a fourth of it was in use now when counting all the classrooms, offices and common areas. Most of the unused places were filled with stuff like cabinets and tables. It made Harry wonder if their population had at one point been much larger than was the case now.

''Right,'' he said when he was confident on the silencing charms placed on the door. ''As I was saying, I've had bad experiences with adults listening to me. I know you haven't had much news so this might be hard to fully get without context, but Voldemort tried to steal the Philosopher's stone in my first year here. My friends and I found out. Well, we found out that** someone** wanted to steal the stone, I actually thought it was Snape, but in either case, McGonagall didn't believe us when we told her about it and did nothing more than sending Dumbledore a letter. In my second year, one of the other Horcruxes tried to release Slytherin's basilisk in the school. Hermione figured out it was a basilisk, we found the Chamber's entrance and everything, and yet again, no-one would believe us or do** anything**. They didn't try to stop us either when we went down to the Chamber ourselves, but Ron and I were twelve and thirteen respectively and really shouldn't have needed to do so. Then in my third year, my godfather - who'd falsely been accused of murder - escaped Azkaban. Long story short, Snape captured him and tried to get the Ministry to give Sirius the Dementor's kiss. We went to Dumbledore about it and while he believed us, he didn't lift a finger himself, leaving it up to us to handle the situation and free Sirius by using a time-turner. Seriously, I can count adults I trust on one hand. You're lucky Voldemort is one of them, otherwise I wouldn't even be telling you any of this.''

Well, there was also the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how adult-y Riddle was. He surely was older than the Diary had been. Harry hadn't received much information on the other Horcruxes, other than having seen them and felt their magic. His guess would be late teens, early twenties, but the opportunity hadn't really come up to ask about it. Maybe another time.

Harry took a deep breath after his rant. ''So yeah,'' he finished. ''**If** I tell McGonagall about this, which I** probably** will do still, I need absolute, undeniable evidence first.'' He held up his hand, balled into a fist, showing the reddened skin. ''A couple more days of this detention, and I'm pretty sure that line will be etched into my skin. I need to come up with a way to cause enough of a distraction to nick one of those quills - I doubt she only has one - and perhaps record some of the stuff she says to me if I ask her once more about this kind of illegal punishment. Only then can I be confident in that steps will be taken against her.''

''You went down the Chamber,'' the Horcrux stated in a very cold voice, ignoring Harry's plans for Umbridge entirely. Getting sudden goose bumps, Harry gave Riddle a guilty look. He shouldn't have ranted about that… That had been a stupid thing to do, considering Voldemort's reaction to discovering the destruction of the diary and the death of the basilisk at Harry's hands. ''And you mentioned the other Horcrux you encountered. What happened?''

''Nothing good from your perspective I'm sure. I've already been punished for that pretty severely,'' he grimaced. ''Could you please let it slide? As I said, I was twelve.''

''How did you manage to kill a Basilisk is what I am wondering. With twelve at that.'' Harry wasn't entirely sure how the man had so quickly jumped to the right conclusion, but admittedly, there weren't too many outcomes when it came to some children walking into a monster's lair. Either the monster survived, or the children did.

''With a sword, if you must know. A sword and a bird. The story isn't nearly as heroic as Ron made it out to be afterwards.''

''Then tell me another heroic story… I died, didn't I?'' the man spoke, a contemplative frown on his face. ''That is the only logical conclusion I come to from piecing together the current situation and your role in it. At the start, I was astonished to hear that the Order of the Phoenix was still active after so many decades. I had expected my older self to have taken over the Wizarding World by this point. Your classmates and teachers sounded in too much denial for that however. So, I must have I died.''

Carefully, Harry nodded. Riddle's number one fear was death, so Harry hoped he wouldn't take it badly. The contrary happened when the man got a glint in his eyes and his lips twisted into a mad grin. ''That means that splitting my soul successfully worked as a measure against mortality. We've put into practise what others only ever achieved in theory. I returned, possibly by researching further into necromancy.'' His expectantly raised eyebrow at Harry gave the distinct feeling that denying answers was not an option with pleasant consequences.

''I don't know the full details,'' the teen spoke. ''He used pieces of a wand, bone of your father, flesh of a servant, blood…''

''Whose blood?''

Harry pressed his lips together and looked away, pretending to be very interested in the dusty, smudged windows beyond which lay only pitch-black sky.

''You will tell me, or I will take over your body, march back to Umbridge's office and make you cut her head off instead of giving your plan a chance.''

Letting out a frustrated noise, Harry cried: ''Fine! Merlin, you're always so drastic instantly! It was my blood, okay? I was there to help with the ritual and Voldemort figured that it would give the best results if he used mine.''

''Because you are a Horcrux?'' the other pressed.

''Yeah, I suppose,'' he answered quickly. Too quickly, for Riddle's eyes narrowed and his stance grew rigid.

''Don't. Lie,'' he breathed. While he didn't move, grey tendrils of smoke started to appear in the air around him, ready to attack.

Harry eyed them and contemplated whether being choked again was worth it. ''You might get angry at me,'' he hesitantly said.

''Not as angry as I am about what happened to that other Horcrux. If that was in your second year and you went up against the Basilisk, you weren't affiliated with my older self yet. Your threat during our first talk about stabbing me with a Basilisk fang… speaks volumes. I am curious how you came to aid me in the resurrection ritual. That is the only reason why I will let this… slide for now.''

Not wanting to cause any further trouble and knowing that he would only get stuck in a web of half-truths and omissions if he tried to hide anything, Harry started talking. He didn't have much of a choice, really, not after making this strange not-a-deal-anymore with Riddle. The Gryffindor had no illusions as to who had the control in this agreement. Riddle could just take over his body at any moment he pleased.

The start was a bit rough, as Harry had no idea** where** to even start, but Riddle listened carefully and appeared perfectly content to puzzle everything together by himself. The teen spoke of Sirius and Wormtail, of going to Riddle Manor, then jumped back to the part of his mother's sacrifice to explain his previous hatred against Voldemort. The only thing he managed to avoid mentioning completely was the Prophecy. ''Discovering I was a Horcrux was… wild. I knew we had some sort of connection, my scar hurt each time he was near, but I could never have imagined… And neither had he known. At first, he wanted to use my blood because I'd been the one to kill him, but it turned out to work even better the way we did it in the end.''

Harry looked up in confusion as Riddle started clapped slowly, a slight smile on his lips which made Harry's stomach clench weirdly. Damn, he was** really** hungry apparently.

''I admit, I am impressed. You showed initiative and refused to blindly follow your own established beliefs that had been planted in your head by Dumbledore and his supporters. I hadn't thought you to have that in you.''

''Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?''

With a sharp smile, Riddle answered: ''If I wanted to insult you, I would have instead addressed the nauseating moral compass you have that refused to let you kill even the murderer of your own parents. I thought avoiding that to instead focus on positive conversation would be more productive. Alas, if you insist.''

Harry rolled his eyes. ''No, go on with the productive conversation. If your worst insult of me is that I am morally** good**, I think any further attempts to offend me will miss the point by a few miles. Maybe take some lessons from Malfoy first. Not that his insults are great either, but he's had years of practise.''

''Malfoy… He was at the Slytherin party you attended. He sounded a bit more spineless than his grandfather was. I was under the assumption that you were… acquaintances.''

''In a way. Malfoy is a difficult person to deal with. He insults everyone he thinks is beneath him, without thinking that's a negative trait instead of his given birth-right as an oh so noble Malfoy. Because of it, I refused his hand of friendship in my first year and he made himself my enemy as Hogwarts. Tried to get me in trouble with teachers, hurt my friends, influenced the opinion of other students towards me negatively etcetera. But we are on the same side now, his father is a Death Eater, and Malfoy hates himself more than anyone else. So, I've tried to be civil to him and we made a truce of sorts. Not sure if I'll ever call him my friend, but I appreciate that he is trying to make an effort. It surely makes my life easier if the Slytherins aren't all out to get me on Malfoy's orders. He actually helped me with one of the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament by teaching me a thing or two about merfolk. Oh damn, that reminds me, I promised him he could fly on my broom during one of the Quidditch matches in return, I never gave it to him. Now I quit the Quidditch team, I don't think Angelina will let me live if I give Slytherin an additional advantage… Maybe I'll give it to him for a match with Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.''

''Give it to the one where you have the least amount of friends. Or the most enemies.''

''That'll be hard, I like both Seekers from those teams. Cedric is amazing, and his girlfriend is the Seeker from Ravenclaw, she's pretty cool too. I don't know the rest of either team, really. You don't talk much when flying three-hundred feet in the air and are trying to avoid Bludgers. Hey, do you like Quidditch? I never asked Voldemort for his opinion on it.''

''**I** am Voldemort,'' Riddle spoke, sounding rather annoyed.

Harry huffed. ''I **know** that, but… I have to somehow differentiate between you and your older self, don't I? Calling you both Voldemort is a bit… odd. Even with my classmates, if there are two people with the same name, at least one of them will get a nickname instead to avoid confusion.''

''Get used to it, I don't appreciate** nicknames**. But you've mentioned it before, setting apart him and me. Am I really so different from my older self?''

Harry shrugged ''Everyone changes over time. He tried to get to the top of the Wizarding World, failed to keep it together, died and was reborn. From what I've heard, it changed his view on many topics. He doesn't really believe anymore in blood superiority for one, only uses it as a tool to keep the Pure-bloods from leaving his side. He still has** very** strong opinions on separating Muggles and mages, but not so much on Muggle-borns or Half-bloods as he did before. As you probably still do.''

Riddle frowned and sat down on one of the old tables. ''I didn't think anything could sway my opinion on that. What would lead me to accept Mudbloods?''

''You were given the task of saving magic. Muggle-borns have magic, and are a good source of new magic too. The Pure-blood population is dwindling a lot because they get so few children, and most of them are in Azkaban for supporting Voldemort during the War, so we'd die out soon in Britain if you try to exclude Muggleborns or forbid marriages with Muggles. Voldemort seems to draw a hard line now of if a life is worthy or not by if they have magic. I'd like to state here that I still don't agree with him. All life is worthwhile, and I wouldn't follow him if I thought he'd start a slaughter of Muggles again either.''

''Muggles will still have to be eradicated even if at the start we'd accept the Mudbloods who are left,'' the other said. ''There is no other way.''

''Full-scale separation is the current strategy. Voldemort has been experimenting with bubble dimensions and now plans to hide the entire magical population of Britain in one, with minimal entrances to the Muggle world. Those would only be there for emergencies, for food and to bring in Muggle-born children.''

''It doesn't sit well with me. It sounds as if my plans completely changed.''

''Of course. He tried to kill Muggles the first time around and was met with a massive rebellion he couldn't overcome without wiping out nearly all of the magical population. Surprisingly, many witches and wizards didn't like their friends and family being killed,'' he sarcastically retorted. ''It was a disaster, and he became known as You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Even during the time he was dead, hardly anyone dared speak his name. You can't protect your people if those people want nothing to do with you. So, he's taking a very different route now. Very few know that he's returned and he influences the news instead of going the obvious ways of rebellion or politics.''

''There are still enough rumours.''

''True, about a month ago, one of your earliest followers actually turned traitor. I don't know why, the Order has several theories, but none have been confirmed, and Rosier was killed by the Dark Mark so he won't be able to explain his motivations either.''

''**Rosier**?'' Riddle asked. ''Never! He would** never** betray me!''

''Maybe not you, but certainly Voldemort. From the theories I've heard, I think it is mostly likely that, like you, he didn't agree with how unradical Voldemort's current plans are.''

''I am getting less and less inclined to meet my older self,'' Riddle hissed, his eyes flashing red again.

''You'll have to at one point,'' Harry said, getting a bit nervous. ''Right? You're not planning on staying here forever.'' The man answered with a hum that was far too noncommittal. ''You can always try to talk to him as me,'' Harry suggested, a plan forming in his mind. ''You have the two-way mirror to one of his followers and can probably ask to speak to him. Get some answers yourself, he doesn't have to know it's you.'' Saying that, he really did hope that Voldemort would think something was very wrong if Riddle couldn't act exactly like Harry would.

''Perhaps…''

''How did that other talk go by the way?'' he asked casually, trying to hide his insane curiosity about what Riddle had told Barty.

''Fine. Short, I answered a few questions and pretended I was interrupted and had to go.'' Harry was a bit disappointed to hear that, it didn't sound like it was anything that could make Barty suspicious of his behaviour.

''Speaking of going, I really should head back to the Gryffindor dorms soon. Before I return, it would be appreciated if you'd just give me a bit of insight on what to expect the coming days before I return if you don't mind.''

''I do mind. You'll find out,'' was the reply.

''Riddle..'' Harry growled in frustration, realising only a second later that he'd fucked up. The young Dark Lord's eyes glowed with anger, and Harry felt an intense pain as he fell to the ground. It took his brain a second to catch up with what happened, his right leg twisting beneath him in a way that couldn't be healthy.

''Did you-'' he coughed, trying to keep from screaming. ''Did you just** snap **my **leg**?'' he yelled at the Horcrux.

''You shouldn't always leave your wand in your back pocket,'' the man - Harry tried very hard not to think of him as Riddle to avoid further slip-ups - spoke while twirling Harry's wand. ''That I do not have a corporeal body does not mean that I don't have access to magic. It is connected to our souls. And no, I didn't snap your leg, I crushed your kneecap.'' Voldemort dropped Harry's wand on the floor, just out of reach without crawling towards it. ''Good luck healing it. Oh, and I've cursed you. If anyone else tries to heal that, the fractures will be permanent. The joys of dark magic. Perhaps I grew lax with age when it comes to respect, or maybe you're just being a foolish Gryffindor and never learn, but I won't tolerate you calling me by a dead name. Don't speak out of line next time.''

Just like that, he vanished, leaving Harry alone with a messed-up knee and in intense pain. For someone who'd stared with at least a hint of concern as Harry had had to carve his hand open in Umbridge's office, Voldemort sure didn't mind hurting him. Grasping the wand while ignoring the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes from the blinding pain, Harry managed to make a splint, a charm they'd thankfully covered in class before.

Trying to heal it instantly would only result in worse injury, of that he was sure. He'd completely messed up the first time he'd tried to heal even a small wound, and hadn't had much practise after the tiny success of healing Voldemort's other fingers during the initial Healing lesson. Harry was pretty confident in his ability to mend cuts and scrapes now, maybe even a broken finger or so. This? No way. Healing relied on the caster's knowledge of the human body, he knew absolutely zero about bone structure other than what he'd learned in basic biology during elementary school. That hadn't gone into detail about knees beyond the fact that humans** had** knees.

If he wanted to have any hopes of not permanently damaging his leg further, he needed help. Not in the way of someone else casting the spell, but Voldemort had said nothing about receiving help in other forms. There was no-one as good in combing the library as Hermione was, and Ron would surely tirelessly try to find ways to relieve the pain, having much experience from being hurt by many of his brother's pranks that at times went out of hand.

While making his way back to the tower slowly, shuffling along the walls, he distracted himself with thinking about the Horcrux. He'd hoped that, over the course of the last few conversations, they'd established some sort of security. Harry's victory over the piece of soul yesterday had upped his hopes that the other had decided that causing Harry harm wasn't a good way to go. He'd been careless, he should have known that being able to have a rather casual conversation didn't mean anything. They weren't friends, nor did the Horcrux have as many benefits from trying to keep Harry happy as Voldemort did. It appeared that Riddle - no, Horcrux, Harry would just stick with that as a name, - was interested in teaching him and making him stronger, yet had no qualms about putting him in place. All in all, Harry felt much more like a follower here than with Voldemort. Funny, considering he'd only sworn fealty to one of them, and it wasn't the one who tried to enforce his will with brute force.

The most excruciating part of his journey was the final bit, trying to climb through the portrait hole, for which he had to remove the splint again and bend his leg. He almost fell out at the other side, his friends instantly rushing to his aid.

''Harry! We were so worried, where have you** been**? What happened?''

He held up his hands to indicate the need for some space, and Ron helped him into a chair while Hermione shooed the few remaining people in the common room away.

''Did** she** do this to you?'' Ron asked, kneeling down in front of Harry's chair to have a look at his leg.

''Not… directly,'' he groaned, mind racing to find an acceptable explanation. ''It was my own fault really. Umbridge… she made me write lines.''

''That isn't too bad,'' Hermione sighed in relief, until she saw Harry's face.

''It was. She used quills with blood magic to have it use my own blood as ink, drawing it from the back of my hand.'' He balled his right hand to a fist and showed them. While the cuts had healed over, it was still red and a tad swollen. When looking closely enough, one could just see the outline of some letters. ''It lasted over five hours. Hours of cutting myself open while she just sat there and smiled. I remarked that it** had** to be illegal, but she just laughed it off, saying she has received full authority from the Minister himself. I couldn't wait to get away from there when I was finally allowed to go, but the pain in my hand was so bad that I… I wanted to distract myself somehow. I thought, if I give myself a small cut somewhere else, maybe I don't concentrate entirely on my hand. It went… very wrong. I couldn't control my magic at all.'' He felt incredibly bad at lying to them, but told himself that in this, he really had no choice. **Any** explanation would be a lie.

''Merlin…'' Hermione breathed. ''When Professor McGonagall hears about this-''

''She has warned me to be careful around Umbridge, to keep my head down,'' Harry interjected. ''Besides, what can I prove? The wounds healed, my hand is a tad sore and there is no evidence that Umbridge caused it. I plan on catching her red-handed,'' he grinned at the pun. ''Maybe steal one of those quills, or record conversations Muggle-style while going to the other detentions. I also suspect that by the end of this week, my hand will look a lot worse. Before any of that though, I need your help with fixing this. I** really** don't want to spread any rumours about my detention yet or draw attention to myself in general for now, thus going with injuries to Madame Pomfrey or any teachers would be… bad.''

''I don't know any students who are apt at Healing,'' Hermione nervously said. ''When someone wants to go into that branch, they usually start training at St. Mungo's after Hogwarts.''

''I actually learned the basics,'' Harry spoke. ''Healing a knee is very different from small wounds, so I need more information. Hermione, I need books about anatomy and the structure of bones specifically. There might be some in the Transfiguration section of the library?''

''Oh, I might have some here that could help! I ordered many books over summer to read into various other topics, just the theory of course. I think I even have one on healing too. Give me a minute.''

As she hurried towards the girl's dorms, Harry told Ron: ''I need your opinion on what to do about Umbridge. I need a solid, fool-proof plan to either gather evidence during my detentions or to break into her office. Other than that, do you know any numbing charms or so to reduce the pain? I don't think I can keep a steady hand like this.''

''Wait, I actually got something from Fed and George,'' Ron said. ''They invented some stupid products that hurt the one being pranked. This cream helps erase bruises and also takes away the pain. Sometimes mum is right, I think. They could really do a lot of good for the world if they didn't invest their entire brain in jokes.'' He pulled a tin from the pocket of his robes and handed it to Harry, who cut open his own jeans and applied the cream generously, sighing in relief as the mind-numbing pain subsided quickly.

''Sometimes I love magic so much. Right, now we just have to wait for Hermione. What have you guys been doing?''

''Homework mostly. Hey, did you have any time for that?

''No,'' Harry groaned. ''Not at all. And if all detentions will last as long as this one did, I won't have time for it the rest of the week either, not without cutting my sleep and breaks.'' Not that there was much sleep to cut…

''You can copy off me if you want, can't guarantee the quality though, Hermione won't share anymore. It turns out she really was serious about us having to do our own work this year!''

Harry had already expected that. ''Thanks a lot. That'll save me.''

''So, as for plans, I will still need to consider it for a bit. I'd like to storm her office with a horde of angry friends, but I don't think that'll work. Maybe get some Prefects and Headboys or -girls involved from different houses to show that it's not just you. The other houses appear to hate her just as much. I heard that she approached some Slytherins today about helping her, who then outright refused!''

''Refused? Why? They would probably get many benefits from becoming her lackeys.''

''Malfoy. Only a rumour of course, but one that holds a bit of truth I think. It's become clear that he really does want to suck up to you again, and as **you** are against Umbridge, so is he. Maybe he hit his head?''

Harry burst out in laughter. ''He actually did,'' he snickered. Malfoy** had** hit his head rather badly after trying to attack Harry the first time he'd been invited to the Slytherin dungeon last year. That seemed ages ago…

They looked up as Hermione came storming down the stairs, her hair sticking out everywhere. She'd clearly had to dig deep in her trunk. ''Sorry it took so long,'' she breathlessly spoke. ''I couldn't decide which books would be most useful, so I took all that I personally would use to tackle such a problem and categorised them. Here, this one is about anatomy, - you were right in that it's part of a Transfiguration series - here's one on healing charms, this one on the mental preparation for Healers, and another on bones.''

''You seriously had a book specifically on bones?'' Harry asked, gobsmacked.

''Kind of. My parents are dentists, as you know, and they found it important that I knew something about their work. So, they gave me lots of books about teeth, oral health, and also one that describes different types of tissue and bones in the human body, because that's very important for oral surgery. They are kind of hoping that I can combine my knowledge of magic and their experience, to revolutionise oral health.''

''Sounds kind of gross,'' Ron grimaced. ''Prodding around in people's mouths. And why would you revolutionise it with magic? You wouldn't be allowed to use magic on muggles, and wizards don't need it!''

''They don't really understand that, Ron,'' she sighed. ''My parents can be lovely, but they are very stubborn when it comes to wanting to understand that we are governed differently and thus have different laws that apply.''

''I thought they didn'twant you to mess around with magic near your teeth?'' Harry asked. ''They didn't let you shrink your teeth before, right? What changed?''

''Nothing, my parents were only against it because I haven't gotten proper training in the field yet. Honestly, I also never will. As Ron said, it's not very practical. Besides, I want to do something that really makes an impact for both worlds.''

''I'm sure you'll find something,'' Harry spoke, honestly meaning it. The separation that Voldemort strived for would probably take many years still to be complete, and even then, they would** need** contacts within the Muggle world. Who better than the most intelligent witch they had? That she was a Muggleborn would only help. He took the books and all three of them tried to search the index pages to quickly find what they were looking for. ''It might take over an hour or so until I can be sure of that I know enough to even attempt healing this,'' he warned. ''You shouldn't stay up late for me.''

''Shut up,'' Ron said, giving Hermione a comical grimace, his eyes widening. ''Can you believe this guy, Mione? Comes in dragging a bloody leg with him, tells us he's been tortured for five hours and then expects us to leave?''

''You expected anything else?'' she asked. ''Just ignore him, Ron. Harry always has had far too low of a danger sense.''

''I'm right here!'' Harry protested.

''I know, being able to see you is literally the only reason why I am not worrying about you right now. I feel like, if I let you out of sight for too long, you'll run straight into V…V... Voldemort himself without asking anyone for help!'' Hermione spoke. Harry was tong-tied at that. What was he supposed to do, deny it when he very well knew that he'd done exactly that? Maybe he didn't give his friends enough credit about how well they knew him sometimes. Instead, he concentrated on reading.

He found that he actually enjoyed reading a Muggle book for a change. Other than the dusty, hand-written tomes common in the Wizarding world when it came to more advanced topics, the one from Hermione was printed on glossy paper and was accompanied with many coloured illustrations. Chapter six, '_the Cellular, Molecular and Development Biology of Bone_' turned out to be a wealth of knowledge. Like skin, bone also healed from a cellular level, just using different materials, and with five different stages of healing. Harry studied exact pictures of the bones of the legs and knees to properly visualise what the end-effect should look like, and drilled the five stages into his head. First, a blood clot and callus should form. Within that, threads of bone tissue should grow and solidify, after which the new cells should absorb the callus. The process was easy enough to remember, but Harry was still worried about messing it up with a lack of concentration. It had been incredibly hard to focus on anything when he was both dead tired and in constant pain.

''Okay,'' he finally spoke after over an hour of studying this new material. ''Time to put this to the test.''

''If you manage to pull this off properly,'' Hermione said seriously. ''You should consider becoming a Healer. I don't know** anyone** of our age that could possibly do this.''

Not everyone of their age had been shown by a Dark Lord how to properly learn it either, but he didn't mention that to Hermione, taking a deep breath as he put the tip of his trusted holly wand to his knee. Everything he'd soaked up in the past hour was now on his mind, from progenitor cells to matrix proteins. In his mind, the bone and the flesh around it slowly healed up, forming the same unity it had been before the Horcrux had shattered it. He practised the movement a bit until he had a perfect circle and spoke slowly and clearly: '_**'Episkey**_!''

Harry bit his teeth together as an intense, searing pain shot up his leg as the spell took effect, shards of bone moving together and more of them forming under the skin, all while sinews and muscles were being put in their proper places. It didn't take long, but Harry felt as if he might faint when it was over. He imagined having a knife plunged directly into one's spine would be of comparable intensity.

It had been worse, he concentrated on that thought. It had been worse, and it could always be worse again. He opened his eyes when he heard an impressed whistle from Ron and a small gasp from Hermione.

''You really did it!'' Ron exclaimed. ''Perfectly patched up, wow! Even dad wouldn't have been able to mend that, and he always tried heal me if I'd gotten hurt and didn't want mum to know about it. I agree with Mione, mate. I think St Mungo's would be begging for your application if they'd seen this.''

Despite himself, Harry managed a weak smile and experimented with bending his knee again. ''Thanks guys. Who knows, I might think about it… I can ask McGonagall when we have those job advice talks. Now, I really got to head to bed.''

''Right, I'll leave my homework and notes and such on your nightstand so you can copy it when you have time tomorrow morning. What?'' Ron asked Hermione, who was frowning. ''Come on, Harry had to endure all that, surely he can copy some stupid essays or Snape!''

Grudgingly, Hermione agreed to that and bid them both goodnight. When Harry went upstairs, he was met with another surprise: on his pillow sat three flasks of Sleeping Draught. As soon as he picked one up, the locket heated up. ''What? When…'' Harry muttered in confusion, trying to trace back his steps today. Had there been any strange memory or time gaps? He didn't think so… then again, he'd kind of drifted from class to class today. Perhaps the Horcrux had taken over without him noticing at all. That didn't explain where exactly these had come from, but Harry was both relieved and tired enough to not second-guess this gift right now. He changed into pyjamas with much more enthusiasm as in the past few weeks and chugged down three gulps of the stuff. He barely managed to put the cork on again and store it in the nightstand drawer with the other two, when he sank into a blissful nothingness for the first time in too long.

All colour had returned to the days. It was a miracle what a little sleep could do to a person. Harry felt as if he'd drank four cups of coffee each morning. He woke up well-rested now, having become used to functioning on barely an hour of fitful half-dreams spanning the entire night. Surely, the feeling of exuberance would fade again after a while, but Harry fully used this state of hyper-awareness to do all of his homework during breaks, perform well in classes and keep his wits together during Umbridge's detentions. As he'd predicted, the wound hadn't healed yesterday night at all. With how important it was to have proof, he didn't heal it magically either. Now, it was Friday and he only had a single detention left.

No opportunity to talk to the Horcrux had arisen anymore. It appeared during classes Harry struggled with the most, like potions, and was actually very helpful, but it hadn't come out after class even when Harry had been alone and asked. The teen thus hadn't been able to speak about either the potions he'd been given, nor about the Horcrux essentially breaking Harry's leg. It was very frustrating, but he invested the time in other things, like Umbridge. Ron had come up with a plan that would be put into motion today, helped by many of their friends and 'frenemies', as Ron had now dubbed Malfoy and some other Slytherins. They all wanted Umbridge and her agenda in Defence of the Dark Arts out as soon as possible, even if that was for different reasons. Most students were appalled in general about her personality, while others felt they would be completely unprepared for their exams. And then there were many Slytherins, who were furious about the single course that taught anything about Dark magic at all being stripped down to elementary theory.

Harry hadn't been the only one to receive detention either in those few days. A first-year Ravenclaw had been very vocal about not having come to Hogwarts to learn material she could have also studied at home, while two seventh-year Gryffindors had defended Harry when Umbridge had made a snide comment in class about 'the Potter mentality', which was apparently synonymous for either rebelliousness or lunacy, sources had been unclear on that. Harry was honestly very impressed that Fred and George hadn't managed to piss the woman off, although that might change today. The only one excluded from most plans was Ron himself. That evening were Quidditch try-outs, and despite Ron's protests, Harry had insisted on his friend going there after catching him with a broom in hand and dripping with mud from training.

''One more day, then we'll hopefully have our peace,'' Harry sighed, eating breakfast with one hand and copying some of Hermione's notes with the other. She had become a lot more lenient after seeing how much effort he gave in class.

Ron hummed in agreement. ''And if not, we'll all be expelled,'' he cheerfully said. ''More time for Quidditch!''

''You're the only one who doesn't risk that, brother dear,'' Fred darkly said. ''The only one with an alibi.''

''She doesn't know anything about your products,'' Harry interjected. ''So you hopefully won't get in trouble either. Besides, Aren't you supposed to be on the Quidditch field as well? Angelina will have your head otherwise.''

''We'll see. You have Umbridge's class today, yes?''

''Unfortunately yes,'' Harry confirmed. ''Only one hour, but that's one hour too much. I'll set things in motion there already as it's the last hour of the day.'' He kept his voice low so only the ones who directly surrounded them - and who were all in on the plan – could hear him. The hardest thing about all of this had been putting his trust in people, especially as students from all Houses were involved. ''I need to go through it once more to ensure it all goes well. Ron, you want to help me while we walk to class?''

Ron agreed and as they were on their way to Charms, Harry softly muttered all the steps. ''So I take a nosebleed nougat during the Defence class and ask to be excused. Being the horrid toad that she is, I'm pretty sure she will deny me that, in front of the entire class as witness. After class, I ask to go to the Hospital Wing instead of detention, which she will deny me too-''

''What if she actually lets you go?'' Ron interrupted.

''Then I have some less material to make her look bad, but appear at detention anyways after I claim that Madame Pomfrey patched me back up. It wouldn't do for her to turn this thing against me and accuse me of trying to skip detentions. So, while there, Mione will start spreading rumours about the bloodquills, 'catching the attention' of Pucey, Malfoy and Cedric. Having two Headboys and two Prefects at her doorstep won't be something McGonagall can ignore. The guys express concern about the punishment, while Hermione mentions that I have to serve detention while being ill.''

''And then when McGonagall goes to Umbridge's office…''

''Cedric will warn Cho, who'll knock a specific pattern on Umbridge's door to let me know they're coming. I'll start a discussion with Umbridge again about the legal use of the quills in that moment. It's too bad that I couldn't find a way to record the conversation, so she'll just have to hear parts of it through the door instead. Which she will do because Malfoy will point out to McGonagall to first listen in before knocking and entering. I also won't have to steal a Quill, since I'll be writing with one in that moment.''

''The plan is pretty solid,'' Ron spoke, ''But a lot could go wrong still. Bad timing, Umbridge not reacting as you want her too… Is it worth the risks?''

''Even if things go awry,'' Harry assured his friend. ''If Umbridge lets me go to the school nurse, or doesn't start discussing with me, we can still show McGonagall both the quill and my hand. That in itself is a solid start. Enough to have this taken up with Dumbledore, I think. He doesn't condone physical punishment.'' The Headmaster might have quite a few negative traits , but banning corporeal punishment was one of the best changes Hogwarts had ever seen in Harry's opinion. That was one thing he was worried about once Voldemort took over. The Dark Lord firmly believed that pain was a suitable punishment, even when there were so many better methods.

After the morning classes, during lunch break, he met up briefly with Cedric and Cho, glad to have their support. Cedric was still just as kind and helpful as before, and fully intent on maintaining a tight friendship, instantly inviting Harry, Ron and Hermione over to Brock Abode for tea that weekend. Harry had been hesitant to approach Cedric. The Hufflepuff had already unwittingly been dragged into Voldemort's plans to rouse up the Ministry and had the added responsibilities of Head Boy this year too. In the end, Ron had convinced him by pointing out that Cedric would probably be more disappointed in **not** getting involved than anything else.

After lunch break, Harry only had three more hours of class: double Divination, which he used to get some other homework done, and then Defence. It was as horrible as the other hours with Umbridge had been. Class consisted only of reading some chapters and answering tedious questions about it, without learning anything of value. It was no surprise that the whole class instantly gave Harry their full attention when he sneakily stuffed a nosebleed nougat into his mouth and blood started dribbling down. He'd been warned about the strong effect, so he'd only taken a tiny bite, but that was enough to create a pool on his desk in minutes. Minutes during which Umbridge only gave him a dark look and refused to answer any concerned questions of his classmates about taking Harry to the hospital wing. When Ron made an attempt to carry a still-bleeding Harry to the door without her consent, she blew up:

''Mr Weasley, students are not to leave my class without permission!''

''He's bleeding out!'' Ron protested, getting red in the face. Harry was impressed by his friend's acting. ''As all of us are saying, Harry's in no state to attend class! Look, the blood loss is making his limbs weak!''

''There are only two minutes of class left, Mr Weasley. Surely, he can go after.''

''He has detention with you almost right after,** professor**. Does that mean he is excused from that?''

Umbridge's expression turned stony. ''Thirty minutes should be enough for him to get patched up enough to attend. It wouldn't be a very good punishment if minor inconveniences such as this- **Silence! **Silence or you will **all** get detention!'' The students calmed down somewhat, and Harry tried his best to look absolutely out of it and miserable as Ron carefully dropped him back on his seat.

''I almost can't believe she actually did that,'' Ron whispered a few minutes later, after class had ended and Harry had stopped the bleeding with the other half of the candy.

''I told you, she's a sadist and a control freak, of course she wouldn't let me leave. All the better. Come on, I am starving and really need to grab some food before my five-to-seven-hour punishment. She kept me till midnight yesterday!''

His friend whistled and spoke: ''I hope she'll never get me into her claws.''

''If everything goes well, this was her first and last week at Hogwarts. Then we can actually get started with things we want to do, such as Animagus training. I was so excited to start that, but with all these detentions eating away time…''

''It's not your fault,'' Ron muttered. ''Right, I gotta go to the Quidditch pitch. Good luck and… wish me luck too?''

''Of course, I'll be cheering you on silently,'' Harry reassured him.

Doing so was easier than imagined: from where he sat during detention, Harry could see the Quidditch pitch through the window. As Umbridge had left it open slightly, he could even hear the cheers and boos. She'd probably just done it to rub it in that he couldn't be there, but it was definitely helping to distract from the pain. It was getting harder to hold the quill, which was slick with blood as the wound was now raw and open, large droplets sliding from the back of his hand down his fingers. It made the written lines almost illegible. Minutes turned to an hour, and Harry's stomach became knotted. Was McGonagall not coming? Had the others not been able to convince her to come here?

Just as that thought crossed his mind, a series of rapid knocks sounded, and he relaxed again.

''Yes?'' Umbridge called out, frowning as no-one entered. She leaned back and her frown deepened. ''I see,'' she spoke in a clipped voice. ''I had hoped it wasn't true… You didn't learn your lesson at all, did you, Mr Potter?''

''I… what?'' he asked in confusion.

''Show me your hand,'' she commanded. Not having expected her reaction, he did so, just about to start talking about the legal aspects like he'd practised, when she vanished all the blood, healed his hand -rather painfully – and quickly exchanged the blood quill with a regular one. Harry was forcibly shoved back in his chair and the blood-soaked paper disappeared, replaced with a piece of parchment that had 'I must not tell lies' written on it in black ink several hundred times.

''No!'' he growled, standing up again, heart hammering in his chest. She knew. Someone must have told her, ratted him out. Malfoy? Pucey? ''You can't just cover up everything you did to me this week!''

''Did to you?'' she laughed. ''I do not know what you are talking about, Mr Potter. I made you write lines. Yes, perhaps the number of hours was a bit.. excessive, but I think we can both agree when I say that even so, it doesn't look like the punishment** sank in**. You are still stubborn, try to make me and other teachers look bad, question the authority of those who want the **best** for you…''

''You **tortured** me!'' he shouted loudly, seeing red now, a fury unlike any other rising within at this unfairness. ''You made me carve my hand open again and again and-''

''I did no such thing,'' she gasped. ''You are** delusional**, Mr Potter.''

He stared at her, at the evil twinkle in her eyes, the twitch of her lips. This wasn't happening.

A rapid knock sounded, and he turned as McGonagall walked in, her eyebrows raised in a way that didn't promise any good. ''Dolores. So sorry to interrupt your evening. I think I might have forgotten two of my students' files here. I thought I'd picked all of them up yesterday, but I miss two… oh, am I interrupting?''

''Not at all Minerva. Not at all… Mr Potter is just writing lines.''

''Is that so? I've heard he's spent rather long in here. One of my Prefects didn't see him returning before curfew in the past days. I feel like I must point out that detentions aren't supposed to interfere too much in a student's schoolwork, only their free time. Actually, I still need a word with you, Potter. Come to my office after your detention. You should be done in one more hour, methinks.''

''The guidelines around the time-span of a detention session are open to interpretation, Minerva,'' Umbridge sweetly spoke. ''Students have so** much** free time these days. I doubt he will be out of here before… oh… nine?''

The Transfiguration Professor narrowed her eyes. ''I am still the Head of his House, Dolores, and have thus at least a say in certain things, especially those** open for interpretation**. He will be in my office at seven thirty, not a minute later. Ah, here are my files. Perfect.'' Two folders appeared out of nowhere in her hands as she turned on her heel and marched out again, the door slamming close. Harry gulped and turned around to Umbridge, who was twirling the Blood Quill between her fingers.

''You heard her, Mr Potter,'' the woman whispered. ''One and a half hour I still have.''

Smoke started leaking out of the Locket, smoke only Harry could see, for Umbridge didn't react at all.

''Well, your plan failed,'' the Horcrux spoke as Harry sat down and tightly grabbed the offered black quill again. ''That leaves you with several options. The most obvious would be to kill her now, a simple and effective solution, but one which might have many unforeseen consequences. The Ministry could send another employee, or even start an investigation that leads to you. Should she perish in the near future, you will be the prime suspect after today. Naturally, that isn't the end of the world, I could most likely spin the story in different directions, or you could go back to my older self, but there are too many different possibilities for this to be the most preferable choice at the moment.''

Harry didn't visibly react to the Horcrux, scratching away at the parchment, his freshly healed wound splitting open again. It appeared that she'd merely healed the surface area, not the entire wound. The Horcrux didn't appear to mind his lack of response, continuing to monologue:

''The second option is to do as she says. Exactly as she says. Keep your head down, do as you're told and go under her radar for the rest of the school year until this curse you spoke about on the position of Defence teacher takes effect. You wouldn't need to dirty your own hands like that. Negative point is of course that she will be here for an entire year and already considers you to be one of her most troublesome students. Your life at Hogwarts will be made so difficult that even with my additional tutoring, you might not succeed in your exams. So, option number three remains: a silent rebellion with the goal of removing her from office as soon as possible, either by making her stay here as unpleasant as possible or by acting out through legal methods. You have some support already, even among the more notable students and several teachers. That will be very useful. She has hardly anyone to back her, while you have much potential to put together an army if you so desire it. Isolate her, make her afraid, comply to her demands with only the minimal effort necessary, or in such ways that it backfires on her. Naturally, without being caught. She still represents the Ministry, and could get you expelled if she catches you breaking her rules or ordering others to do so. Never leave any evidence.''

The words of the Horcrux made sense, Harry was only a bit sour over that they hadn't spoken at all since that disastrous conversation in which it had destroyed his knee, and now it acted as if everything was fine?

Five minutes to half, Umbridge allowed him to pack up, quickly grabbing his hand to heal it again. Harry didn't attempt to stop her. With how spectacularly the plan had failed, even showing the wounds to McGonagall now wouldn't have been enough. Harry winced and pulled his hand back when another sharp pain stung it, and he gave Umbridge a quick glance before looking down.

''Oops,'' she smiled. ''I can't say that I'm a professional Healer,'' she giggled lightly as he inspected the back of his hand, a large scar running over it now where the words had been, a slightly raised, knotted mass of silvery tissue that drew a strip over the skin. ''One more for your collection, try not to let this one get to your head, Mr Potter. I will let you go for now, but step out of line in my class again, and you'll be sitting here for a full month, understood?''

''Yes, professor Umbridge,'' he replied dully. She gave him a calculating look, then waved to the door.

''Give Minerva my greetings… and a warning. If she questions my position, I will merely have to get my power solidified in writing. I don't appreciate being spoken to as if I am nothing more than a colleague.''

Fuming, Harry stalked towards McGonagall's office, the Horcrux striding at his side. Harry didn't attempt to talk to it, there were far too many people around still, but it was somehow comforting. He knocked on McGonagall's office door, fully intended to get a tongue lashing, taken aback when the door opened and he got a bunch of curly, bushy hair in his face as Hermione hugged him tightly. ''Oh Harry, are you alright?'' she shrilly asked, hazel eyes tear-stricken. ''What happened?''

''Miss Granger, let the boy come in first,'' their strict professor spoke behind Hermione.

Looking over the girl's shoulder, he saw a bunch of other people: Malfoy, Pucey, Cedric, Cho, and Luna. Luna? She hadn't been in on the plan… he moved in quickly and closed the door. ''Professor…'' he started, but McGonagall raised her hand, breathing heavily.

''I** warned** you, Potter,'' she slowly said. ''You were not to oppose Professor Umbridge. And what do you **do**?''

''So I should have just let her carve me open like some pig for slaughter then?'' he harshly replied. ''She is using dark magic on students as punishment, Professor. I really was planning on following your advice to the letter, see if I can avoid more trouble, and then she gave me a blood quill to write lines with.'' While he didn't have the words 'I must not tell lies' carved in his hand anymore, he did show the new scar he had in its stead now.

''You should have come to me straight away!'' McGonagall scolded, worry in her eyes as she took his hand and inspected the line.

''Would you have believed me without evidence?''

''I am believing you** now** without much,'' she countered. ''Your… friends,'' she spoke, slightly hesitant when looking at the two Slytherins, ''informed me of your plan. It clearly didn't work.''

''We were betrayed by someone,'' Harry darkly spoke. ''Right after Cho knocked to warn me you were on the way, Umbridge said something about having hoped it wasn't true, healed my hand and started removing any incriminating proof. She knew.'' He instantly glared suspiciously at Malfoy, but the boy looked incredibly pale and raised his hands up.

''It wasn't either one of us, Potter.''

''He's right, you know,'' a dreamy voice spoke. Harry turned to Luna, who smiled at him serenely. ''It wasn't any of them. Not knowingly. The one who told on you was Marietta Edgecombe.''

''Who?'' Harry asked at the same time Cho gasped ''No!''

''You're lying!'' Cho continued, standing up. Harry put two and two together and figured that this Marietta was one of Cho's friends. Had Cho really told other people about this?

''Marietta would** never**…''

Luna cocked her head and stared at Cho. ''I heard her talk to Umbridge about it earlier today. I followed her because she'd stolen my shoes again and hid them somewhere. I tried to find someone to talk to about it, but I had to search my shoes first. I think Edgecombe was afraid of also being punished if the plan failed since she was an accomplice from the moment you told her. Her mother works at the Ministry, so she didn't want to be on Umbridge's bad side. She only told on Harry though, claiming she didn't know who else was all involved.''

Cho sighed in relief, but Cedric threw her a disapproving look. ''We're still all in this together,'' he said. ''Professor, it is clear that Professor Umbridge uses dangerous punishment. As a Headboy, I really must insist that the interests of my fellow students will be taken seriously by the teacher body.''

''I will take this up with my colleagues and Professor Dumbledore,'' McGonagall promised. ''Although, now she knows that you have attempted to uncover her deeds, she will surely be much more careful.''

''Actually…'' Harry spoke, and told his Head of House the message he'd been given. Their teacher pinched her nose and sat down.

''Wonderful,'' she sighed. ''Go back to your dorms, all of you. I have to… figure out how to handle this. But for Merlin's sake, try not to pull a similar stunt again. Naturally, I am horrified by hearing what she made you do, Potter, but she can and will do more if you stand up to her again. In the meantime, I'll try everything in my power to ensure this doesn't happen again.''

They all left the office in silence, standing around in the corridor for a while still. ''Thanks to all of you,'' Harry muttered. ''Even if it failed, I appreciate your support.''

''What is the next step?'' Cedric instantly asked, looking ready to fight, very unlike most Hufflepuffs Harry knew.

''I'll come up with something,'' he promised. ''I won't leave it at this. No matter what McGonagall will do, this is a battle between Umbridge and us students. A battle** we** will have to win.'' They each went separate ways, all sunken in thoughts and happy to not have been expelled over their attempt of dethroning Umbridge.

Later, when lying in bed, just as Harry was about to take his potion, the Horcrux appeared again. ''Such fiery spirit,'' it praised. ''I suppose that the refusal to give up is one of the few Gryffindor traits I admire.''

Harry gave the Horcrux a stony look. ''Hello to you too again. Planning on breaking anything else in my body?''

''Not if you don't plan to disrespect me again, Harry. It all depends on you. Come now, I even gave you Sleeping Draughts as a peace offering. You should really order ingredients to brew your own soon, I can steal them from the hospital wing only sporadically before it becomes noticeable. You have perhaps enough left for another week, and brewing them takes several days.''

''I'll owl-order some tomorrow,'' Harry yawned. ''Hey, do you know why Umbridge could hurt me? Not with the quills, I mean when she messed up my hand and left this scar?''

''Even an intentionally incorrectly performed Healing spell is still meant for healing at its core. Such a thing could never count as an attack on you.''

''Shame, I would have liked to have hurt her in some way as repayment.'' The Horcrux took Harry's fingers and pulled his hand over to inspect the line on it, ghostly fingers tracing the scar, making Harry squirm a bit. ''Can this be undone?'' he hesitantly asked after a few seconds, feeling his face grow a bit hot when the Horcrux continued stroking his hand. It looked up, eyes having a distinct red sheen. That it was wearing long, hooded robes didn't help in separating the Horcrux from the real Voldemort at this moment, and Harry couldn't help but lean into the touch a bit.

''There are several stages of difficulty in healing. The easiest are injuries caused by physical force. Then, those caused by light magic, followed by those caused by dark magic. And only after that come additional injuries or scars that appeared after improper healing. That you healed your own leg was impressive, but you are nowhere near the level of being able to mend this. Admittedly, even I cannot with the amount of power I currently have at my disposal. There is a specialised team at St Mungo's for correcting mistakes made in the hospital, because even most trained staff aren't apt enough to directly fix a scar like this. I highly doubt that the school nurse can.''

''I don't know, once a teacher wanted to heal my broken arm and instead vanished all the bones in my body. Madame Pomfrey was able to heal that too.''

''I assume she did so with a potion, prepared by someone else. Scarring tissue and a lack of bones are entirely different branches of healing, Harry.''

He retracted his hand and let his head fall down on the pillow. ''Great, so you're saying that I might have another permanent scar now?''

''Let's hope it stays at that.''

''What do you mean?'' Harry asked, but the Horcrux had already retreated back into the locket.

XxX

Voldemort removed his blood-stained cloak, draping it over the nearest chair, watching as drops of blood dripped on the shiny wooden floor of Lucius' study. Surely, a House-elf would clean it up soon, the last piece of evidence of Voldemort's kill disappearing in an elf's cleaning rag. Today had been rather exciting, the sixth ring of slave traders having been found and eliminated. It hadn't been necessary to leave any witnesses other than the people they'd saved this time, people who were being assigned quarters at this very moment by those who came before them.

''How many more…?'' Séraphine Delacour muttered, sipping from a glass of wine and staring into the fireplace. She had insisted on aiding in every single raid, which he didn't mind as she was a brilliant fighter.

''According to my sources, two planned auctions will still take place, organised by the same group. Most are dead already, so we will see if they actually have the guts to pull through. If not, we'll have to free their captives one by one and slander their names publicly instead.''

She gave him a sad smile. ''I meant how many more victims I will have to see walk through these doors, battered and bruised. There are… so many more than I had imagined even. No matter which magical species you look at, our numbers have dwindled over the years, so to see how many of those remaining were captured…'' she made a rather broken noise, and he imagined she thought of the time that she herself had been held in a cage. The Dark Lord hadn't asked for her full story, it hadn't been important for his articles. He didn't plan on asking either, feigned compassion would bring them nowhere, and he had nothing real to give. ''We achieved much in a single month. I'd thought it'd take much longer.'' She mustered him. ''I thank you.''

He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment of her gratitude. ''When the time comes…'' he hinted, raising an eyebrow.

''You will have our full support, Lord Voldemort.''

''Good. I will return home now. When Lucius arrives, hand him this letter.'' He gave her a scroll of parchment. As it wasn't bound or sealed, she unrolled it and took a peek at its contents as he marched out.

What a month… In between creating plans, meeting with his followers, raiding, and his job at the _Daily Prophet_ and _Nouvelles du Monde Magique_, time had slipped by far faster than he could have imagined. Tomorrow, October would start, and the amount of work wouldn't diminish. He didn't mind, preferring to be busy with important affairs rather than sitting around. It was only a shame that it meant he could invest less time into research or honing his own skills. Thankfully, he got enough practise on the battlefield to not lose his touch.

''Any news, Bartemius?'' he asked as he arrived at Riddle house. Voldemort had considered renaming it, but hardly anyone visited here or knew the name of the place, so he hadn't bothered. It was what it was, a reminder of a past he'd triumphed. At one point, when he had enough resources and time on his hands, they could relocate ad leave this all behind. Right before summer, he'd thought about doing exactly that, but something had stopped him from going through with it.

His follower sat at the dining table and stared at moving maps. As important a move as the current raids were, he had to think ahead, and assigned Barty several tasks that would make for a smooth transition from one scandal to the next. Barty answered: ''The third hospital has been infiltrated, my Lord. I received word an hour ago that Hopps was hired in the medical research facility in Bonn. All is going according to plan. Was the raid eventful?''

''Quite, but we are getting troubles with space at Malfoy manor. Many of those we saved at the start of the month were able to move out already, but not at a high enough speed. We need more Healers there. Two Merpeople injured each other heavily the other day as the pond is getting cramped. Water isn't nearly as easy to expand magically as air is. I am having Yaxley look into alternative locations, we can only hide such a large group of creatures for a limited time. By Samhain, they'll have to all be gone, we can't arouse suspicion by prohibiting the Malfoys from throwing any of their celebratory balls. Lucius told me that he solidifies his hold over Fudge there each time, that man can't get enough of fancy parties.''

''I think we'll all be glad when this part is over,'' Barty groaned. ''Good publicity is one thing, actually having to take care of people…?''

Voldemort hummed in agreement. ''My thoughts exactly. Although we might have this problem again once we make the knowledge about mistreated Muggleborns public.''

''Maybe by that time, the Ministry will try to save its own reputation by taking care of that?'' Barty hopefully asked.

''I cannot let them do so. Now, I have to be at the office in an hour. Do you have anything else to discuss still?''

Barty leaned back, a worried frown on his face that the Dark Lord knew all too well. ''I haven't heard anything from Evan anymore, not since that first short conversation when he arrived at Hogwarts. From Snape's brief reports, Evan got himself in trouble with the new Defence teacher instantly. This.. Umbridge.''

''Yes, we had to publish the decree that gave her the position in the first place, and the one about the creation of the High Inquisitor position,'' Voldemort spoke. ''The Ministry is certainly very adamant about controlling the teachers. According to Lucius, Fudge thinks Dumbledore is using the current chaos to build his own army. And if I'm correct, this woman is using Fudge's fear to make Hogwarts her own personal playground.'' He took a chair and sat down opposite Barty, staring at the moving lines on the table's surface. He hadn't paid Hogwarts too much attention. The castle was far from his grasp right now, and he didn't have any specific interest there now. Dumbledore was still a threat, of course, but he had Snape there, and Harry. If anything would happen to compromise his goals, either of them would surely reach out. What had started to worry him, was the fact that there hadn't been any shared dreams, even on the rare occasions he did sleep at night. The more time passed, the less he could chalk it up to coincidence.

''Contact him with your mirror. It's right after dinner, he should be able to find a way to answer.''

''My Lord, I thought you said-''

''And I say differently now,'' he hissed. ''I wish to speak to him.'' Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table impatiently as Barty hurried to get the mirror from upstairs.

It had been a long time indeed since he'd spoken to Harry… their last real conversation had been hurried, and after, there had only been a single dream. Admittedly, even through all of these busy days, he'd felt as if something had been missing. Having Barty around was acceptable, but the rash and snarky comments from the young Gryffindor had been something he'd welcomed in the end. Finally, someone had been able to talk to him freely while clearly not giving a damn about being of the same opinion or not. Even Barty was guilty of trying hard to agree to Voldemort's ideas to suck up at times… And it hadn't only been that. Harry had worn his heart on his sleeve, a mess of interesting feelings for Voldemort to untangle and study. At times, Harry had been able to help him overcome negative emotions. At others, he'd been the one to calm the teen down. The link that connected them enabled an almost symbiotic existence that just wasn't** complete** in this moment.

''Here it is, my Lord,'' said man spoke, a bit breathless, when returning to the dining room with the mirror in hand. ''I just activated it, so if Evan is available, he should answer soon. Just in case, should I…?''

''Yes, ensure there are no other people around on his end before I speak to him.''

The surface rippled and Voldemort sat up straighter, eyes trained on the mirror. From this angle, he could only see that a shape appeared.

''Evan? Can you hear me?''

''_Yes, clearly,_'' came the reply, a tad metallic as was usual when speaking through this method of communication. ''_Is something wrong? Why did you contact me_?'' Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly as he listened to the tone. It sounded strange, and not due to the mirror. Hurried, a hint of impatience even.

''Is anyone else there, or are you alone?''

''_Alone for now. So?''_

''We're just calling to check in. You didn't reach out at all, kiddo. I've heard what happened at Hogwarts, with Umbridge. I-'' Barty broke off as Voldemort held out a hand. Reluctantly, his follower handed the object over. Harry's eyes were just as bright as he recalled them, and widened slightly as he recognised whom he was speaking to now.

''_My_ _Lord_.''

It was a greeting like any Death Eater would have given him. A standard, respectful tone that he expected from all of his followers. Like he also, in theory, expected from Harry. The problem was that the boy had never freely called him that unless he was in a pinch or needed to get on the Dark Lord's good side. Voldemort couldn't think of any reason why that would be the case now.

''You have been rather hard to reach through our… regular method of communication,'' he spoke carefully.

''_I haven't been able to sleep well._''

''In two months? I find that rather hard to believe. Have you been avoiding me?'' His tone was steely now. Something wasn't right here…

''_I apologise… that was not my intention. There wasn't anything of note to report. Still isn't, I'm trying to focus on class_.''

Absolutely not right, Voldemort deduced. Where was the enthusiasm? The frankness? Harry was tense, answering in clipped tones without giving any real information. An impostor? Unlikely, he had known about the dreams they used to speak. Was someone listening in after all? Also improbable, he would have heard shocked gasps the moment he'd appeared.

''Do you remember Noctua? I introduced you a while ago. Last year, wasn't it?'' he spoke with a straight face. Opposite him, Barty looked up with a puzzled expression.

Harry was silent for a few seconds. Then: ''_Not sure when exactly that was, but I do, what about him_?''

Voldemort let out a low hiss under his breath. He considered actually speaking Parseltongue to see what would happen, but found it to be unnecessary. Also, that would alert this person that he was onto them. ''He'll contact you soon to get our plans going. Be prepared for it on your end.'' Without another word, he broke off the connection.

''That wasn't Evan?'' Barty asked, standing up abruptly.

''Most definitely not. Give me your arm, I need to call Severus.''


	49. Storms and Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you might have noticed in the last chapter, I skipped pretty much all of October. In the books, I basically skipped chapter fourteen and fifteen: 'Percy and Padfoot' and 'The Hogwarts High Inquisitor

''Merlin, finally a minute of peace,'' Harry groaned, slumping down on a beanbag. Ron made a similar noise as he pushed several beanbags together to make a larger surface area to fall down on. ''No homework, no recruiting, no detentions… amazing. How's Quidditch going?''

''Fun and tiring. I know you said Wood was tough for dragging you out of bed before 6am in rain and storm for practise, but I honestly think now that it's a standard for Quidditch captains. Angelina does the same. Even if I'm very happy that I was allowed to join the team, I can also finally understand why you quit. Especially now,'' Ron spoke, giving Harry a meaningful look.

The teen hummed, closing his eyes for a moment. The last few weeks had been very eventful, and not only in a good way. Umbridge had made her move, becoming High Inquisitor and inspecting teachers and students alike. Harry had thankfully managed to avoid more detentions. He'd almost spoken out of line again in class when she'd mentioned Quirrel of all teachers being the most competent out of the Defence teachers they'd had. Only the Horcrux's warning hiss had prevented Harry from angrily throwing in that Quirrel had had a Dark Lord growing out of the back of his head.

He really couldn't afford more scrutiny, not now he and his friends had started to build an underground organisation. The Horcrux's suggestion had been accepted surprisingly quickly when Harry carefully told Ron and Hermione about it, veiling it as his own idea. Especially Hermione was very encouraging, telling him that she had already had a similar thought, but believed that it would have taken a lot of convincing to sell it to Harry. So, they'd started telling a couple of people about it who might be interested and trustworthy enough. After the disaster with Marietta Edgecombe, Harry was understandably suspicious of telling** too** many people, only grudgingly admitting that he couldn't gather members for a Defence group if he refused to speak to anyone about it. To ease his fears of Umbridge finding out, Hermione had tried her best to research and practise different ways of secrecy spells and wards. Even the Horcrux had been impressed by how much she'd been able to pull off already, like designing fake Galleons with a variant of a Protean Charm on it, based on nothing other than the Dark Mark itself.

Hermione wasn't the only one who'd been tirelessly working. Harry himself didn't have much of a choice, especially because there were quite a few things he needed to do without anyone knowing about it. The time he'd spent on Quidditch training before, he now used for Runes – after Ron's suggestion, Harry had dropped his idea of also studying Arithmacy. Managing both with everything else going on had turned out to be impossible – and any other free spots of time he had after class and homework were spent on either brewing Sleeping Draughts, reading books that the Horcrux suggested, or practising the spells he'd been taught by Barty and Voldemort in the past year. On top of that, Harry was also the 'man with the plan', as Ron called it, regarding the Defence group they were building. Which meant that for any tweaks in plans or suggestions, everyone came to him to exchange opinions. It was six more days now till the Hogsmeade weekend where the first real meeting and official joining would take place.

At first, Hermione had wanted it to be held in the Hog's Head, saying that there would be too many people in the Three Broomsticks. Harry had agreed with her on the point with too many people - especially since teachers also were prone to visiting the Three Broomsticks – but the Horcrux had warned against the Hog's Head as well.

Unbeknownst to Harry and his friends, it had been run by Aberforth Dumbledore since even before Albus Dumbledore had become a teacher at Hogwarts, and that was unlikely to have changed unless Aberforth had died in the meantime. Ron, who had most knowledge of light Wizarding families, mentioned that he'd heard mentions of Aberforth Dumbledore now and then during dinner conversations at home during his childhood, nothing that would indicate his demise. Just to be certain, Harry didn't really want to risk it, especially not after hearing that the Hog's Head was also a meeting place for some… odder folk. A large group of students would certainly cause a commotion. Both his best friends had wanted to just use the Room of Requirement for the first meeting too, but Harry had disagreed. They couldn't be certain that everyone who was interested would also** join**, and then there was still the possibility of someone snitching on them. He did not want anyone else to know about where the regular meetings would be held who hadn't signed Hermione's magically binding contract.

The meeting had thus been scheduled in a slightly hidden clearing just off the path leading towards Hogsmeade. It had of course been the Horcrux's suggestion, Harry hadn't had a clue about the existence of said clearing. Apparently, Voldemort had used it for some rituals in his youth. It had been easier to disappear during Hogsmeade trips than any other time, and the road to the village was much less inspected than the Forbidden Forest was. Since they had several Prefects and two Headboys at their side, the idea would be that they'd each accompany small groups of interested students, leading them to the clearing where Harry, Ron and Hermione would already be waiting. The best thing about trips to Hogsmeade was the opportunity to practise magic outside of school, away from the eyes of teachers. So, Harry could put up all the Silencing wards that he wanted without a hitch.

''I think I've rested enough,'' Ron finally spoke, sitting up again, a spark in his eyes. ''We're finally doing this, right?''

''Right,'' Harry grinned, getting to his feet too. The Room had helpfully provided them with a table on which he could put '_Analysing Animagi'_, his birthday gift from Sirius. He hadn't heard much from his godfather apart from a few coded letters that didn't reveal much info other than that Sirius was safe and sound, albeit unhappy with being locked up still. When this Defence group was finally official, he'd try to write his godfather about it, Harry was sure that Sirius would love such a rebellious act. ''Not sure how much** practise** we can do today. I mean, the first steps are to have the Mandrake leaf in our mouths for a month and start the potion preparations. I brought the leaves and a cauldron, you have the other ingredients, yeah?''

''I do, and I looked into weather magic. We could do that already, to be sure that we're good enough when we need to use it? Sirius also said that after the potion was complete and they started taking it, him and your dad created lightning storms a couple of times to speed up the process. We could also already try that to see how well it works.''

''Probably a good idea. The only penalty for it is having different weather at non-natural times, so we don't have much to lose.''

Ron looked relieved at having something else to do than only sitting here and starting a potion that would need to brew for a month before they could start training. Judging by the bulging bag he'd brought, Ron had already prepared for some weather magic. The little knowledge Harry had on the subject was what Sirius had told them, it wasn't something he'd delved into before at all. Due to it being usually rather noticeable and still very illegal, neither Voldemort nor Barty had used it in his presence before as far as he could recall. Harry took care of setting up the makeshift potion lab while Ron drew a circle. With fascination. Harry watched as Ron created a sort of altar in the middle, which was basically a larger book balancing on top of some smaller ones. ''I didn't really have a slab of limestone available, sorry. We'll have to make do with what we have, I hope a book on stones is good enough.''

It was such a typical Ron-solution that Harry wasn't even surprised. Don't have stone? Use a picture of a stone. It's the thought that counts. He was sure that Voldemort would have started hyperventilating when seeing the carelessness with which they would be performing this ritual. For once, Harry really wished that the Horcrux would show its face, just so Harry could judge its expression. ''Can I have a quick read-through?'' Harry asked.

''Oh, I don't have much,.. written down,'' Ron said, looking a bit embarrassed. ''Hermione gave me a couple of books, and they all had different rituals so I kind of mashed them together until I had something I could remember easily and had most of the items for. Here… the incantation.''

Harry took the slip of parchment offered to him and read the words on it. ''Anglo-Saxon?'' he guessed, thinking he recognised the gist of the language from the time Draco had taught him the Merfolk incantation.

''No, Gàidhlig. The Scottish Gaelic, basically. I heard that with weather magic, it's best to use the language from the place where you're changing the weather and as we're in Scotland, the closest language suitable for magic would be Gàidhlig. Err, I got Hermione to write down the phonetic pronunciation of each word. I told her I'm doing a project in Divination to get extra marks, for which I need to look at the weather changes and such. Trelawney is the only Professor she never speaks to, so I hope she won't find out.''

''That's… practical. Can you give me an overview of what's going to happen then? Not to be nagging but… after last year I do have a bit more experience with dark rituals than you do.''

Ron was silent for a bit, frowning. ''In all the excitement, I almost forgot that this was dark magic. No, maybe I pushed it away instead. It doesn't** sound** bad, controlling the weather a bit, certainly in a place where it is always so fickle anyways. The book you gave me on magic classification was quite an eye-opener, but dark magic in general is still…'' he trailed off. ''I can understand you, your first dark ritual was necessary to not be eaten alive by a dragon, and then to not drown in the lake. Mine will be so I can gain a power few people have in a faster way than is usual. Does that make me… selfish? Or bad?''

''It makes you a wizard,'' Harry answered, trying to be diplomatic. ''There's so much possibility in magic, and as long as we don't try to harm anyone, no-one could honestly justify calling us evil. I mean, my **dad** did this and he died for the Light. Sirius did this and he broke away from his family because they were too extreme and violent. You're not bad, Ron. You won't be bad unless you suddenly feel the urge to bring pain to others, physically or emotionally. I'm worse than you in that, I truly wished for Umbridge to die,'' he confessed sombrely.

''Hey, we all did,'' Ron laughed it off, stomping Harry's arm. The teen didn't react beyond a weak smile. Harry didn't have the heart to try and make clear to his best friend how seriously he meant it. ''Okay, enough chatting. I wanted to start with the storm spell, actually. Of the two, it's the more powerful one, so us casting it from inside of a building won't work too much against the spell. Also, it's much easier to check if it worked. So, for lots of old rituals, wizards and witches used to call on spirits, which were sometimes given names and worshipped as nature deities if they were strong enough. From what I gathered, this belief was mostly abandoned again, the only deity worshipped now is Magic herself. Those other deities only remain in remnants of Muggle religions and old spells like these. That's what the book said anyways,'' he continued sheepishly, clearly not used to having someone's rapt attention.

''So we're calling on one of these old… gods?''

''Spirits is probably more fitting. But yes, there's a... erhm, rain spirit? Sea spirit? The translation was a bit vague, but he's called Manannan mac y Leir,'' Ron spoke, squinting his eyes at the page in the book. ''The spell basically asks him to call forth a storm.''

''Good, so what do I need to do?''

Harry followed Ron's gestures and sat down once he'd ensured that the flame on which the small cauldron stood was stable, and all ingredients were laid out properly. ''We need to light the candles, chant the spell several times while… channelling magic?'' Ron sounded rather unsure. ''I don't really know what to do with that part too much. In the book, it sounded as if we have to channel magic wandlessly but… wands are channelers, aren't they?''

Harry shook his head, kind of glad to be in familiar territory. ''Wands are used to focus specific spells. Quite a few dark rituals use raw magic, the force itself. With some practise, you can let it… flow from your hands without another purpose than letting it build up around you in the air. You can then use it to feel the magic of others for example.'' He thought of the Horcruxes, where he'd also let his pure magic flow through his hands to interact with their power. ''I'll try to describe the feeling and guide you through that, if it's okay.''

Ron looked relieved. ''Sure! Right, so there's a bit of symbolism involved too. Feathers of a crow lain beneath grass, as crows are said to flock down on fields before an oncoming storm, and candles in grey and red to symbolise the colours of the sky before a storm: grey clouds in the evening, red in the morning. Then finally a piece of glass to symbolise lightning.'' He looked up at Harry, apparently searching for some sign of approval.

''I can't say much about how accurate it is, sorry,'' Harry shrugged, ''Never done weather magic. Some symbolising items can't hurt though. Any runes or so?''

Ron shook his head. ''Two of the rituals described runes and some formulas…'' he hesitated, ''I didn't understand them so left them out and took more elements that I did get. So, that was basically it. I'll put in the items at the right times while you concentrate on the spell and magic-channelling?''

''Let's do this!'' Harry said, getting excited, taking a few deep breaths to ease himself into a meditative state.

His breath caught however, when wisps of smoke drifted upwards and a voice sounded behind him.

''I wish I could watch this entertaining show, but alas, letting you blow yourself up would be counterproductive. Get him to stop. Now.'' The Horcrux stood right outside of the salt line and started circling them, eyes focused on Ron.

Before his friend could utter a word, Harry sharply spoke: ''Wait a moment. Something isn't right. I need to… think for a bit. Sorry.'' He tried not to look at Voldemort, not wanting to cast more suspicion, pretending he was thinking while listening to the young Dark Lord's advice. The man halted behind Ron and looked directly at Harry.

''You are working with a ritual that you **know** an absolute novice threw together from three different descriptions because he didn't** understand** parts of them? Harry, I shouldn't need to tell you how stupid that is. I admire your spirit in introducing your friends to dark magic, and experimenting in itself is an important step. **However**, you should have done thorough research. With everything he described, I can guarantee that this will do major harm to both of you. Don't understand me wrong, the incantation in itself is fine, so is most of the symbolism and while his choice for the altar is… crude, it could work. But there is no protection, no indicated timespan, no area of effect, no limits on strength. Exactly those things regulated by carefully placed runes, combined with certain numbers to guide the effects. This will call a storm of unknown power directly into this room. For all you know, you could summon a ball-lightning storm in front of your faces.''

''Harry?'' Ron asked, looking very uncertain.

''This might be too dangerous,'' he admitted regretfully. ''Leaving the runes out. Dark magic has to be controlled a lot better than light magic. Without them, we don't control at all where the storm goes, or when it happens even.'' He cast a quick glance at Voldemort, who nodded.

''Let him show you the rituals he based it on. I'll guide you.''

Relieved that he wouldn't need to break it off entirely, Harry did as told and slowly leafed through the various books Ron had used to give Voldemort enough time to both read it and tell Harry how to correct the ritual. According to the Dark Lord, it still wasn't ideal, for they missed certain elements that could have been helpful, but in the end, they had something that at least wouldn't be harmful.

''Worked it out,'' Harry told Ron, who'd observed him a bit sheepishly the entire time.

''I should just leave it to you the next time,'' the boy muttered.

''No!'' Harry exclaimed, not wanting to discourage the other. ''Look, all start is difficult, I didn't know half of this stuff a year ago, okay? I had to read lots and even have Malfoy of all people explain some things to me. With some experience, you can do this too. Just look at the solution you came up with for the altar, I wouldn't have thought of something like that!''

''You really think so?''

''Absolutely. Come on, we don't have too much time before Hermione will finish her rounds and wonder where we are.''

They took their places again, Harry taking the lead this time. ''Breathe in and out deeply, feel your magic. For me, it's a… tingly, warm feeling in my limbs; arms and hands especially. Concentrate on that, how it gathers at the palms of your hands, thickens in the air. Focus on the feeling you get when casting a spell. Pretend you're holding a wand if that works better for you.'' It took a few more times before Ron could say with certainty that he had the feeling. ''Close your eyes, hold onto that,'' Harry continued, although it was mostly so he could more openly communicate with Voldemort, who was still watching from outside the circle. While he didn't want to ask for more help than necessary, it would be good if he could mouth questions in case of getting stuck. Inhaling deeply, Harry started.

Not having any chalk to draw with, he took leftover salt and sprinkled it on each corner on the book that served as an altar, trying his best to form four Algiz runes for stability and protection of the ritual. In the centre, he drew a bindrune that Voldemort had described before, a combination of Hagalaz, Isa and Dagaz to indicate that the storm should rage this day still. He didn't have the resources or space to add specifics about the area, so Voldemort had suggested he build that into the spell instead. Having at least the minimum of protection wards in place, he focused on his magic too, feeling the warmth course through his arms. This power was neither light nor dark, with the potential to be changed into anything still with a few chosen words and gestures. Pure magic was almost the best feeling in the world, Harry found. Almost.

He raised his hands, palms sizzling as if charged with electricity as he concentrated with all of his might on the result he wanted to achieve. The candles, placed north and south of the altar for the natural flow of wind around the earth, flickered to life at a mere thought. The salt crystals that made up the runes glowed, and a rush of static energy shuddered through Harry's body. Opposite him, Ron stiffened, clearly feeling it too.

_'__'Manannan_ _mac y Leir, neach-glèidhidh nan geataichean, gairm a-mach an gaoth a tuath, fuachd is gailleann aig Hogwarts_.'' The slip of paper lay at his feet forgotten; Voldemort spoke the words with him, pronouncing each syllable clearly and slowly for Harry to repeat so he wouldn't stumble over the strange words.

Ron's magic was added now too, it was odd how** bright** it felt considering that they weren't casting light magic. Did people have a certain natural affinity? He'd never asked about that… ''You can add the glass now, but leave out the grass and feathers.'' His friend carefully placed the piece of glass on the 'altar'. Harry repeated the chant once more, placing a single finger on the piece of glass. Tiny cracks spread across the shard's surface, which lit up as if a miniature storm raged inside. ''We surrender to the forces of nature and accept that the tides and skies cannot always be in our favour,'' he whispered, vocalising the sacrifice.

A thunderous crack rolled through the room. For a moment, Harry thought it had all gone wrong despite Voldemort's changes, but the next moment he threw his head back as the magic around them grew heavy and hungry. It whirled around, a wave of darkness which took the flames of the candles high, then snuffed them out. Harry barely noticed, caught up completely in the spell as it took effect, racing through his body. As it soared up through the ceiling, towards the sky, a feel of loss was all that remained.

Ron slumped down on the floor, grasping his chest. ''You okay?'' Harry asked, his voice cracking a bit.

''Merlin, that was… I can barely think straight. Is dark magic always like this?''

''Not always,'' Harry admitted. ''Depends a lot on the spell. I barely felt anything during that ritual to breathe underwater for example. Some are much heavier than others. My best guess is that weather magic is such a primal force that it's very close to the source.'' He looked up to get a confirmation from the Horcrux, but it had disappeared again. Maybe Harry had exhausted too much magic at once for it to retain its form. Odd, Harry realised suddenly that he'd started calling it Voldemort again while it had aided him in the ritual.

He shook his head, berating himself. No matter how similar they sometimes were, the two weren't the same. If they would be, there'd been no point in trying to get the Horcrux to talk to his older self yesterday in the hope that Voldemort would notice something was off.

''So, think it worked?''

''I hope so. We'll find out tomorrow, it should start forming now and hit within the coming day.'' He helped Ron up, who swayed a bit and staggered over to the beanbags.

''I'm not sure if I liked that,'' his friend muttered. ''At first, it was so intense and then… a bit painful.''

''Painful?'' Harry asked in surprise. While he'd certainly experienced pain practising dark magic, it had always been because of blood sacrifices or the like, never due to the magic itself.

''Yeah. It's hard to describe. As if I had a deep pain from inside my chest. It's gone now but… I'm not looking forward to the next time. You didn't feel that?''

Harry shook his head. ''It never hurt for me. You know what, I'll ask Sirius about it.''

''Yeah… Merlin's balls, we really need to get back or Hermione will skin us alive for staying out after curfew.'' Realising how late it really was, Harry agreed. He quickly checked to see if the potion was still fine while Ron cleaned up the circle. Right before leaving, they stuck the rolled up mandrake leaves under their tongue with a sticking charm and headed out.

They arrived at the common room without any problems, both of them plus their bags just about fitting under the invisibility cloak. Harry was glad to use it again, the cloak always made him feel secure, as if nothing could touch him. He denied Ron's request of still sitting by the fire and chatting a bit, still wanting to read a few books in bed before sleeping. The dorms were empty, but just to be sure, Harry drew the bed hangings close again. He didn't want to have to hide the covers of his books.

As much as he tried however, the lines of '_The Decline of Pagan Magic'_ which usually drew him in instantly, failed to catch his attention this evening. There was too much on his mind. He closed his fist around the Locket, the familiar weight comforting even though it was cold, inactive, its heartbeat slow and barely noticeable. That ritual really must have drawn a lot of magic…

Over the last month, Harry had become pretty good at gauging the Horcrux's strength. There were days where it could cast magic itself, and days where it could barely hold form. He'd figured out that the Locket drew from his own energy and magic every single day, just enough to keep mostly stable. It was in sharp contrast with the Diary-Horcrux, which had kept growing stronger by taking more and more until all magic and soul was drained from the 'host' it latched onto. Harry had to admit that he was always slightly relieved on days where the Locket was weakened, for it meant that it definitely wasn't using the same methods as the Diary had done.

On the other hand, it also made the teen a bit more uneasy each day about his own resolve to hand the Locket over to Voldemort eventually. The Horcrux could be a right bastard sometimes, trying to steer Harry however it wanted by using every method available, from vague threats to flattery to outright violence. And yet… Harry had to admit that he'd gotten a bit… attached. While it definitely** wasn't** Voldemort, it did still give him a window into the man's mind, especially his past mind.

Harry had learned that Voldemort had been twenty-three when creating the Locket-Horcrux, and had been well on his way to becoming a full-fledged Dark Lord, travelling across Europe to learn about various branches of magic, with plans to head to Asia soon. On nights with nothing else to do - which were admittedly sparse – Harry enjoyed listening to the Horcrux's stories about that journey or his time at Hogwarts. He tried to picture it now: a young Voldemort, still rather full of himself and impatient to gain power and knowledge, spreading his name everywhere he went to build up a reputation. According to the Horcrux, it had worked rather well. The right people could recognise him for a Chosen Lord, and by displaying his prowess in magic and willingness to become active, many supporters had flocked to him already.

It couldn't tell Harry much of what had happened after, of course. Harry knew from Dumbledore's memories that Voldemort had returned to Britain at around thirty-ish, after having created even one more Horcrux using a diadem, to ask for the position of DADA. He'd apparently taken all of his Horcruxes with him then and hidden them across the country, changing their hiding spots every decade or so when thinking there was a better, more secure, place. The Locket had only interacted with his older self at those times, receiving a brief overview of the current situation if Voldemort had been in a talkative mood. The Horcrux didn't like talking much about that, and Harry could imagine why. It had all the memories of Voldemort. In its mind, it** was** Voldemort, having trained in magic just as much, having made the same connections and having the same plans, only to then be locked up. It must have been horrible to wait around in some hiding spot, not knowing what was going on or if someone would ever talk to one again. The only hope it had clung to was that it served a higher purpose of protecting the existence of the being it was a part of. It had had no choice but to put its trust in the part of Voldemort lucky enough to remain in the main body. And now, through Harry, it had found out that its older self wasn't on 'the right path' anymore. It was a miracle that it didn't try to start a rebellion.

Perhaps the only thing that kept the Locket from doing exactly that, was its stubbornness to acknowledge mistakes. It still had the memory of choosing to make Horcruxes, choosing to create the Locket-Horcrux specifically, and then of splitting itself off. Rebelling now would mean admitting a fault,** regretting** something, and Voldemort had only learned much, much later how to handle that. It had taken dying for twelve years for the man to learn how to admit to and correct mistakes, Harry couldn't expect the Horcrux to do the same.

It couldn't last forever. Harry had promised Voldemort to tell him about the whereabouts of any soul-pieces he might stumble across, as unlikely as the Dark Lord had thought that to happen. And he'd tried: the Horcrux had taken his suggestion of rather possessing him and speaking to Voldemort through the mirror, over ignoring the call. Harry didn't know how it had gone – each time the Horcrux took over was merely a blank hole in his memory - but he could hope that it had slipped up. Admittedly, the Horcrux's help during lessons was great, as well as the additional teaching, but Harry didn't want to be used forever by a piece of soul that, by wanting to live, could create severe difficulties. Moreover, he didn't want to betray Voldemort's trust.

A sudden thought came to him. With how weak the Horcrux was right now, it was unlikely to materialise, and in its current form it could only hear anything Harry did, not see. Turning around, he fished Regulus' diaries from under the bed, wiping a bit of dust off the cover. The Horcrux had slowly made a habit of coming out at night, either talking to Harry or reading along in educational books to make improvements and other comments. Still not knowing why the Horcrux had ended up in Regulus' room, Harry had kept silent about the diaries, wanting to find out what had happened before asking the Horcrux about it. He didn't want another verbal or magical attack to happen, just because he mentioned Sirius' brother.

As such, he hadn't had many opportunities to continue reading the diaries, perhaps four or five times. It had still been enough to get an image of Regulus' ever-growing fascination with becoming a Death Eater and serving Voldemort - even if in name only as he was still a student – with the teen's wish finally being granted right before Yule. On 20 December 1977, at still 16 years of age, Regulus had received the Dark Mark. For months after, Regulus wrote of nothing but the feel of the Mark, secret meetings with other Death Eaters and the one 'mission' he'd received which was basically spying on other Hogwarts students as he had already done before. Until:

_April 9, 1978  
I was called yesterday through the Mark. I know that most would describe the feeling as painful, I've heard many a complaint about it, but I prefer to think of it as a hot blaze that purifies my magic and soul. _\- Harry mentally threw up a little at that 'poetic' description –_ Sneaking out posed a hurdle, but with a bit of help from my friends, I managed to find a way into the house of a sympathiser in Hogsmeade whose Floo I could use. Upon arrival, I met Him again, and the words fail me to accurately define my emotions beyond awe. _

_At first, I thought I had merely been called there to attend a meeting or to report, but I was far more fortunate than that! My cousin Bellatrix gained the position of right hand of the Dark Lord after proving herself enough in battle, and as family member to celebrate it with her, she chose me of all people. I spent the evening with just my cousin and the Dark Lord, able to give my opinion on many recent matters. After perhaps a few glasses of firewhisky too much, she recommended me as a student to the Dark Lord. I had never imagined that my cousin had watched me closely and was surprised by how much information she had on me: my marks, my friends, the way I interacted with my family…_

_So here I am not, back at Hogwarts and barely able to believe my luck. Not only have I been accepted into the Dark Lord's ranks, he will start teaching me personally as he did to Bellatrix for every Saturday that I can sneak out of Hogwarts._

Somehow, Harry hadn't really expected that. From what Sirius had told him, Regulus had been a new recruit and lowly Death Eater. From Barty's tales, he hadn't been able to pick up much more either. There had been many ways that Harry had imagined Voldemort and Regulus to develop a relationship, from Regulus simply wanting to skip the line by sleeping with his boss, to Voldemort ordering it and then not being able to let go – perhaps he even thought about that a bit too much – but he hadn't imagined Regulus to actually be good enough to become a personal student. That Bellatrix Lestrange had been Voldemort's right hand at the time was also new information to him. Harry had somehow expected it to be someone had also only been out of school for a couple of years back then. Though he supposed that that was true for most of the current Death Eaters… Malfoy, Snape and Barty also all hadn't been much older.

_April 15, 1978  
That dark magic can be so beautiful… I have been absolutely blind. My parents' crude methods are but a cracked imitation of what it is meant to be. The Dark Lord showed me wonders today: how to turn the sky from day to night at noon, how to ensnare the mind and how to create life from dust. The magic pours from him so easily, drenching each atom of existence to bend it to His will. I will have much to rethink, and I can understand why he was so angry at my mother now. Why he is angry with so many mages who merely use dark magic when they need a convenient curse to cause harm. It causes the stigma to grow. He even accepted my opinion on the backfiring wand that is the Cruciatus curse_.

Harry smiled down at the pages, reliving his own discovery of how amazing dark magic could be through Regulus' experiences. The line about the Cruciatus curse gave food for thought. If people didn't want to instantly associate dark magic with pain and torture, it was of course not great to use a curse specifically created to torture people. Despite Regulus' words, Harry thought that Voldemort was still very fond of using it however, to instil fear and make his followers obey.

When continuing to read, Harry noticed that only Saturdays were still noteworthy enough to appear in the diary now. All talk of Hogwarts, even of the war, was neglected. Instead, Regulus only spoke of what he learnt, and the conversations he and Voldemort shared almost every week. It was both interesting and disturbing to read what had been on Voldemort's mind back then. Regulus was rather fond of introducing a system to indicate levels of blood-purity in the form of coloured bands or badges everyone would have to wear. Voldemort apparently considered it, although Harry couldn't tell if that was only to appease Regulus or not. The Slytherin sometimes tried to transcribe literal conversations they'd had, and by the lack of threats and violence, Harry noticed that Voldemort absolutely had a weak spot for Regulus already.

The entries kept getting shorter however, perhaps because Regulus had noticed that he would run out of pages if he kept going like this. By mid-June, around two thirds of the book had been used already. The only longer entry was on June 24th:

_June 24, 1978  
I came of age today. It's an odd thought really. Ever since Siri left, my parents have been trying to prepare me for adulthood as father wishes to hand over his political duties as soon as possible. Now it is time, yet I don't feel much different today than I did yesterday. I wonder how much I will even be able to do, since I'll still attend Hogwarts for one more year. I'll have to make the most out of it, and I finally can do so in good conscience now my brother and his friends graduated. _

_Mother rambled on and on about the disgrace of that students aren't given free days for Ministry duties since Dumbledore took over. As if ranting about it will help. I sometimes really do not understand my parents. They want the world to go back to how it once was, without lifting a finger for it themselves. Trust in the Dark Lord they say, but did they take His mark? No… I did, and I'll make sure_ _ ** real** _ _ change happens. _ _Finally, I also have the power to do so, especially since the Dark Lord ensured I have a permanent escape from Hogwarts whenever necessary. He gave me a Portkey today, as a birthday gift. I've never heard about him handing gifts to anyone, and though I realise it is mostly for practical purposes, I am... flattered nonetheless. Using the Dark Mark to travel to Him would be noticeable if I did it within the wards of Hogwarts, so this is a perfect solution to having to sneak out through the tunnels each time. It will also be a good solution for the coming two months, as I still haven't told my parents about the lessons I am receiving. I don't think they'd agree with them, especially not since the Dark Lord doesn't only teach me dark magic, but some difficult light spells as well._

_I hope that, now I am an adult and soon-to-be Head of the Black family, I will be able to aid the Dark Lord even more. _

Harry closed the diary softly, thinking about Regulus. The Slytherin had been so full of hopes and dreams, about all the wrong things like power and the suppression of the 'unworthy'. It gave Harry an uneasy feeling that he could still relate to Regulus so much after all that. He too wanted an out from his 'real' family, recognition, and a deeper understanding of the Dark Arts. Moreover, there was Voldemort… Harry only noticed that his fingers had sought the snake fang around his neck the moment his hand closed over it. Birthday gifts, huh? He'd received two from the man. Was it really such a rarity? If so, what did that mean?

Deciding he really needed to sleep now, Harry took off his glasses and hid the book under his bed again, where it could wait till the next time the Horcrux was inactive.

* * *

It was never a good idea to ignore orders for too long, Severus knew this. Being at Hogwarts, mostly out of sight of the Dark Lord and anyone associated with Him, gave a certain amount of freedom to act on his own schedule. Such as the freedom to think over the orders given to decide the best course of action. When he'd received a Floo call from Lucius two days ago, Severus most definitely hadn't expected to meet the Dark Lord again. He'd expected even less to being ordered to give Potter Occlumency lessons and having to sell that idea to Dumbledore instead of doing so secretly. He was in no position to ask** why** of course.

It highly annoyed him to have so few clues as to what was going on. At first glance, it all made perfect sense: whatever protection Potter had against surface Legilimency, - something Dumbledore ignorantly believed to be a naturally-developed shield – it didn't work against direct eye-contact. It would only be a matter of time before the Headmaster would get suspicious enough to use that more forcefully. Potter was far from infallible; a few misplaced words could be enough of a misstep that Potter's thoughts would be laid bare by the old man. Then there'd be hell to pay.

The harder one looked, the more illogical this order became. Barely two months ago, Severus had been on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's wand, about to be offed if he hadn't bent his neck. He wasn't trusted in the slightest, whereas Potter had managed to develop such a high standing that he was allowed to stay over at the Dark Lord's house over summer. Teaching Occlumency automatically meant intruding the student's thoughts, so it would be unavoidable for Severus to see much of Potter's mind if he were to teach the subject. He couldn't imagine there to not be any secret information he shouldn't be privy to. The conclusion he drew was that it was a hasty, desperate move, which instilled a great sense of unease. Something must have happened regarding Potter recently, else the Dark Lord could have waited until the holidays to teach the boy personally. Delegating it to a follower with fickle standing could only mean a crisis. Severus didn't like crises.

Not that he wouldn't use this to the fullest. It was a perfect opportunity to better his position, in both the Inner Circle and the Order if he played his cards right. For once, Potter's double life would have a positive influence on his own. Additionally, with access to Potter's mind he'd surely be able to find some interesting titbits of information. He'd always wondered for example, how it was that Potter spoke Parseltongue. After considering for a while to first observe to see if anything was different, in the end he decided that it would be fastest to figure out the situation by doing as told and casting Legilimency on the boy directly.

''Enter!'' came the answer to his knock. He strode into Dumbledore's office, letting his gaze wander across the room. The Phoenix was missing from its perch, and several instruments were whistling and spinning away. One of them was there to measure residual dark magic in the air, and the most annoying one in his opinion. Because of it, he needed to thoroughly cleanse himself each time before meeting the Headmaster if he'd used dark magic before. Severus dearly hoped that Potter had enough sense and knowledge to either perform cleansing rituals or shield himself from the instrument. The boy had been able to convince Dumbledore of the necessity of the magic cast during the Tournament, but surely wouldn't be able to use the same excuse this year.

''Severus, what brings you to such a high and light place as a tower?'' Dumbledore joked.

''Falling from a window is a much more graceful way to go than being slowly pestered to death by students,'' he snarkily replied. ''So if I could borrow your window, Albus…''

''Don't let the students hear you, you can't have anyone thinking you have a sense of humour,'' the man smiled. ''Do sit down. Tea?''

''No. Albus, it is about our… agreement. Potter.'' The usual venomous thoughts that always accompanied that name did not appear, nor the acidic taste of bile in his mouth.

''I've heard that Harry has been doing exceptionally well in class. Is this different with potions?''

Reluctantly, the potion master shook his head minimally. ''Surprisingly, he is almost acceptable this year.'' That was a gross understatement. As much as Severus would like to deny it, every single one of Potter's potions had been almost perfect. The only sensible explanation was that it had to be the result of the Dark Lord's teachings. ''I have been thinking,'' he said as soon as he was seated, leaning forward over Dumbledore's desk. ''It is bad enough that you think the Dark Lord returned. With Dolores Umbridge now here, you might not be able to keep Potter safe for long. As soon as you leave this castle, which we both know will happen at this rate, many defences will fall away. I do not want to be put into a position where I suddenly have to watch the boy non-stop.''

Dumbledore stroked his beard, peering over his half-moon spectacles. Had Severus not known this man for long enough, he'd have found this image of a sagely old wizard comforting. ''What are you suggesting?''

''I do not know what you have been teaching him, Albus, but I doubt practical magic was in the curriculum. Can he protect his own mind, at the very least?''

Wrinkles deepened on the aged forehead, and the Headmaster started stirring his tea. ''I told you that he has an exceptional mental defence that developed over the years. Even I cannot receive more than blurred images without direct eye-contact.''

''Exceptional isn't good enough when it comes to the Dark Lord. What good does it do me to keep an iron hold of my own mind when Potter could unknowingly feed our enemy all information on the Order he needs? Did you or did you not teach him proper Occlumency?''

''There is no reason to assume that Voldemort would have access to Harry's mind-''

Severus broke him off with a scoff. ''His scar forms a connection. Who knows what it can do other than cause Potter pain.''

The Headmaster didn't instantly reply. When he did, he spoke slowly, carefully. ''I admit that Harry has not been taught Occlumency, and the one time I had direct eye-contact with him, reading his thoughts was easy. You may be right in that there could be value in teaching him this skill. I did not wish to add to his schedule…'' Severus tried not to react to Dumbledore's admittance of using Legilimency on Potter. When had that been exactly? Had he seen anything damning? Anything at all? ''Since you are so concerned about it, may I assume that** you** will be the one to offer up your time in teaching Harry?''

''If I must,'' he stiffly replied. ''I doubt I can rest easy without knowing for certain that Potter has a perfect grip on his mind. My Vow of protection…'' he hinted.

Most creases disappeared from Dumbledore's worried face. ''Ah, there's that. If it eases your mind, I'll allow you to teach it. You are right, it will be a valuable skill, certainly when Voldemort will make an appearance and perhaps confront the dear boy directly. I will do what I can to prevent that from happening before Harry is ready, but one never knows. The Ministry certainly isn't helping matters at the moment, neither is the press. I'll leave it up to you then, Severus. I wished to speak to Harry anyways soon, I might as well invite him tomorrow and inform him of these lessons too. But Severus? Occlumency only,'' Dumbledore spoke in a warning tone. ''No fifteen-year-old should be tempted with the ability to pick apart the minds of those around him.''

He nodded in agreement and got up again, not planning on hanging around for more talk. His paranoia got the better of him right before he was about to leave though, and he faced the Headmaster. ''Albus, may I ask why you used Legilimency on Potter?''

The man looked as if he'd been caught doing something bad. ''Ah, it wasn't… planned. I'd gotten the feeling that Harry had been avoiding looking at me all year, so when he finally did, I acted on instinct, I suppose. I shouldn't have, I realise… but it did help me to confirm that my trust in Harry was not misplaced. Despite all the dubious magic he had to use during the Tournament, the one thing on his mind when I took a glimpse of it, was worry for me.''

''Worry? **For** you?'' Severus incredulously asked.

''Yes… most curious, isn't it? He went through so much, had a Death Eater after him, was thrown into a deadly contest. Then on the last day before leaving, he was worried because I looked tired and… sad. You never give him enough credit, Severus. For all your conviction that Harry is arrogant and selfish, his main concern has always been other people, even dark magic couldn't change that.''

''So you have full faith in this child then?'' he asked, tone absolutely neutral. ''Despite everything? Dark Arts, illegal books, the Prophecy that foretells he is a being to fear?''

''That he has the power to vanquish Voldemort, does not mean that he would have the heart to harm anyone else. No-one needs to** fear** him. Do **you**, my boy?''

''I do not fear children,'' he answered with a scoff, turning to walk out of the door. But as he descended the stairs and thought of Potter, something in his chest constricted and his hands trembled a slight bit. No, he didn't fear children, but he did fear what they could become in time. Dumbledore was an absolute fool if a fleeting moment of weakness from Potter was enough to fully restore his faith in the boy. Trusting people had always been one of the Headmaster's greatest weaknesses, right after being blind to his own faults. Severus could clearly see now why Potter had chosen to join the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore would never be able to understand, not even if he received a neat list with arguments. Trying to be good wasn't good enough.

He spent the rest of his Sunday evening trying to improve the formula for Skelegro. It kept his mind and hands busy enough not to constantly think of Potter. He wasn't so lucky the next day, as he had to teach the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins after the first short break. As much as he attempted to ignore Potter, he couldn't help but observe the boy from time to time, frowning as he noticed that the boy kept glancing at the wall now and then for no apparent reason. Interesting…

The rest of the day went by without anything of note happening. He'd passed Umbridge's inspections, so the woman didn't make his life difficult at the moment, harping on Trelawney instead. Severus tried to keep out of it. He knew that even if Umbridge could fire the woman, the headmaster would never allow the person who had prophesised the fall of the Dark Lord to leave the premises of Hogwarts. It might have been a different story if Dumbledore wouldn't be so convinced of the Dark Lord's return. Now, it was far too great a risk to let Trelawney go.

At nine, after he was finished giving a detention to Zacharias Smith, who had decided to be funny and sabotage a potion of a fellow student, Severus packed up all remaining work. There were still two hours left before he usually headed to bed, and there was a rather interesting new book about additional properties of roots in enhancement potions that he wished to read more of. Just as he put away a stack of graded essays, a soft knock sounded on the door. He growled quietly under his breath. Be it student or teacher, he really did not fancy giving up on his reading time. The knock sounded again, a tad more forceful now. Severus went to the door and pulled it open, adopting his most menacing stand as he filled the doorframe to scare away any pesky students.

He deflated slightly as he was met with a wary stare from two emerald eyes. ''Professor Dumbledore sent me,'' Potter spoke. ''About additional lessons.''

Severus arched an eyebrow. That had been much faster than expected, apparently he'd really given the Headmaster a scare with his talk of Potter's scar possibly linking to the Dark Lord. It was only a theory - Dumbledore's own theory - but it had worked. Severus himself didn't truly believe a link like that could exist beyond an echo of pain. ''Come in. How much has he told you?'' he replied, closing the door behind Potter and double-checking the security measures on the door.

''That with everything going on in the castle and Voldemort's return, he would rest easier when I can protect myself or something.''

''Do not say the Dark Lord's name here!'' Severus hissed automatically, a cold shiver running down his spine at the name, flashes of inhuman red eyes and memories of excruciating pain on the forefront of his mind. Potter had the nerve to give a short laugh at that.

''You do realise that I call him that to his** face**, yeah?''

Severus glowered at the tone Potter took and raised his wand to the boy's neck. All he received was a calm, cold stare back. ''I do not care for how much the Dark Lord himself permits your insolence. You are in** my** office, and I am still your teacher. I won't allow disrespect, neither to myself nor to the Dark Lord.''

''Fine,'' Potter spat. '**'Sir**.'' After another hard look, Severus removed his wand and instead used it to clear the space, chairs and desk moving to the sides. ''Since 'protecting myself' could mean quite a lot, I will need a few more details. Is this going to be similar to the duelling club from a few years back, bar the disaster that was Lockhart? Because if so, both Barty and Vol-, The Dark Lord, taught me duelling already.''

He did not outwardly react to that news, although it was not a good thought that Potter had been trained in duelling by two of the most proficient people he knew in that field. He'd never seen Crouch in action, but that he had been able to impersonate an ex-Auror with the magic to back it up said enough. What was Potter's skill level? Could he hold up in a fight?

''Not duelling. For some reason, it appears that the Headmaster still prefers a… passive approach to your training. How he expects you to defeat the Dark Lord one day is a mystery to me.''

''Same,'' the boy dully interjected ''Not that it matters.''

''Indeed. Thus, I have been given the task of teaching you how to protect your mind.''

''Occlumency?'' Potter frowned. ''Why would Dumbledore want me to learn that? Then I'd be able to keep him out of my mind as well.''

''I do not know what image you have of the Headmaster, Potter, but he does not usually go around randomly taking a peek into his students' minds. Also, you are not so important that he checks your every move and thought.''

''Are you **defending** Dumbledore?'' Potter asked, a tad aggressive. Severus sighed mentally, he really did not want to deal with a moody teenager right now. ''For the record, I** know** that he cast Legilimency on me the one moment I accidentally looked into his eyes.''

''Yes, because you just** had** to be so obvious about avoiding eye-contact throughout the entire year! Naturally, he wanted to know what you were hiding.''

''Look, this conversation is completely pointless,'' Potter spoke. ''I think we would both prefer not to have anything to do with each other besides potion lessons, okay? The Dark Lord did not want me to learn Occlumency until now, and I have enough mental protection to deal with Dumbledore or anyone else I don't want in my head. Can we just pretend that you are teaching me and leave it at that?''

''Because you only do what the Dark Lord orders you to?'' Severus scoffed. ''Here I thought you had a** spine**, Potter.''

''That's rich, coming from you. You** grovelled** at his feet.'' The boy bit back.

''I do not have time for bickering, Potter!'' he snapped, getting enough of this childish argument. ''I will teach you Occlumency and that's that! What you do with it after is your business, but you are a damned fool if you reject this opportunity! Do you have any idea how many people get the chance to study this obscure branch of magic? Less than a handful! **So** **get yourself together**.'' If the boy kept arguing like this, he might even need to reveal that it actually** was** the Dark Lord who had ordered this in the first place, which was rather undesirable since Severus didn't know the reason for it yet.

Potter started pacing back and forth a few times, glowering at the floor. ''Fine,'' he finally agreed, reluctantly.

''How** gracious** of you,'' Severus sneered. ''As it is getting late, I will lay down a few ground rules and then instantly start. You are to remain respectful and try your hardest to learn this as fast as possible. I am not exactly thrilled at having my free evenings compromised either and would like to keep these lessons to a minimum. Let's just hope that you aren't as incompetent at mind-magic as you are at brewing potions, else we will still be at it after you graduate.''

''Wow, you actually have enough confidence in me that you think I'll ever graduate? That's new,'' Potter said, throwing Severus off.

His scowl deepened. ''You are not taking this seriously enough, Potter!''

The boy made a frustrated noise and sat down without being invited to do so. He ruffled his hair in a way that was far too alike James Potter, then gave Severus a calculating look that was far too intelligent to have ever graced James' face. The duality of Harry Potter was uncomfortable territory, and Severus swallowed down another stream of degrading words, thinking of Lily's warning.

''I'll be respectful and cooperative when you follow a few rules of mine too,'' the boy had the audacity to demand. ''You won't insult me, you won't intentionally hurt me more than necessary -believe me, you'll notice when you try-, and you won't touch any memories from my childhood.''

'What do you mean with 'I will notice if I try to hurt you'? Is that a threat?''

''Not so much a threat as a fact. As fun as it would be to see what would happen if I don't tell you, I guess I will so you know that **I **am taking his seriously. I have a specific shielding spell on me that deflects any intentionally harmful magical and physical attacks back to the caster. Malfoy once tried to fling a spell at me and got blasted into a wall, while a couple of Acromantulas were literally killed when they tried to eat me.''

Severus had heard of such a shield existing, but had never seen it in action. He'd need to be incredibly careful then. At least Potter had told him… The boy could just as easily have omitted that fact and laughed if it harmed him, like James would surely have done. ''I can agree to most of your demands,'' he gave in. Constantly butting heads with his student wouldn't help either of them. He truly did want these lessons to last as short as possible. ''However, when teaching Occlumency, I do not search for specific memories, Potter. I cannot make a promise that I won't stumble across anything related to your childhood.''

He picked up a slight movement in the other's muscles as Potter hunched over a bit. ''Okay…'' he softly answered. ''I'd hoped… well. If you can't help it, then you can't.'' he hated how vulnerable Potter sounded at the moment and tried to pretend it was all an act to catch him off-guard. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped.

''Stand up, we're starting. How many times have you experienced Legilimency?''

''Oh, in total about… eight times I think, from three different people: Dumbledore, the Dark Lord and you. Could you explain why it always feels so different? Sir?''

Placated slightly by the more polite tone of the boy, Severus complied. ''It depends on several factors: the amount of magic put into the spell, the general nature of one's magic, the level of skill and the amount of care one puts into precision. The Dark Lord never was one for precision when it comes to this, he prefers to overwhelm the mind with pain to make access easier. It is hard to concentrate on defending the mind under torture. Dumbledore, on the other hand, attempts to be as unnoticeable as possible and covertly take glimpses into people's minds. The downside of it for him is that he can more easily be fooled by those who have perfected the barriers around their minds. Which reminds me, you do have some sort of barrier already, do you not? When advanced enough at Legilimency, the caster can read surface thoughts of those around him even without eye-contact. Yours are unreadable.''

''Ah, that's not by my own skill,'' Potter admitted. Big surprise there. ''Will that hinder these lessons?''

''It might. If you can disable this protection, we may progress faster.'' The potion master watched with carefully veiled fascination as Potter reached around his neck and took off a leather cord with an engraved snake fang on it that had been hidden under the school robes. The boy put the pendant on a shelf and faced his teacher again. ''Let's start then,'' he continued. ''Take your wand and try to defend your mind in any way you can. I heard that you were able to resist the Imperius curse, so you might not completely fail at this.** Legilimens**.'' He already knew that Potter would in fact fail as he cast the spell before the boy showed that he was ready. It was perhaps the most important lesson he could teach, Severus found. Enemies didn't wait, reflexes and awareness were just as important as magical skill.

To his great surprise, Potter actually did react instantly, raising his wand a split second before Severus' mind connected to the boy's. It wasn't enough though, for he didn't cast anything, just standing there as Snape slipped into Potter's thoughts and picked up images left and right. Ironically, the first few memories were from the boy's family. Minds could be arranged in many different ways. Some people had maze-like chambers, some a heap of disorderly memories and others, like Potter, had a completely chronological mind. It was as if he followed a timeline, jumping through the years. It also appeared that no memory seemed to be perceived as more important than others.

_Harry was three years old, the first aware memory being light, five slits of light in otherwise total darkness. Harry was five, now old enough to realise that the light were the slits in the door of his cupboard, through which he tried to perceive the normal world he was cut off from. Harry was six, fleeing away from that normal world back into the safety of his cupboard after messing up breakfast and receiving his first broken bone-_ Severus tried to jump faster, trying not be shaken by what he saw. _Eight years old: a teacher smiled apologetically as Harry confessed that his family hit him._ _Nine years old: the Dursleys laughed as Ripper the Bulldog chased Harry up a tree. Eleven years old: Dread as the Sorting Hat told him he'd do well in Slytherin. _The memories became less stable and faster as they piled up from all the new experiences. _Classes at Hogwarts, spells and faces, Quidditch games, Hermione lying in the hospital wing after that failed Polyjuice potion, Riddle's diary, the memory of a young Voldemort rising from the pages-_

Finally there was a hint of resistance, and a sharp pain made Severus retreat. Potter hat hit him with a stinging hex to the wrist. He inspected it for a moment before healing the welt. ''Did you mean to do that?'' he asked Potter, who was breathing hard and had rather wild eyes.

''No,'' the boy admitted.

''I thought so. Remain focused, resist faster, you wasted much energy by flailing around and shouting nonsensical words.''

''You didn't tell me anything about** how** I am supposed to resist!'' Potter spoke, rather angrily. ''Should I cast defensive spells? Is there a specific defence against this?''

Severus pursed his lips. ''Magic is not an exact science, Potter. It is different for everyone, although you should not need to resort to using your wand. Clear your mind and keep your emotions in check. That way, you should be able to erect a mental barrier. Try again,** Legilimens**!''

The memories continued from the point where he'd left off, Potter's mind still in such disarray from the previous attack that he could easily find the same spot again._ Dementors closed in on him at the lake with their rotting breaths and crusted hands. Sirius flew away on Buckbeak, the feeling of happiness and accomplishment being overshadowed by a pressing fear of having to return to the Dursleys again. Harry stood in front of a large house and knew that Voldemort would be waiting inside.-_

A stinging hex threw him out again and Severus scowled. ''I** said**, do not resort to physical magic! The one casting Legilimency might not always be so easily reachable. Had I cast a shielding charm, this would have accomplished nothing. Also, did you really go to the Dark Lord's house right after your** third year**?''

''I thought I should face him alone without getting anyone I loved hurt,'' Potter mumbled. ''I get now that it was stupid, okay?''

Severus didn't deem that worth an answer. ''Control your emotions! You are showing me all the moments you were afraid, and I can use that to find similar memories. You would hand your enemies all of your weaknesses at once.''

''It is rather hard to control my emotions while having to relive all the times I was afraid!''

''You're not even **trying**! Again!''

_Nagini bared her fangs at him. Barty barged in and demanded to know who he was. Voldemort looked at him with a calm gaze that betrayed he hadn't been ill for a while anymore. Pain spread through his forehead as Voldemort pressed cold fingers to the scar-_ A ball of mental energy hit him with such force that Severus broke the connection. He could have resisted it, but he thought he should at least give some feedback on it.

''Better. However, you are still trying to attack rather than defend. Walls and shields should be the answer, not force. By the time you gather enough energy to hurl at me, I've seen several memories already. Again.'' It was getting rather late, but he didn't want to send Potter away just yet, not now he'd gotten to the interesting parts. As he dived in this time, Severus tried to steer what he saw, instead of looking at the first memories that presented themselves. He wanted to know more about the time that Potter had spent in the presence of the Dark Lord. How had the boy gone from trying to kill the man to following him?

_Talks, so many talks with Voldemort. Finally receiving answers to questions he'd had for years that Dumbledore had refused to speak of. Giving cooking instructions to Barty when the Death Eater refused to let him cook because he was hurt -so unlike the Dursleys-. Stories about his parents from people who hadn't been friends with them and could give a more objective view. Compassion from Barty, who even took him out for dinner on his birthday. Rituals that were, though painful, explained and interesting. He connected to Nagini, he _ _ **was ** _ _Nagini_ _ **.** _

''**No**!''Potter cried out, throwing him out again, with more force this time than before.

''Far too slow again,'' Snape said, displeased. ''You are not erecting any barriers to** prevent** me from entering.'' He sighed in frustration. ''Enough for today, we shall continue Wednesday evening. I expect you to practise these next days. Empty your mind, meditate. I've seen in your mind that you** can** do so. You merely need to enable yourself to apply that knowledge in any situation instead of only when you are relaxed already.''

Potter left quickly, grabbing his bag and snake fang pendant without another word.

Severus sat down and leaned into the chair, closing his eyes to recall all the memories he had just seen. It made him… ** understand** Potter, something he absolutely didn't want. Why oh why did he have to do this? What was the Dark Lord looking for?

He pushed back the sleeve of his robe and gazed pensively at the Dark Mark there, faded though it was. He wouldn't report anything yet, it was too early for that. Perhaps at the end of the week, when Potter had made some more progress. In two hours, he'd barely been able to cast Severus from his mind twice using only mental energy. It wasn't much, especially not since Potter went at it all wrong by going on the offensive. Gryffindors… Severus sometimes really wondered how Dumbledore had ended up in Gryffindor. Had the old man also been so rash and hot-headed in his youth? It was hard to imagine.

At least some of his own curiosity had been sated. The combination of Potter's broken childhood; people like Dumbledore who tried to shield the boy by withholding painful answers; and people like Crouch and the Dark Lord who readily offered those answers, had basically shoved him into the Dark Lord's arms. It also helped that the views and methods used now by the Dark side truly were not as radical as they had been before. Well, Severus was not going to complain, he'd always preferred the Dark Arts. A flash of one of Potter's memories came to mind again: the boy had seen through the eyes of the Dark Lord himself, who had in turn reminisced about the time he'd met Magic.

Severus let that sink in for a long moment, not knowing what to focus on first: that Potter truly did have a strong mental link to the Dark Lord, strong enough to see in his head, or that said man had** really** been chosen by Magic as he claimed. When Severus had been young, he'd of course heard from his mother about Lords of Magic, but he'd always believed that to be a fairy tale for children and gullible Pure-bloods. Now, he was forced to rethink that statement.

Even if Severus didn't know what he was searching for, these lessons might prove to be very useful after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spell translation for the storm ritual: Manannan Mac Lir (God of Sea/Rain/Storm), Keeper of the Gates, summon the wind from the North, cold and storm, at Hogwarts  
I hope it is all gramatically correct, I'm very sorry if there is a mistake in my Gàidhlig.


	50. Secrets of the Heart

''Eventful day, wasn't it?''

Harry didn't open his eyes as he felt the bed dip when the Horcrux appeared. The day's rest had clearly done the young Dark Lord some good, he was far more corporeal today than usual. Harry had been thinking about everything that had happened within the last few hours, all the while trying to adjust the rolled-up mandrake leaf stuck beneath his tongue. It was thankfully small enough to keep speaking without any difficulty, but he'd found out that it made everything he drank taste weirdly grass-like.

''Not sure if I would call it that,'' he replied. ''Worrying, more likely.'' With everything that was going on already, the last thing he needed was more lessons with Dumbledore and Snape. The one bright spot was that these Occlumency lessons weren't given by the Headmaster personally. He would have rather fled Hogwarts than let Dumbledore in his head. Snape was only marginally better…

''I know what you mean. This Snape may be a Death Eater, there are still many things you know that my followers shouldn't.''

''How much did you see?'' Harry curiously asked.

''Of what he saw in your head? Nothing. I also won't unless I use Legilimency on you at the same time, which might reveal my presence if Snape is as well-apt at the skill as he seems to be. It creates quite the dilemma. Learning Occlumency **is** a great opportunity, and you can't say no to it if Dumbledore ordered it and might check on your progress. However, if you do not become proficient in it** fast**, you will reveal far too many of my secrets, perhaps even my presence. And in case of Snape reporting back to my older self… no, I can't have that. Did he see any memories that would link to me personally?''

''No, there were some flashes from before Hogwarts and my first years here, until the summer I met Voldemort. I suspect that he was very interested in those, I got the feeling that he saw far more memories about that than anything else. That was more than a year still before I met you.''

''It was all chronological?''

''Yeah, I think so. Isn't it supposed to be?'' He sat up now and looked at the Horcrux, whose eyes showed flecks of red that hinted at agitation.

''Everyone stores their memories differently, we can use to our advantage that you now know how your mind works. So, we have until Wednesday to build up your mental defences.''

''Snape said to empty my mind. I've been trying just now but thoughts keep popping up. I can just hear him already: 'Didn't try hard enough, did you Potter?'' He sighed deeply at that, whereas the Horcrux merely threw him an amused look.

''You already told me at the very start that he is a horrible teacher, I'm not surprised that he can't properly explain Occlumency,'' it started on a haughty tone that promised a lengthy explanation. Harry didn't even ask, only sitting even more upright to give the Horcrux his undivided attention. ''The only point where I agree fully with Snape is that magic is not an exact science. What he failed to see, however, is what this means for you as a student trying to learn something so subtle and fickle as mental protection using magic. You have to be allowed enough time and opportunities to find your own way, which he did not provide.

From his little speech before, I figured out the way that his mental blockades work: he associates each memory with a certain emotion. When he then empties his mind and cancels out all emotions, the memories become impossible to grasp. When someone would attempt Legilimency on him, they might notice the presence of thoughts and memories, but nothing can call those forward, they remain untouchable. This can only be broken by someone… well, someone like** me**, whose Legilimency tactics are designed to invoke chaos and pain in the mind to break the Occlumens' concentration that calms their emotions in the first place. Naturally, I doubt that this is his** only** tactic, he is most likely also able to cast someone out of his thoughts much like you did with him, and can insert false memories, but those are advanced steps that we can take after you have a basic defence.''

''Which you will teach me in… what, two days?''

''We don't have** time** the next days. No, it's best if you get it down tonight.''

Harry let out a disbelieving laugh at that, but the Horcrux' serious expression didn't change. ''I barely managed to expel him from my mind and that was after two hours! I'm dead tired now, you can't expect me to-'' he halted and leaned back slightly as the Horcrux raised a pale finger to Harry's lips.

''Oh, I'm sure you can with the right** motivation**,'' it spoke sinisterly. It moved fluidly, pressing the tips of its fingers against Harry's temples while staring directly into his eyes. ''I am not your teacher, I am not bound to any** rules**. I will tell you of possible methods to create the first basic barrier and you will follow my instructions to the letter. Fail to do so, and I will dig up the most **excruciating **memories I can possibly find. Oh yes, it's an added bonus that your protection against attacks doesn't work on me.''

Harry opened and closed his mouth, then just glared at the Horcrux. ''Before we try that, could you first use the mirror to talk to Voldemort about this? He might be interested in knowing that Snape is digging through my mind and possibly finds out about Horcruxes and all that. Maybe none of this will be necessary if your older self forbids Snape from continuing.''

The Horcrux withdrew and ran a hand through its neatly-styled hair. ''Perhaps,'' it murmured. ''Don't think this will keep me from teaching you Occlumency, but then we won't be in such a hurry.''

A rushing sound filled Harry's ears and he blinked a couple of times. Next he knew, the Horcrux sat on the other side of his bed and the two-way mirror of Barty lay on the blanket. ''He wasn't available,'' it informed him in an annoyed voice. ''Crouch answered the call and said that my older self was out. He** also** assured me however, that we shouldn't worry about Snape. It seems that your dear Potions Professor knew better than to snoop in your mind without permission and had the sense to also talk to my older self about it. Crouch didn't say much else about it.''

''I suppose I should have expected that,'' Harry grumbled. ''Snape is a very self-preserving bastard. I don't get** why** Voldemort would give him permission though!''

''It is unimportant now. Let's continue, we've lost enough time.''

Harry groaned and fell back into his pillow. ''You know, sometimes I wish I wasn't involved in this mess at all. Not even in 'I don't want to be someone famous'… Can I trade my general physical existence for something else so I don't have to put up with expectations anymore? Becoming a concept sounds nice.''

The Horcrux just stared at him. ''Is that really a philosophical discussion you want to have now?'' it asked, sounding a bit baffled. ''It is an interesting idea and technically, people could give up their physical forms to become something else entirely but-''

Harry chuckled. He sometimes forgot that his sense of humour didn't align much with Voldemort's. ''It was a joke, forget it. Well, I don't have a better plan than you teaching me Occlumency before Snape sucks my brain out, so go ahead.''

The Horcrux threw him one more strange look, as if it was concerned for Harry's mental state. Maybe it was. ''Good. There are three main methods that can be used in preventing a Legilimens from accessing your thoughts. First of all, we have the method I described before which Snape uses: making your thoughts impossible to touch. Secondly, you can conceal them: warp or blur the memories so much that a Legilimens can barely get any readable information from them. Thirdly, there is a full block, which I use myself. Instead of influencing the way you store or present your memories, it affects the mind in its entirety and builds an invisible wall around it. This does, however, require copious amounts of **imagination**, which I am unsure you possess. In either case, we'll try all three. If none fit you, we'll have to get creative.''

''Do I need my wand?''

''No. I haven't the faintest why Snape told you to pick up your wand, it isn't necessary to perform Occlumency. Perhaps he wished to see if you would instinctively react physically rather than mentally?''

Harry shrugged at that, unable to answer any questions about the motivations that drove Snape to do anything. If he could read the surly man, he'd have made another fortune by predicting Snape's actions and selling that information to the Weasley Twins. ''Then let's do this.''

''Good. For the first method, I want you to take on a meditative stance as if you are preparing for a ritual. We'll do this on a small scale first. Take hold of a few specific memories and link them to some strong emotions. Then, let go of those emotions. Practise that a couple of times until you get a feeling for how to. Expand the idea to a larger scale. When I enter your mind, I want you to let go of the feeling that any memory I touch invokes in you. If I look at something that makes you angry, let go of that anger and the memory should slip from my grasp. It is all about control and reaction time. Too little focus, and I can easily invoke strong feelings again. Too slow, and I will have seen the full memory before you can take it away from me. Understood?''

''Vaguely,'' Harry spoke with uncertainty. ''I get theory, but how to put it into practise is still beyond me.''

''That's what practise is for.''

''It isn't much practise when I know failing will give you full access to my most private thoughts,'' he countered with a growl. ''What did you even mean with 'excruciating memories'?''

''Oh, I'm sure I'll find something. Even if your mind naturally works chronologically, a skilled Legilimens can find memories tied to specific emotions easily no matter where they are if not properly disguised or shielded. The most effective way for you to resist is for me to search for things you do not want me to see. From what I heard, Snape mostly saw memories tied to fear… but you are not ashamed of fear, are you Harry? You overcame many of your fears, you grew stronger. You wouldn't mind showing me that.''

''Just… let's get on with it,'' Harry said, starting to feel uncomfortable. He didn't really want to know upfront what memories the Horcrux would be searching for instead. It wasn't as if he'd have a choice. Breathing in deeply, Harry took a relaxed position to meditate. It came easily to him, although even in a meditative state, he could never fully expel his emotions. As told, he searched for some random memories, although he found that he didn't need to tie them to emotions, they already were. No matter which event of the past came to mind, he always felt** something** already. How was he supposed to 'let go' of those? He tried his best to try and feel neutral about transpired events, suppressing every flare of anger, fear or joy that he felt. He wasn't sure if it worked, but eventually signalled that he was ready to try.

''Look at me.''

Jerking up his head, he met the Horcrux's eyes, which were widened slightly and had turned back to dark green, illuminated by Harry's wand, which lay next to them. Voldemort really had had beautiful eyes before they'd turned red…

''_**Legilimens**_.''

Pain crashed down on him, and Harry had absolutely no chance of even attempting to take note of any emotions tied to the memories that flashed before his eyes as the Horcrux tore through his mind. Other than with Voldemort however, Harry at least** saw** whatever it was looking at. Not as much as with Snape, but he was aware of the memory itself instead of only being consumed by anguish. He saw himself, standing in anger in the Dursley's living room as Aunt Marge insulted his parents and was blown up as a result. It ended as abruptly as it had started, and Harry scrambled away a bit to put as much distance between them as possible - which was a difficult feat considering they both sat on a single bed.

''I thought you were going to train me in how to resist** Snape**!'' he spoke, a tad angry. ''This is** completely** different from the Legilimency he performs!''

''As I said, I was not in your mind at the same time as Snape was,'' the Horcrux stiffly spoke. ''His technique may differ from mine. However, the principle of defence remains the same, you should not make it dependent on the Legilimens who casts the spell on you. That would require developing multiple techniques, which would weaken each individual one. The same goes for Legilimency: I specialise in force, not precision or subtlety. Should I attempt to invade your mind more… gently, you would find it far easier to shake me off than is the case with Snape, as I am unused to it.''

Harry rubbed his forehead, the pain from before still lingered somewhat. He absolutely hated Legilimency,** especially** the way that Voldemort, and apparently his younger self too, did it. ''But like this, I'm not even properly **in** the memory, it's as if watching it from the outside. If that's the case, it's best to instantly teach me how to create a wall instead of trying multiple techniques. I can barely see the memory you're looking at through all the pain, and with Voldemort that's even worse. There's no way that I can get a hold of my own memories long enough to blur them or erase the emotions or whatever.''

''As I** just said**,'' it spoke, getting an impatient tone. ''You should not make it dependent on the Legilimens!''

Harry tried very hard to control himself and was rather proud for not punching the other's face in or shouting. He didn't know how to get it through the Horcrux's thick skull that in order to learn how to defend his mind, he evidently needed to find the best way to defend against the one he was practising with. He could only hope that it would also work on Snape, of course. There was no way that he could succeed in Occlumency techniques that depended on changing anything about his own memories if he was too busy combatting pain to notice which memories were being sifted through. ''Sometimes, you are a brilliant teacher,'' he said in exasperation. ''And sometimes you can be really thick.''

He regretted those words when the Horcrux lunged at him and a wand -his own holly wand, he noticed – was pressed against the hollow of his throat. ''Careful, Harry. I'm not doing any of this for fun, so I will use any methods necessary to make you comply.''

Taking a large risk in the hope of that the Horcrux wouldn't wish to lose teaching time on harming Harry, he swatted the wand away. Even the slight, shocked widening of the Horcrux's eyes at Harry's audacity was **very** satisfying. ''I was only trying to make it clear to you why I know it won't work the way you're asking of me right now!'' he countered, trying not to be intimidated. ''I want to learn this as quickly as possible too, so also take my feedback into account. Please, just try to teach me how to put up a wall first, if that doesn't work then I'll give up and move on to the other thing you mentioned or practice this one again. The fact that** you** use a barrier yourself, also does make me trust in it a bit more than the other approaches if I'm honest.''

The wand disappeared altogether, though the Horcrux still gave him a suspicious look with narrowed eyes. Not for the first time, Harry wished it would have allowed him to try and connect like he had to the other Horcruxes. He really wondered what it was feeling right now. Had Harry succeeded in appeasing the other a bit? Feeling confident, he added: ''Also, as you were so adamant about digging up memories I dislike as motivation, you might want to ease down on the pain a little bit. Can't motivate me if I barely notice what you're looking at.''

It hissed softly in displeasure. ''I'll agree to it at the start,'' it finally spoke. ''Only because you are **so **incompetent and need an easy learning curve.'' It was clearly meant as mockery, but Harry simply shrugged that off. He didn't have energy to waste on stupid power plays. If he could learn Occlumency like this, why take extra hurdles? ''Although the last memory I saw made me curious… Every single person I have seen the mind of had something to dig up… dirty secrets, uncomfortable moments… Yet using magic on a Muggle who insulted you was your most shameful memory?''

''I used to be ashamed of much,'' Harry admitted, relaxing a bit at the Horcrux's words. So it hadn't been able to find anything 'excruciating'? That was great to know. ''Of my own existence, of bothering my family… I grew out of that as soon as I realised how much they'd used me. Afterwards, I was only ever ashamed of small things. Having to lie to my friends for example, or losing control of my magic like you saw just now. None of it affects me a great deal though, I know some things are necessary or beyond my grasp.''

It didn't look like the Horcrux was very happy with that answer, for he abruptly continued with: ''Creating a barrier it is then. You need not empty your mind for this, instead throwing up a blockade to make your mind impenetrable. The disadvantage is that you will need to keep it intact at any moment you suspect anyone could try to look into your mind. It will drain your energy and magic, especially at the start when creating it is not second nature to you yet.''

''That's fine. Better than anything I have now. Hey, does the necklace I have work similarly? It, too, just blocks attempts to look at my thoughts, right?''

''It does, but to a far lesser extent. You cannot rely on items forever. The first step is shielding visualisation: close your eyes and picture looking at yourself. As you do so, imagine a bubble forming around your head. It doesn't need to be a bubble per se, think of anything that you feel comfortable having as a protective barrier. Flames, smoke, fabric to name a few examples… Imagine it encasing your head entirely, forming a layer between you and the rest of the world.'' Harry had less trouble with it than he'd thought he would, picturing thick black smoke to wrap around his head. He drew inspiration from both the tendrils of smoke that the Horcrux used as a defensive mechanism, as well as the creeping black shadows that Voldemort created at times he was agitated.

''Now settle this shield, make it** real** by feeding it with magic from within. Remember, all magic does is to change the world around us, it can enhance mental energy just as easily as summoning physical objects out of nothing. Try to feel that spark of power deep within your chest, connect it to the image you just formed and tell it what you want. You control everything it does, Harry,'' the Horcrux spoke, spurring him on. ''Finally,** mentally**, so nonverbally and wandlessly, cast the spell_**Occlumens**_.''

The Gryffindor did as told, using the words as guidance to envision his next steps. He felt something, a warmth that spread through his entire body , going all the way up to the top of his head. He could see the smoke that whirled around his own mind, sparks of electricity shooting through it as he fed it his magic-

''Stop, stop!'' the other harshly commanded, and Harry abruptly opened his eyes. It didn't do much, he only saw smoke, which instantly started filling his lungs as he tried to speak. Panicking, Harry tried to search for his wand. As his concentration broke however, the barrier broke with it. The smoke that had filled the air between the closed bed hangings disappeared on its own. ''Too much!'' the Horcrux spoke, shaking its head. ''You made it** too** real. Good thing that I can use your wand and cast a shield charm, else we'd have woken up everyone in this room with that aggressive magic.''

Harry rubbed his eyes and kept coughing, his throat burned like hell… ''Maybe smoke wasn't such a good idea,'' he spoke with uncertainty.

''Nonsense, it worked miraculously well.** Too** well, but you'll just have to tone it down a tad. Your problem is that you tried making it too physical. It needs to stay a** mental** barrier. Try it again.'' If Harry didn't know better about how much of a bastard the Horcrux was, he'd almost have thought there to be a hint of approval in the other's voice. Surely imagination…

It took a few more times before Harry thought he got a grip of it, no smoke appearing in the room itself anymore. The Horcrux had advised him to imagine his mind as a physical place, so he'd created a mental image very reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, fireplace and all. Once he had that, it was much easier to imagine the smoky barrier as encasing the walls of the room. At long last, the Horcrux indicated that it'd try to perform Legilimency again. He steeled himself for the moment, trying to visualise his shield with his eyes open now so he wouldn't be caught by surprise at the spell.

''_**Legilimens**_!''

He resisted for all of three seconds, after which he was so overwhelmed by surprise at actually succeeding, that the concentration slipped from his grasp. As a result, he was sucked up in the streams of his own memories, which he saw properly now that there was barely any pain as it had promised._ Harry was thirteen, and desperately tried to cast the Patronus Charm to protect his Godfather. It wasn't enough, he wasn't strong enough. Anguish engulfed him as he realised his own failure, tears stung as black spots started to appear in his vision. He'd failed to protect Sirius…_

''_That's not true!'' Harry shouted. The smoke was useless on the walls now, so he gave it a new purpose, using it similarly to how the Horcrux always did, forming tendrils that ensnared the hostile presence in his mind, trying to capture it. ''I saved him in the end!'' The presence was too fast, escaping the lunging coils of smoke, diving into the next memory, where Harry was forced to follow._

_Harry was fourteen and caught in a nightmare, a massive black dragon chasing him through a forest. Teeth blinked, claws ripped up the ground and trees all around. Fear shot up in his throat, until the moment where Voldemort arrived and reduced the beast to nothing. Harry was thankful, but beneath that, uncomfortable. The man he looked up to had just seen him running away from danger instead of facing it. Harry had needed protection from something as stupid as a dream…_

''_No! That's private!'' he yelled. He balled the smoke in his mind up to a tight ball and blasted it at the Horcrux._

''Effective,'' it said as they both returned to the normal world, away from entangled thoughts and wisps of dreams. Harry panted hard, feeling sweat running over his back. All muscles were aching, which was a very unpleasant and unexpected side effect, considering he was trying to practise his** mental** resistance. ''But not enough.''

Harry barely had time to put his shield back in place and enforce it with more magic when he was assaulted again.

''_Private, hmm? What else do you consider private, Harry?_'' _The mental force pushed on the shield for much longer now, but then there was a flare of pain and the Horcrux broke through. Harry should have known that it wouldn't play fair._

_Harry stared at younger version of the current Horcrux, the diary, watching as it spoke and observing how good he looked…. He was in the Quidditch changing rooms, looking away each time he found his gaze drifting to Oliver Wood's naked back as the Keeper showered… Voldemort leaned in, pushing a finger into Harry's mouth to heal the blisters after his mouth had been burned by that damned ritual, lingering a bit longer than necessary… Clouds of dark, delicious magic rushed over him for the first time after Voldemort's resurrection and he practically curled up against the man's still naked body… Harry had a great time dancing with Ginny at the Yule Ball, although the dancing felt all wrong, and he pushed the thought away of how much more pleasant it would be with someone of a different stature altogether… _

_He fought against this new turn of events in slight panic. What was the Horcrux even searching for? What was this? He struggled to break free again, to form another bullet of smoke to fire at the other, but his willpower failed. Emotions and feelings he'd pushed down for years were being ripped to the surface and examined, and as much as Harry wanted to stow it all away, he was also _ _wondering where this was going._

_Harry healed Voldemort's hands, staring at them in fascination, the skin was so soft, so beautiful… That same hand curled around his throat and two blazing red eyes were the only thing he could make out in Voldemort's bedroom, which he'd apparated straight into when imagining 'safety'… He downed the alcohol quickly at Lughnasadh after an onslaught of confusing feelings at seeing a peek of a perfect, exposed patch of leg… Harry dove into a memory of a memory, seeing Voldemort's encounter with Morfin Gaunt again, first thought on his mind how tall, dark and handsome Riddle looked_.

Without doing anything himself, Harry was flung back to reality, staring at the Horcrux in horror as soon as he opened his eyes again, which he'd screwed shut in pain. It had a disturbing glint in its eyes and before Harry could say anything, it started laughing hysterically. Unable to bear it, Harry ripped open the bed curtains and fled to the bathroom, trying to block out the sound. He didn't care about waking up his roommates anymore, he felt too sick and ashamed right now to think of anything else. All the little pieces he'd try to deny over the years now clicked together. How had he been so blind? So obtuse?

''You didn't** know**?'' the Horcrux taunted him, materialising out of thin air.

''Shut **up**, **SHUT UP**!'' Harry screamed, curling up in a ball of misery.

The bathroom door crashed open, and a panicked Ron ran in, crouching down. '''Harry? Harry, what's wrong? Merlin, you gave us all the fright of our lives! Hey, what happened?''

Harry couldn't speak anymore, shaking his head furiously and wiping away tears as they formed. His friend sat next to him in awkward silence. Behind them, Harry could hear the voices of Seamus and Neville, though he didn't listen to what they were saying. It took him long to calm down again, very long, and it spoke for Ron's character that he didn't just leave. Harry didn't think he'd have had the patience. ''Sorry for the noise,'' he finally said, taking a few deep breaths, ''I don't know what to say. I… I had a nightmare and… I realised something about myself.'' He had to force those words out. Leaving them unspoken would have been so much easier at this moment, but Harry knew that if he wouldn't put them out in the open, he'd just push it away again and pretend all was well.

''Hey, come on, let me help you back to bed, this floor is really cold and uncomfortable,'' Ron spoke, clearly trying to light up the mood a bit. Harry complied, refusing to meet the eyes of his dormmates, not wanting to know the level of their annoyance over being woken up in the middle of the night. Because he was so busy not looking anywhere, Harry didn't realise where the Horcrux had moved to until he sat down on his own bed.

Two arms came up from behind, holding him in a steel grip before he had a chance to react. Ron was still trying to talk to him, but Harry's brain was trying to catch up to the Horcrux's words that were being whispered into his ear at the same moment: ''That was an insensitive reaction of me, Harry. Let me make it up to you.''

''No,'' Harry rasped out, breaking free and standing up again, interrupting his poor friend mid-sentence. ''I… I mean…'' he stammered as he finally took in the expressions of the others. Seamus looked rather angry, Dean had his eyebrows raised, and Neville was fussing over his plant, maybe in an attempt to avoid having to partake in the situation. Harry wished he also had a plant to cuddle right now. It would make things a lot easier than having to deal with people. ''Thank you. Really, but you're all missing sleep because of me. Sorry for the ruckus, I'll be fine. Just need… some time. Time and rest. Ron, can we talk about this later?''

''Of course, mate, but you're** sure** this has nothing to do with dark magic? Or You-Know-Who?''

Harry, who hadn't realised that that had been the topic before and could understand Ron's concern even better now, furiously shook his head. ''No, nothing,'' he adamantly stated, his voice sounding oddly high at the lie. He looked back to his bed, where the Horcrux was staring at him unblinkingly. ''Maybe I'll go out for a bit. Clear my head,'' he decided. Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed his invisibility cloak from the corner of his trunk that it was always stored in, then stormed down the stairs and out of the portrait hole.

''You can't **run** from me,'' The blasted Horcrux appeared again, the locket flaring up burning hot against Harry's skin.

''Yeah well, I can't really** talk** to you with everyone watching, okay? It would be very suspicious if I started renewing the silencing charms on my bed before everyone's definitely asleep again, and who knows when that'll be! I've wasted enough of tonight. I'm tired, and a mess, and… and… That really was damned insensitive of you,'' he finished lamely, anger fading away. Not having planned on going anywhere in particular, Harry sat down at the edge of the corridor, pulling the cloak tight around his body, uncovering only his head. - there were no portraits in this particular part of the castle that could see his disembodied head - Merlin, how he wished Barty was here now. Someone he could talk to who would understand what was going on. Someone who wasn't Voldemort, or a piece of the man.

The Horcrux stared down on him, green eyes looking slightly golden in the light of the wall torch nearby. Even that couldn't disguise the fact that there was nothing positive in its gaze. Merely a cold unfeelingness. ''So start talking now,'' it said.

Harry folded his arms over his own knees and plopped his head down on them. ''This isn't something that can be solved in a civil, logical conversation,'' he warned.

''Just get a grip on your emotions then!''

''I don't** want** to,'' he countered. ''Just because** you** deem logic to be the only proper way to view this world doesn't mean I have to abide by that. I feel things and it's good like that. I just have to… sort it out a bit now.'' Perhaps the Horcrux finally understood, or perhaps it was smart enough to interpret Harry's pleading look as a sign to stay silent now. In either case, it nodded curtly and sat down on the opposite wall of the rather narrow corridor, leaving about five feet between them.

It still wasn't quite enough, but after throwing the cloak over his head again, Harry couldn't see the Horcrux clearly through the fabric. That solution would have to do for now. Usually, dealing with bad situations involved locking himself up in a cupboard or room for days. He didn't have that time now, unfortunately.

Where to even start… All those memories, the little moments that he'd tried to ignore or interpreted incorrectly, now forced their way to the surface all at once, determined to be noticed. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Hermione before the Yule Ball. Well, he had an answer now… or did he? He was attracted to guys, that was something he could say with certainty after seeing all memories packed together like this. The realisation still felt off, as if it was a far-away idea. He'd been quite content on staying away from naming himself anything until he would have fallen in love with a person of either gender.

He felt that he didn't actually mind the fact that he felt attracted to guys so much as that all of his life. Maybe about a year ago, he would have because of all the negativity from the Dursleys about 'that sort of people' and the casual mocking remarks about gay people in the boy's dorms in 'good fun'. Now, he was bit older and after not only finding out that the Dark Lord himself liked men, but also reading all of Regulus' experiences and feelings, he was much more comfortable with the notion.

However… he'd imagined falling head over heels with that one perfect person when the moment came.** This**… this had nothing to do with** love**. He was attracted, sure… was that enough? It felt so bleak, especially knowing that the one he felt most attraction to -discounting brief peaks in Quidditch showers- was the one man he couldn't imagine ever being with. No matter Harry's feelings, Voldemort…

\- He took a deep breath as he admitted once and for all to himself that yes, he **had** feelings for Voldemort –

Voldemort was an impossibility when it came to confessing, for so many more reasons than he could even count now. The man's aversion to attachment; the way their bond was vastly unequal, both having a teacher-student and a Lord-follower relationship; the massive age gap; the fact that nothing in the world would make Harry able to forget that this man still had the blood of Harry's parents and countless other innocents on his hands. And that was only the tip of the iceberg.

How messed up was it that despite all that, Harry only felt an aching in his chest when he tried to list all these logical reasons why it couldn't be, yearning that it wasn't so?

If only he'd never understood. Pushing each and every strange flare of emotion away had been a protection mechanism, he realised. Even subconsciously, he knew that Voldemort and he could never be, not in the way he wanted. To the Dark Lord, there were only two things in the world that mattered: himself and his task. There was nothing left for other people.

Or was there? Harry's thoughts went to Regulus' diaries again. Something must have happened. Even if it hadn't ended happily, it really had looked as if Voldemort had truly started to care for Sirius' younger brother.

''Are you done brooding yet?'' the Horcrux spoke, sounding highly annoyed. Harry withdrew the cloak from his head again and looked at the other.

''I'm fifteen, I'm never done brooding,'' he replied defensively. He turned a bit more serious when it raised a single eyebrow. ''Hey, when did you figure it out? That you, you know... are gay.'' He cringed a bit at stating it so bluntly.

''And why would you assume that I am?'' it asked in a slightly guarded tone.

''I know a thing or two about Voldemort, and unless your preferences suddenly changed, I'd assume them to be the same as his.''

The Horcrux took a moment to reply after studying Harry. ''I'm bisexual when it comes to attraction. However, as I never actually felt** love** or had a desire to start something permanent, it was easier to only date men. They're not so scornful as most women are when dropped. Especially not the ones who wanted to hide their nature.''

''So you never had a relationship?''

''That isn't what I said. But my main purpose was never the relationship itself. There was always something else that I wanted from the people I gave my attention to. You would be surprised by how quickly people surrender everything they own and are to another who dotes on them.''

Harry didn't know well how to respond. He didn't agree to using people like that, yet couldn't really blame Voldemort for not being **able** to feel love. Odd, in his previous stream of thoughts, he hadn't considered the Horcrux at all. It was also Voldemort in a way, and many of the obstacles he'd come up with didn't exist between them. The Horcrux was only a couple years older than he was, the power struggle went back-and forth instead of being completely in the Horcrux' hands and this version had never even seen Harry's parents.

In a twisted way, the words from before also encouraged him. If the Horcrux couldn't feel, and didn't care too much about things like emotions in relationships, surely it wouldn't mind… Slowly, Harry rose to his feet and stumbled forwards, eyes fixated on the Horcrux.

The young version of Voldemort… a piece of his soul. It held completely still as Harry crouched down in front of it and carefully placed his hands on the other's cheeks. It felt strange. While the Horcrux was rather solid, the edges still faded and Harry had to be careful not to touch the patches of skin that weren't entirely **there**. Having witnessed many memories of the Dark Lord now, Harry could really see how exactly this so handsome face had changed into Voldemort's serpentine one. They still had the same cheekbones, the same penetrating stare, the same deep dip at the temples.

''Voldemort,'' he whispered, lips an inch away from the other's. He let himself be drawn closer, a hand found its way into his messy black hair. They both held still then, two expectant gazes meeting.

''Harry, is this what you want?'' the Horcrux asked. The Gryffindor frowned. There was something about the question, no, the tone of voice, that threw him off. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing. This might be his only chance to settle all the new, confusing feelings that were whirling madly in his head. He needed comfort, for someone to tell him it was alright. He inched forwards until their lips met.

It felt wrong.

As soon as he'd touched those cold lips, Harry shot up again, staring at the Horcrux. There was nothing that he'd been expecting. No feeling of bliss, not even happiness. Only an uncomfortable coiling in his stomach. Harry swallowed heavily as his heart dropped. He'd succeeded completely in his attempts to painstakingly separate the Horcrux from Voldemort. It wasn't the same, and he felt dirty for even trying to somehow trick his own feelings by using the Horcrux. It wasn't fair, certainly not to the young Dark Lord who was merely giving him a stony look right now. It hadn't moved at all, hadn't even tried to reciprocate the awkward kiss. Harry wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not right now.

''I'm sorry,'' he rasped, standing up and scrambling to get over to 'his' wall again. ''I shouldn't have.''

''I thought so,'' it bitterly spoke, getting to its feet as well. ''Your heart is reserved only for my older self, isn't it? Don't feel so bad about it, Harry. From what you've told me, I'm sure he can do more with your feelings than I ever could. I have no need for anything besides magic and life.'' Harry didn't answer, only wrapping his arms and cloak tighter around himself. ''Return to bed, Harry. Your barrier should be good enough to keep Snape out after a few more attempts. You need rest now. And so do I.'' It cocked its head, lips curling into an attractive smirk. ''A tip, though. Next time you kiss someone, don't do it with a Mandrake leaf in your mouth unless the other person likes grass or dark green tea. I'm not one of those people, I can assure you.''

It disappeared into thin air before Harry's eyes, returning to the locket. He walked back to the Gryffindor dorms alone, in silence and shame.

That night, Harry was very grateful for the Sleeping Draughts the Horcrux always made him take. He doubted he could have slept a wink if not for the potions, plus he** really** did not want to find himself in a dream with Voldemort for once. It was a good thing that there were a few months left at the very least until he'd have to face the man again. Until then, he had enough time to get over his own impossible feelings, surely…

The following day, after far too little rest, he made a decision that took all of his willpower: whatever he'd found out about himself was unimportant right now. He was done thinking about flaws and setbacks as he'd done all of his life. There was a horrible teacher in the school that he wanted to be rid of, Dumbledore kept breathing down his neck, he had to take his O.W.L.s this year, he tried to become an Animagus and wanted to start leading a Défense club. And those were only his main focus points among a hundred pieces of homework to complete and books to read. There was far too much on his plate to be thrown of right now by his discovery of being attracted to guys. It could wait for quieter times.

The Great Hall was abuzz at breakfast, which wasn't too strange considering it housed several hundred students, but the amount of noise was unusual for this early in morning. Most talking was commonly done at lunch or dinner, so Harry instantly asked Hermione what had everyone so excited once he sat down. Ron plopped down next to him a few seconds later to him, all muddy from Quidditch training, whereas Hermione had taken a seat opposite them.

''There's been news,'' she spoke, a tad grimly, and then looked over to the teacher's table. Umbridge was talking adamantly and with a beet-red face to Professor McGonagall, who seemed to have mastered not only the art of turning into a cat, but into a statue as well with how stony-faced she was. ''Our dear Professor doesn't like it. Here, try to not read it very openly, she's literally ripped the Prophet out of people's hands and burned it.'' Hermione's tone showed exactly how disapproving she was of burning anything that had written words on it.

Harry tried to inconspicuously take the Prophet she reached him under the table and read it while it lay in his lap so it wouldn't be so obvious what he was doing.

_ **Hand of Magic reveals itself.** _

_Only two months after the first words being spoken about the illegal slave trade in mainland Europe by Ms Fleur Delacour, Triwizard Tournament Champion, the underground operations are slowing to a halt. Before official authorities came to an agreement on a course of action, a vigilante group hunted down and dismantled many auction circles, freeing hundreds of Beings and Beasts from the bonds of slavery. This group, whom we learned identifies itself as 'The Hand of Magic' refused to speak to either the press or Ministries, and even failed to comply to a summons from the International Confederation of Wizards. That is, until today, when a spokesperson from the Hand of Magic -whose identity is being protected - came forward and contacted the press to spread a message and explain his group's actions._

'_Our world has been in constant imbalance over the centuries. Wars, fluctuations in population, policies against certain types of magic… All that has contributed to the slow decline of our society, and mages squabble amongst ourselves to climb to the top, often overlooking one important fact: to have magic survive, we must unite. All who have been given magic should have the opportunity to use their given birth-right, including magical beast and beings. We have taken it upon ourselves to right these wrongs in the absence of a Lord of Magic here in Europe.'_

_The spokesperson refused to go into detail about further plans after eradicating creature slavery, only indicating they are far from done yet. The Ministries of Magic in various countries have issued a reward for anyone who can provide solid information on members of the 'Hand of Magic' as they are regarded as criminals due to their violent attacks and executions of assumed slavers._

Harry folded up the Prophet and handed it back to Hermione under the table. ''Sounds like they're doing good work,'' he said. By the way her eyes shone, it was clear that she wanted to discuss it. ''I'm glad that at least someone took action after Fleur told Mr Noctua what was going on.'' It felt strange to talk about Voldemort's pseudonym so casually after yesterday, but he couldn't let his friends know anything was up. Ron thankfully hadn't yet touched the topic of his 'nightmare' yet.

''They're not going about it the right way though. Why didn't they just publicise the names of those presumed guilty? There were public **executions**!''

''They're trying to help creatures, who probably won't be very happy if their former 'masters', all wizards and witches, are judged by a system that has systematically favoured magicians throughout history. Some names **were** made public, at the start, and what were the results? There have been very few trials and most ended in fines or a couple years in prison at most. The public opinion has not changed enough yet for the Ministry to stick out their necks and risk the gold of exactly those politicians or 'philanthropists' who are being accused.''

''I also think they deserve what they got,'' Ron threw in.

''So you agree to what this Hand of Magic is doing?'' Hermione asked in disapproval, looking at the both of them.

Harry nodded. ''Mostly. As soon as someone thinks it is okay to buy a sentient being as a slave to own, they deserve punishment, and I** know** that won't happen if there wouldn't be organisations like this that go around and enforce it. The governments stayed silent for the longest time, probably in the hopes of being able to ignore the whole issue altogether. Only when people took matters in their own hands, were they forced to react, make statements, arrest suspects etcetera.''

''Punishment yes… Death?'' Neville threw in, who had been silently listening to their conversation. ''It sounds so extreme. Sure, buying creatures and treating them like pets is bad but…''

''It's not just the owning, they didn't find a single creature that hadn't been mistreated. Even those who were physically relatively unscathed, have emotional scars. Separation from friends and family, isolation, hunger and cold from obedience training and so on. Some of them were used for force-breeding, by Merlin! It doesn't get any sicker than that. Anyone who condones that shouldn't ever be allowed in society again. Personally, I'd be for a life-sentence in Azkaban, but death might arguably be more effective and humane than being swarmed by dementors for the rest of one's life.''

''I don't know what to think about it…'' Hermione sighed. ''You're right in that it's better than nothing. I just wish it had attracted a less violent group. To me, it sounds as if this _Hand of Magic_ is just using this as a publicity boost for their own image, to then push a more questionable agenda. They use the slogan 'to have magic survive, we must unite', in a positive way to explain why they are freeing creatures, right? What happens if they get people to agree to that idea and later use it to create an us versus them between a united magical population and Muggles instead? It sounds to me like only magic matters to them, and we've heard that before from the mouths of two Dark Lords in the past hundred years. 'Magic is Might' isn't so different from what they're shouting now, is it?''

''At least they don't seem to believe in You-Know-Who's return,'' Ron commented. ''If they claim to be acting to fill the gap of an absent Lord of Magic.''

''Not sure if that's positive or negative to be honest.''

''How so?''

Hermione lowered her voice and looked them in the eyes. ''It might mean that we have** two** groups of exclusory magicians roaming about.''

Harry couldn't really add more to her theory, which he obviously knew was incorrect. The knowledge that it was just one very large group would probably not have eased her mind anyway. The article did give him some food for thought: it was obvious that Voldemort very much wanted to distance himself from this, at least for now. The _Hand of Magic_ had a very generalised name and operated in all of Europe instead of focusing on Britain. Moreover, they didn't only deny ties with Voldemort, they denied believing in the Dark Lord's return overall. They also didn't use any symbols or colours that could link to Voldemort either as far as Harry was aware. Even Dumbledore, who admittedly did often have a good guess of what was going on behind the scenes, wouldn't be able to come up with a solid enough theory that would link Voldemort to this apart from them having roughly the same base ideas about magic.

Not that the entire issue with the slave trade seemed to be much on Dumbledore's mind… He was far too obsessed with Voldemort's past for that now. Yesterday, Harry had been called to the man's office again, and been shown two memories: one of Caractacus Burke buying Slytherin's Locket from Merope and then Morfin Gaunt's memory of meeting Tom Riddle, when Voldemort stole the Peverell Ring before killing his father and grandparents in the Riddle House.

Harry was rather uneasy about how much Dumbledore circled closer and closer around the items that became Voldemort's Horcruxes. The Dark Lord** had** said that Dumbledore most likely suspected something after being able to examine the diary, but to have the Headmaster digging up so much more information about them was worrying. How much longer before Dumbledore would realise why Harry had such a strong connection to the Dark Lord?

At least there hadn't been any further moral talk, which he was grateful for. Each time Dumbledore tried to appease to Harry's sense of 'goodness', it only served as another reminder that the man didn't even trust him enough to speak of the Prophecy. One of these days, Harry feared that he would flip out and start shouting accusations.

He honestly didn't know what was better: Dumbledore focusing on Voldemort's past while clearly solidifying his theory about Horcruxes, or focusing on the current events and possibly seeing a connection with Voldemort's presumed inactivity and the actions of the Hand of Magic. It was like having to choose between Dragon Pox and Scrofungulus…

''Come on, we've got to go to class,'' Ron groaned, standing up and swinging his bag over his shoulder. ''At least it's just Charms. Did you get the Locomotion Charm down yet?''

Harry shook his head. ''Not completely. I manage to make items hover without a problem, but moving it in the right direction without making it crash into something at full force is difficult. I keep overpowering the spell.''

''You two just need a bit more practise,'' Hermione chimed in. ''Speaking of which,** Scourgify**,'' she spoke, pointing her wand at Ron's muddy robes and making a textbook-like smooth S-motion with steady hand. ''I doubt professor Flitwick would appreciate you bringing Quidditch practise into the classroom. Let's go.''

As soon as they were out of the Great Hall, Harry asked: ''Hey, why was Umbridge actually so mad about the article? I mean, they even seemed to condemn the actions of this vigilante group. It sounded as if they were on the Ministry's side.''

''Only because they have to if they don't want to get boycotted. It was already a scandal that they wrote about this issue in the first place without the Ministry's permission. There's usually heavy censure going on behind the scenes, I doubt Fudge and many Wizengamot members were happy with this can of worms being opened. As Umbridge hates Half-humans as she calls them, she is obviously against an organisation that strives for more rights and freedom for Creatures and Beings. As far as I could pick up, she is mostly angry about the fact that the identity of the spokesperson is being protected by the press that was in contact with this person. The Ministry basically put a 'wanted' sign on any people belonging to the _Hand of Magic_, yet the prophet is protecting them… You were right to trust this person who contacted you and Fleur. The press has changed much since Skeeter's disappearance. Was there ever news of where she went?''

He shrugged. ''Hear something about her moving to the States or something. No clue if that is true, those are only some rumours flying around.''

''Who knows,'' Ron chimed in. ''Good riddance is all I have to say. I'll never forgive her for that nasty article that she wrote about Harry!''

Quickly forgetting all thoughts about Rita Skeeter, they went about the rest of their day.

Time flew by again, filled as it was with lessons and an ever-growing pile of homework. Harry had been afraid that the Horcrux wouldn't show itself again after that kiss, but at the first sign of Harry struggling with the class material, it had been there, giving instructions in its usual cool tone. The Gryffindor couldn't deny a spark of joy at its appearance.

''You're forgetting something…'' it said. Harry had been sitting in the library with his friends, bent over a heap of opened books in a frantic attempt to find an interesting enough magical fungus for an upcoming Herbology project.

Harry hummed absentmindedly. It was his usual sign of 'I heard you but can't speak because of other people'.

''It's Wednesday, almost 7 'o clock in the evening. Snape reminded you this morning about the time of your Occlumency lesson. Do try to keep up with your schedule Harry, I do not enjoy being a personal alarm clock.''

''Oh fuck!'' he swore loudly. Almost instantly, Madam Pince came flying around the corner to berate him about the use of 'such language' in her library, and a couple of younger students giggled behind their hands. He ignored all of them while wildly packing his bag. ''Detention with Snape,'' he said, grimacing. His friends gave him a pitying look. He hadn't told them yet about what he was actually doing, still hoping that, if he performed well tonight, Snape would be forced to drop the lessons already.

''Ten points from Gryffindor for being late,'' Snape barked as Harry threw open the door of the potion master's office. ''And another five for not knocking.''

Harry gave a curt, mocking bow. ''Thank you very much, I'll tell Draco that I give him those fifteen points as a Christmas present,'' he spoke quippingly. Behind him, the Horcrux tried to suppress a chuckle, but Harry had already heard it and threw a smug look over his shoulder.

XxX

No sooner than Potter entered, a headache was already forming. ''Get in here,'' he hissed, slamming the door shut behind the bumbling Gryffindor with a flick of his wand. ''I don't have all evening to listen to your poor attempts at humour. Wipe that smirk off your face, Potter, if you will do as poorly today as you did the day before yesterday, you won't be laughing long.''

''I practised,'' the boy said with a slight pout. Severus frowned. If it wasn't for the boy's hair and skin colour, his face would have looked a lot like Lily's. Inwardly, he sighed, berating himself. He should keep a distance, professionalism. He'd tried to heed Lily's warning and not only see Potter as the boy's father's mirror image. It would be counterproductive to instead see Lily in him now.

''I'll hope for you that you did,'' he answered. Potter was already taking off the necklace that shielded his surface thoughts, playing it on the same shelf as last time. _**''Legilimens**_,'' he sharply spoke as soon as the boy turned around and their gazes met. Although he could see that Potter reacted fast, he didn't expect any resistance, the boy didn't even hold his wand yet.

It was thus a shock when his own mind slammed into a thick, coiling and electrifying barrier of dark smoke that didn't budge in the slightest at his first attempts. Each time Severus tried to push against it, he received shocks of mental energy that deterred him. He probably** could** break through with force if he wanted to, he deduced after a few more moments. The barrier wasn't as thick as it had initially felt after examining it for a while. The longer he pushed, the weaker it became, draining Potter's energy fast. He had to make a decision: retreat to give feedback, or move on now he still had the advantage.

The part of him that had been a teacher for over a decade - a side he hardly listened to – said one thing. His inner Slytherin won. It was an absolutely insane and terrifying miracle that Potter, who'd barely been able to throw him out twice in several hours only two days ago, suddenly had mastered the Art of Occlumency to such an extent that even Severus had a hard time entering the boy's mind. If he left now, he might not get another chance to explore Potter's mind at all anymore. Keeping the knowledge in mind that he couldn't actively** hurt** his student because of that damned shield spell he'd been told about, Severus carefully looked for any weak spots, ignoring the strain on his own magic as it suffered heavily due to the barriers. Once he'd found one, he intensified the Legilimency spell just a tad with a flare of magic. It was enough.

_Potter's mind had changed entirely, which was both fascinating and off-putting. Instead of jumping straight into a stream of memories, he found a rough mindscape. Albeit it had clearly been made by an amateur, the fact that Potter had been able to create a space in his mind in such little time was impressive. There was absolutely no way that the boy could make him believe to have done this all alone. Had this all been a test for Severus, set up by the Dark Lord, perhaps? Had he taught the boy Occlumency before after all?_

_He discarded the thought. Potter would never have let him see all of those childhood memories if it could have been prevented last time. Speaking of which, when he looked around and inspected the space further, he concluded that he might not see any of those anymore. Whatever had happened in this short time, Potter's mind was in utter disarray. Books were scattered everywhere through the room, a sign of a chaotic mind. He reached out for the first one that caught his eye, something that looked like a diary with ink bleeding from its heart._

''_Don't!'' Severus whirled around and was met with Potter. He thought it was, at least. Mental images of oneself were always rather different from the real self. The boy was a lot smaller and thinner than usually, and the lightning scar was much larger. A rather realistic picture of a lightning flash with various branches reached across the entire right cheek, almost down to the boy's chin. _

''_Then stop me,'' he replied calmly. Potter predictably lunged for the book he'd been looking at, so instead he grabbed one off another table, of which the cover showed a picture of a stained-glass window that he recognised from somewhere. As soon as he opened it, he was in familiar territory again._

… _The orange hue in the study at Malfoy Manor shifted as Voldemort dropped his shields for Harry, blissful magic crashing down on him. Arms caught him as he clung onto the man's robes… 'I'm not fucking addicted to you!' he yelled as he scrambled back from the embrace… _

_A tendril of dark smoke shot out and attacked Severus, who withdrew from the memory. He easily found another tunnel without returning to the room with books. Clearly, Potter didn't know how to properly set up a mindscape yet. He gave into his own curiosity. It was a promising start that the memory he'd seen had been about the Dark Lord. That was exactly what he wanted to find out some more information about._

… _Harry practically flew down the stairs when he recognised Voldemort's voice. He'd come to the Dursleys of all places, personally, just to pick Harry up? He watched in satisfaction and happiness as the man intimidated his family…_

_Severus sped up his pace. It appeared that the Dark Lord was somehow tied into Potter's distress, as all surface memories were about the man. He was followed by Potter's magic, but it wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough. Severus dug his own mind deep into his student's. If this was the last glimpse he'd be able to get, he'd use the time well. The Dark Lord hadn't ordered him to teach Potter Occlumency for nothing so suddenly, and _ _ **this** _ _ was most definitely a clear indication that there was a good reason behind it._

… _Drops of blood fell into a cauldron and Harry watched as Voldemort regained his form, unable to tear his eyes away from the newly formed, very naked body… They sat in the drawing room of Riddle manor on one of those many evenings where they'd run out of topics to talk about and read in silence instead. Magic and emotions filled the air, and Harry kept getting distracted by it, leaning ever closer to the Dark Lord until he realised he was almost curled into the other. Hastily, he avoided an amused gaze and buried his face in the book again… _

_A tendril grabbed hold of him and dragged him away from the memory. Severus turned and fled down another tunnel to avoid a large ball of crackling mental energy that was hurled his way. In a way, Potter had made it harder for himself to keep people out who were able to break through the initial barrier, by not regulating anything but the walls and that centre space. Still, he wouldn't be able to keep this up long anymore either. He needed to find clues, definite certainty of what was going on. He knew it had to do something to the Dark Lord, so he concentrated with all of his might to find memories within the past days that could have something to do with it. Images whirled past as he tried to avoid Potter's defensive mechanism._

… _Harry stared down at Voldemort's pale face as the man slept peacefully next to him – not distressing enough to cause such a shift and far too early._  
… Voldemort berated him about feeling unworthy in preparation of the shadow ritual – Still too early and not at Hogwarts besides that.  
… Harry stared up at green-and red flecked eyes, feeling an absolute mess after the conclusions he's just come to - There, there was something!

_Severus paused at the memory, looking at the two participants. One was Potter. And the other one… something was familiar about the young man, and he tried to let the memory fill in the gaps of his own knowledge._

… _Harry stumbled forwards, hands resting on the other's cheeks. 'Voldemort,' he whispered,_ _lips barely an inch away. He let himself be drawn closer, a hand found its way into messy black locks. They both held still, two expectant gazes meeting._

''_No! Get__** OUT!**__''_ Severus was flung away with more force than he ever thought Potter could possess, back into his own body. The memory was torn apart, but not before he'd seen Potter press his lips against the other. Remnants of information from what he had seen were still burned in him mind.

Voldemort. Soul-piece. **Horcrux**.

He sucked in deep breaths of air, the wind had been knocked out of him as the blast of magic from the boy had been so strong that it had shoved his body away too, into the wall. Fear shot in his throat as he caught sight of Potter. His student looked absolutely dishevelled, bright green eyes filled with wildness. A wand was pointed straight at Snape's heart.

He raised his hands carefully, there was no telling how far Potter would go in this state. ''Put down your wand,'' he ordered softly. ''Potter, put it away.''

''You had** no right**,'' the boy exclaimed, a tremble to his voice.

''I had every right. I am teaching you-''

''You could have retreated!'' Potter barked back, to which Severus stayed silent. It was true, there had been no value for the boy in staying so persistently. Doing so had purely been out of self-interest. He'd be damned if he was about to tell Potter that, and thought quickly what the best course of action would be to deescalate the situation.

''Who was that man?'' he demanded to know, suppressing a thin smile as Potter lost much of his aggression.

''You… don't know?'' The confusion was valid, Potter had clearly whispered the Dark Lord's name. Legilimency was fickle though, and it wasn't completely unbelievable to pretend he had only seen a brief glimpse of it instead of the whole scene.

Severus raised his eyebrows and did his best to act convincingly. ''He did not look like any student here at Hogwarts. As one of your teachers, I surely shouldn't need to remind you that smuggling in outsiders is strictly forbidden without permission.''

Potter tensed up, eyes shooting towards a spot on his right and back again. Severus narrowed his eyes slightly. Was something there? He thought there was a flickering in the air, a disturbance… Severus tried to control his breathing as he realised that this piece of soul might actually be here in the room right now.

''He is a student at Durmstrang. Was. We met last year during the Tournament through Viktor. I've never heard about visitors needing permission, Sir.''

The Potion Master let out a displeasing sound. ''Be sure that it doesn't happen again, or I will absolutely** drain** the Gryffindor house points if you invite strangers within these castle walls again.** Especially** if they're from Durmstrang, do you** want** Dumbledore to become even more suspicious?''

Potter didn't answer, instead walking over to the shelf to quickly put his necklace back on. ''I don't want to talk about it. You told me to learn Occlumency as quickly as possible so we could end these lessons fast. How do you deem my progress?''

''Adequate for now,'' he stiffly replied, to which Potter merely gave him a disbelieving look.

''I threw up a shield within a split second as you tried to catch me off-guard!''

''And** then**, it took you ages to throw me out once I had broken that barrier. Your enemies won't retreat easily at the first sign of resistance either, you stupid boy! That I granted you that leeway during our first lesson does not mean that I will do that again. You'll return here on Saturday.''

''It's Hogsmeade weekend!''

''Saturday, same time,'' he bit. ''Don't you talk back to me!''

''Fine!'' With one more foul look, Potter stormed out of the door, and Severus finally allowed his hands to tremble as he sat down in his office chair. From the drawer of his desk, he withdrew a calming potion. He had wanted to show it as the 'example potion' to his third-years tomorrow, but he needed it far more right now. They would just have to do preparations instead.

Right now, classes were the furthest thing on his mind. He needed to break down everything he'd seen with logic to wrap his head about it.

The Dark Lord had a Horcrux, that was the primal point of his focus now. For whatever the Dark Lord's intentions had been in ordering him to teach Potter Occlumency, Severus didn't think for a second that he would survive if his Lord found out that Severus knew the method behind the man's immortality. It was a secret that he would now have to bear without telling a single soul about it, lest it could be followed back to him. Thank Merlin that he had been able to fool Potter into believing that he was be unaware of who and what the young man had been. It was also a relief that information about Horcruxes was scarce enough that he could pretend to never have heard of them despite his interest in the Dark Arts. He now cursed the curiosity of his past self who had snuck into the Restricted Section to read references about the darkest magic he'd been able to find before Dumbledore had taken those books off the shelves.

Something else he had a hard time accepting as the truth was that the Horcrux was in the hands of an instable fifteen-year-old. Did the Dark Lord really trust Potter to such an extent as to hand over his soul? And if not, had the boy stolen it? Believing that a dunderhead like Potter had just run into the Horcrux of the most dangerous man alive by accident was preposterous, after all.

Severus buried his face in his hands and moaned in despair as that last flash of memory shot through his head again. Potter had **kissed** it, knowing full well that it was the Dark Lord. He stored that information somewhere far away in his own mind, so he wouldn't be forced to look at it again. Well, at least he now knew what was so wrong with Potter nowadays, and why the boy had suddenly shot from average to excelling in all of his classes. If he worked together with the Horcrux, he had access to a wealth of knowledge not many people would ever have.

The only dilemma now was… how was he going to tell the Dark Lord that he'd found something strange in Potter's mind without revealing anything that could make him lose his own head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it felt so good to finally come to the point where Harry stopped being so dense about his own feelings. Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did :P  
There just don't seem to be very positive ways to realise you're gay (speaking from experience), but I do kind of feel for Harry.


	51. Secrets of the Mind

Saturday finally arrived after an exhausting week of mental turmoil. Harry didn't think he'd quite looked forward to a weekend so much since coming to Hogwarts. Not that he could really relax: the initial 'meeting' of their Defence club - name still in progress - would be today, and in the evening, he had another Occlumency lesson with Snape.

He was mostly dreading that since there was no telling what Snape had seen… it had been a massive relief that the Potion master hadn't known who or what the Horcrux was and apparently hadn't heard Harry's whisper. However… could he have seen that kiss, or had Harry interrupted just in time? That was the question that plagued him most, and he couldn't exactly walk up to Snape to casually ask.

The Horcrux had been surprisingly helpful after. Relentless, but helpful, forcing Harry to train Occlumency for every night after. This morning, it had deemed Harry's barriers sufficient enough to keep Snape out. Harry honestly didn't know why it was still willing to aid him and he was a bit too afraid of it leaving if he pointed it out. Thus, he gratefully accepted any help it gave. That is, as long as it wasn't giving snarky comments like right **now**.

''It's all your own fault,'' it said, a pitiless smirk on its face as it watched Harry eat. ''Yours and Weasley's.''

The 'fault' he referred to was the fact that on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, there was a raging snowstorm, so bad that the ceiling of the Great Hall was a fast-moving whirl of clouds, with magical snow pelting down on everyone too fast to disappear mid-air like usual. ''And how is it** our** fault?'' Harry muttered into his soup with a low voice. At least he could answer: he was sitting alone at lunch as Ron was having a strategy meeting with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the Common Room and Hermione had declared with happiness that she finally had a homework-free spot in which she could write Viktor a long letter.

''You used weather magic to create storms. The price for that is, if I'm correct, a few other storms at moments you did** not** summon them. And as you did such a bad job coming up with a working ritual for the lightning storm, I could only improvise it into a snowstorm. You might not have noticed much of it as you didn't go outside the next day, but it was the earliest snowstorm in many years. Hence, a larger chance for snowstorms for the penalty as well. You still have to revise the whole ritual for the next attempt. Do you already have a set date?''

''No,'' Harry grumbled. ''I've been busy with other things. The potion will only be done at the end of this month anyways, so still a couple of weeks to go. I have to concentrate more on this Defence thing.''

''You sound nervous.''

''I am. It's rare that people of all houses are together, it will be a task on its own to prevent the Slytherins butting heads with everyone else. Plus, Pucey still insisted on coming despite his fuck-up at the start of the year. I don't want a repetition of that in front of my friends. Can't exactly deny him either though, it is good to have another Headboy there in case things go awry, and he's one of the more tolerable Slytherins. Most are awful.''

''I would be hurt if I didn't know how much you liked me,'' it spoke, voice dropping down to a husky whisper. Harry felt his cheeks reddening and threw it a glare. Ever since Harry had had the moronic idea of kissing it, the Horcrux had obstinately teased Harry about his crush, despite knowing very well that it was reserved for a -technically- different person. Because feelings could just never be easy, right?

''Could you not,'' Harry moaned. ''Furthermore, I'm still not really sure what is expected of me. I've never taught people before and while I have a couple of ideas, I don't know if I can pull it off. There will be sixth and seventh-years there too, what do I do if they'll get completely bored because I can't actually teach them anything new?''

''You can and you will,'' it said firmly. ''Harry, there is a plethora of spells you know that are not taught at Hogwarts at all, or never practised nearly enough to actually be useful. Besides, this club should not only be about expanding your students' knowledge. Focus instead on practical use, which is being denied in Umbridge's lessons and also glossed over in many other courses. Get creative, challenge yourself and others. There is an entire branch of duelling with** Herbology**, did you know that? You can do so much with offensive and defensive magic if you only know how to use your brain.''

''Maybe you should do it then,'' Harry scoffed. ''You'd probably be much better at it.''

''Don't tempt me to take over your body, Harry. I might just take you up on it. Then you'd have a disaster at your hands when they don't like my methods of teaching and punishment. Or are you also planning on using the Cruciatus curse on those morons who need too much time for their spells?''

''I would laugh, but I can't say with certainty whether you're joking or not.''

''I'm not.''

''How did you** ever** get popular? Fine, I'll do it on my own.'' He quickly finished his food and, brushing the - thankfully warm and dry – magic snow off his shoulders, left the Great Hall in favour of searching out Cedric. The Hufflepuff had been great in setting up everything and would accompany various interested students from his House to the clearing they'd agreed to meet in. Harry found him quickly on the Map, although upon arriving he had to wait a bit awkwardly for Cedric to stop talking with a few friends that Harry didn't know.

''Hey, everything ready?'' he asked nervously.

''Absolutely. Hey, don't look so down, you'll be great!''

''**How** many people are we expecting again?''

The older teen gave a sympathetic smile and a pat on his shoulder. ''About forty, and a few more might join last-minute. I'm bringing my closest friends too. No worries, teachers have to deal with full classes daily, and you have help. I won't mind taking some students off your hands if you decide to divide everyone into groups. I'm sure I could convince Cho to do the same.'' He grimaced, then. ''I'm not certain how long we can stay exactly, Cho has been dying to get some time for us outside of the castle and I don't really want to deny her a date… Also, she is still a bit sour because Marietta can't come.''

''It's fine!'' Harry quickly threw in. ''I'm relieved that you're coming at all. You're right, I do have a lot of support. I just… Not sure how to express it well... I'm hoping that everyone will come for the right reasons, you know? A month ago, everyone stared at me like I was crazy and whenever I walked through the hallway, I could hear a trail of whispered gossip following me. It only died down a bit because people have different worries now with Umbridge, and because Dumbledore didn't make a big deal over his theories in front of students anymore. However, the amount of people who secretly think I'm nuts can't have dwindled that much.''

''It is not your job to prove them otherwise,'' Cedric sagely said. ''Be yourself. If that isn't enough, they won't be allowed to sign up for this club, okay? Remember that you have the final say in who can attend.''

It was that advice that enabled Harry to make it out of Hogwarts without feeling like he was walking to his doom. That, and the enthusiastic chattering of Ron and Hermione at his side about all the spells they would finally be able to practise. Ron was somehow convinced that after a few sessions of this defence club,** everyone** should be able to single-handedly kill a Basilisk. Harry's reminder that he would have died if it hadn't been for Fawkes fell on deaf ears. Or maybe Ron really didn't hear it, the raging snowstorm made it rather hard to properly understand every single word of exchanged conversations. Harry was glad that at least this meeting wouldn't be cancelled. No weather could stop the stream of excited students from their trip to the beloved village, especially not those with a sweet tooth or those on dates.

Not too long after leaving the castle grounds, they swerved off the path at a marked tree: pieces of fabric hung from its branches. It was difficult to see in the wind and snow, but the Horcrux had given him an accurate description before of where to find it exactly, and he'd told everyone else who would be guiding people here. He touched one of the strips, a strange feeling in his stomach when he thought of how it had been Voldemort to put these here, so many years ago, to indicate the meeting place for his growing following at Hogwarts. The three of them trudged through the underbrush to reach the clearing, muscles aching as they waded through knee-deep snow. Would the snow have stopped falling by now, Harry was sure he'd have appreciated the glistening layer. As is was, he couldn't wait to find some form of shelter.

''Do you guys know any spells against this?'' Harry yelled to the others, indicating to the ever-growing white blanket that stretched out in front of them. ''Not going to be very comfy if people have to huddle together in thick snow.''

''Hold on!'' Hermione spoke. ''I have practised some atmospheric charms!''

''You have?'' Ron asked in astonishment. Then, he looked at Harry. ''I thought all weather magic was dark!''

''Do you ever read, Ron?'' the girl snapped. ''I'm not talking about clearing up this entire storm. Just a local spell to raise the temperature around us. It's in the same category as a Hot-air charm, I've used that plenty of times to dry your robes after rainy Quidditch practise. They use these charms in Ministry offices instead of heating. Like this!'' She made a complicated, broad wand movement, several stars shooting out of her wand. Harry saw the effects immediately: the snow didn't reach them anymore, melting on an invisible dome, and ever so slowly, the snow on the ground lessened too. ''You guys just need to clear up the meltwater and find something for the others to sit on.''

Hurriedly, Harry and Ron set to work to make the clearing a good-enough meeting place while Hermione fortified her atmospheric charm so it would hold for a couple of hours. As none of them were at the level to conjure chairs out of thin air and they likely wouldn't be able to do so anytime soon - McGonagall had said Conjuring was N.E.W.T. level –, Ron instead started gathering branches and enlarging them to a size that could hold humans, while Harry tried to dry the wood and removed insects.

Slowly but surely, the icy clearing was transformed into a beautiful gathering place. Hermione even had a burst of inspiration and added decoration by turning the bleak branches of the trees around them gold and silver. Harry smiled as he looked up, seeing the snow melt above their heads mid-air. Magic was amazing, even light magic. His grin turned a bit wry at that thought. He'd started differentiating it a bit too much in his opinion, probably because of all the pressure from Voldemort and Barty to start using heavy magic more and more. While it certainly had a very different feel to it and amazing results, he had no reason to shun light magic. The Dark Lord himself had admitted to using quite a bit of light magic whenever that was more practical.

The first groups of people arrived soon. First came those who were able to find the place without a guide: Luna Lovegood, several Gryffindors from Harry's year, and the Hufflepuffs Harry sometimes paired up with in group projects: Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletcher and Hannah Abbot. As he watched the space fill up with people, he was incredibly glad how much planning he'd put into this already. It gave a sense of calm, knowing he had absolute control here. These students had all come to hear what he had to say, whether they thought him mad or not was a problem for later. Malfoy gave him a nod as he sauntered into the clearing with a small group of Slytherin students on his heel. They got a few nervous looks by the younger students of the other houses, but were otherwise ignored, which was certainly a lot better than open shouting or cursing. Harry was admittedly rather glad to see that not too many Slytherins showed up. It was just Malfoy, Pucey, the Greengrass sisters and Nott. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle were there, and Parkinson had also made herself scarce despite usually hanging around Draco. He'd kind of expected more students from that House with Pucey's unhealthy interest in Harry's dealings with the Dark Lord. Perhaps Snape's scolding had been really bad?

House rivalry aside, having a bunch of teenagers just waiting around was never going to happen entirely smoothly.

''We should have met in a pub,'' Fred complained, blowing at his fingers. ''We're missing out on a lot of good butterbeer right now.''

''Shut up,'' Ron grumbled, throwing his brother a look. ''You want to try and press over forty people in a pub and not get noticed?''

''Why are we trying not to get noticed?'' a nervous Ravenclaw asked. ''This isn't illegal, is it?''

''No, no,'' Hermione reassured the girl. ''It is perfectly within our rights to form study groups at Hogwarts, even without permission from teachers. But you know how Professor Umbridge changes the rules to her favour sometimes… We don't want it to** become** illegal. You see, professor Umbridge has been sent here by the Ministry to keep an eye on Hogwarts, because the Ministry believes for some mad reason that Dumbledore wants to use the students here to fight for him and against the Ministry. That's also why they've been discrediting him.''

''I didn't come here for a **study group**!'' a haughty Hufflepuff exclaimed before any of the others, who seemed stunned at the news of the Ministries' beliefs, killing any conversation about that. ''**I** just came here because I've been told that Potter will finally unpack some truths. If he really can, of course,'' the boy scoffed.

Before Harry could ask anything, Ron stepped forward, ears going red. ''And who are** you**?''

''Zacharias Smith. So, Potter, do you have any proof for your claims?''

''What claims do you mean?'' Harry carefully stated, also trying to gauge the reaction of everyone else here. It was easy to pick out those who had mainly come here for a story: they leaned forward eagerly, content to let Smith do the talking. Harry didn't know most of them, and couldn't recall so many younger students being on the list Hermione had made. Cedric had been correct in that quite a few students - especially Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs - had heard the rumours and decided to join at the last moment.

''That You-Know-Who is back!'' Smith spoke aggressively.

Harry blinked and cocked his head, trying to look absolutely confused, although inwardly he was seething. Not once had he claimed to know about the Dark Lord's return, and **still** many people assumed he shared Dumbledore's theories. ''I never said so. The only one who appears to believe in Voldemort's'' -the name gave the predictable responses, from shrieking to gasping- ''return is the Headmaster. Sure, there was a Death Eater at Hogwarts last year, but he might have been working alone.''

A cacophony of sound erupted.

''Don't say his** name**!-''  
''You're lying, at the start of the year you-''  
''Come on, Moody was one of our best teachers!-''  
''No way that an ex-Auror was a Death Eater!-''

He raised his wand in the air and fired off red sparks to put an end to the stream of accusations. ''I will say it only once more,'' he bit, growing more annoyed. ''I was put in the Tournament by a Death Eater, that's it. I never claimed that Voldemort is out to get me or anyone else of you. I'm not always of the same mind as Dumbledore, so stop acting as if I'm his spokesperson or whatever. If you came here for a sensational talk, scram it. We're trying to set up a Defence club to counter Umbridge's horrid teaching! **That** should be your priority here, learning actual useful and practical magic instead of the bland basic theory we have to study during wasted class hours.''

''And why should you be the one to teach us then?'' Smith continued, red in the face now. He clearly wasn't used to having people tell him no. It reminded Harry a bit of Riddle, but in an even worse way. Smith had nothing to back up his arrogance.

''Harry killed You-Know-Who when he was a baby!'' Ron threw in, drawing his wand now as well and waving it threateningly in front of Smith's unimpressed face. ''And he drove off hundreds of Dementors with a single spell!''

''Not to mention that he won the Triwizard Tournament,'' Harry heard, and Cedric stepped forwards, staring Smith down with a disappointed frown. ''You were there when we were all shown his actions at the Award ceremony. He beat both me and Krum, and even Fleur admitted that Harry convinced her to take the cup together, as she felt he deserved it more.''

''Stop,'' Harry said, and he gave himself a mental pat on the back for sounding so calm, while Smith was making his blood boil so much that he wanted to try out some nasty curses on the prick. ''Ron, Cedric, thanks a lot for your confidence. Smith, I don't know what your problem is, but it doesn't look like you want to be here for the reason the rest of us is. I'm not going to waste everyone's time by discussing this further with you. We'll have to form this group without you.'' Zacharias Smith blinked rather owlishly as Harry pointed firmly to the line of trees everyone had emerged from.

''I'll stay,'' he mumbled. Completely done at this point, Harry shook his head.

''No, you won't. Leave. If you're like this now, I don't want to imagine having to teach you anything.'' A few students started whispering among themselves and giggling. Smith looked very self-conscious for a moment before he put on a flair of drama and sprung to his feet.

''Fine then! Enjoy your time with Slytherins and wanna-be heroes!'' He stormed off, followed by another boy whom Harry recognised as Wayne Hopkins, another Hufflepuff in the same year.

When he was gone, Harry turned towards the remaining students and crossed his arms. ''I don't feel like repeating myself. If anyone else has a problem with me, or the fact that a fifth-year will teach you, please do the rest of us a favour and go.'' He waited for a little while, during which three Ravenclaws slunk off. Harry didn't know any of them personally and thus didn't care much. After a quick count, he concluded that they were left with 39 people, most of whom he knew on some level.

''So, I hope you'll all agree that we've spent enough time discussing. As Fred said… or George,'' he corrected, giving the Twins a questioning glance. They only answered with their famous smirks, so he continued without playing the typical guessing game. ''I'm sure we'd all love to continue to Hogsmeade soon and warm up.''

One girl raised her hand, and Harry considered for a moment before indicating that she could speak.

''Your friend… he just said that you drove off Dementors. I read that this can only be done with a complicated spell that not even many adults can do. How did you? I.. I don't mean this as critique! I'm genuinely interested.''

A few more eyes turned to Harry, but it was Hermione who answered for him. ''Harry got the Patronus charm down at the end of our third year, I saw with my own eyes how this animal of bright light held off a whole horde of Dementors.'' His friend smiled encouragingly at Harry, and he gave a hesitant smile back.

''A Patronus? A corporeal one?'' A blonde Hufflepuff girl asked. He could recall seeing her in class, so she must be in the same year as him, but couldn't recall ever speaking to her. He usually hung out with Justin, Ernie and Hannah if the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had shared classes. Harry thought he'd seen her and Hannah sitting together sometimes, so assumed they were friends.

''Yes. I asked Professor Lupin to teach me,'' he answered. ''I haven't had to use it since though. No Dementors around here thankfully.''

It looked like all thoughts of Hogsmeade had been forgotten by most. Terry Boot asked about his encounter with the Basilisk, Neville elaborated on Harry's adventures with the Philosopher stone, Ginny pitched in about his 'wicked piece of work with the dragon'. Instinctively, Harry wanted to deny most of it, say that he had help with everything, but after a few sputtered protests against the sudden storm of praise that took him by surprise, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He shifted slightly and looked at the Horcrux, which stood right behind him.

''Don't fight it, Harry. Status is given to us by others, you would be a fool not to recognise that. Your past actions make you a prime leader and teacher in their eyes. Don't ruin that by denying these accomplishments. You're only making it more difficult for yourself to be taken seriously.''

It felt like cheating to him still. He'd had help with most of his adventures, to have only the things he did personally be highlighted felt as if people assumed he'd done it all alone. Oddly, his friends only tried to enhance that view, even Ron, who had often felt pushed out of the spotlight by Harry. As he didn't answer, the Horcrux made a disgruntled noise and dissolved into smoke again that was sucked back into the locket. An idea struck him, and he spoke up:

''Thank you all. I'm sure that all these stories make it very clear why it is so necessary to learn practical defence. We can never know when we need it, I certainly hadn't thought I would have gotten into any of those situations. And I won't be your only teacher either. Plenty of my friends here have also dealt with difficult situations first-hand. Ron for example-'' all eyes shifted to Ron, who tried not to look too proud ''Fought against a whole nest of Acromantulas and escaped from them in a wicked car chase. He also beat McGonagall's giant chessboard in first year, showing quick and strategic thinking, invaluable when trying to get out of tricky situations. And Hermione here distracted an adult Werewolf, and figured out what Slytherin's monster was in the first place! Then Cedric… well, you guys have all seen him last year in the Tournament! Out-flew the most dangerous dragon of the bunch! All of us will be sharing our skills with you.'' He felt that highlighting their accomplishments without trying to paint it as 'helping him', was a good middle-ground.

''Sounds great, Harry!'' Ginny piped up. He sent her a grateful look for the positive response, which caused also others to start clapping. ''I can't wait to get started. My first year would have gone so much better if I'd have had a better sense of protection against the Dark Arts. My bad luck was having that dimwit Lockhart as my first Defence teacher. So, when and where is the first meeting?''

''We first have to know who actually wants to join,'' Hermione hurriedly spoke. ''I prepared a piece of parchment here on which everyone who wants to join has to sign their name.''

''Hold on,'' Cho said, frowning. ''Will attendance always be mandatory then? Because some of us have Quidditch practise, and I can't have these meetings interfere with my schedule.'' The members of the Gryffindor team nodded along.

''We'll try to plan around Quidditch practise and other clubs,'' Harry promised. ''But if we can't come to a full consensus and have to pick a date where you'll have to choose, none of us will be offended if you pick Quidditch or other groups over this. You don't** have** to come each time, although I'll try to have lessons build up on each other, so missing too many might be problematic for you.''

''I would pick learning Defence over any club I'm in,'' Ernie MacMillan spoke, puffing up his chest and looking around as if he was waiting for awed looks at his sense of priority.

''Some of us want careers in sport, MacMillan,'' Angelina said a bit crabbily. ''Thirteen of us here are in Quidditch teams. I can't have half of the team missing for practise. I'll of course try to coordinate with you, Potter,'' she spoke, nodding to Harry. He was glad that she and the other teammates had actually come. Considering he'd quit the Gryffindor team, he was grateful that she didn't let that affect her opinion of him. Maybe the Weasleys had talked her into it? All Weasleys remaining at Hogwarts were in the team now since Ginny had taken his position as Seeker and Ron had managed to become Keeper.

''What happens if we don't sign?'' one of Cedric's friends, who had remained silent the entire time, asked.

''The same thing as what happened with Zacharias and the others who left before,'' Hermione replied. ''You'll cross the secrecy line I put up, meaning you can't speak about this meeting to anyone. Furthermore, you won't be privy to any further information about this club. Not what we call ourselves, nor where we meet. You either sign up now, or not at all.''

''No-one said anything about a secrecy line,'' the boy muttered darkly. ''Precautions make sense I suppose. I'd have liked to know about that before though.''

Hermione raised one unimpressed eyebrow, and Harry understood why: his friend had put a **lot** of time in finding methods to keep everything from Umbridge, who would want to crush their group the moment she'd get wind of it. ''Then I'll tell you now that this parchment is also enchanted,'' she sweetly spoke. ''If anyone here signs up under false pretences and then snitches on us, you'll get hit with something much worse.'' Her eyes flickered suspiciously over Draco and the other Slytherins that had all stayed, grouped together at the side, a bit distanced from the rest. Malfoy had been uncharacteristically quiet too. He didn't respond to her silent accusation, looking a tad bored.

''I'll go first,'' Ginny spoke, stepping forwards and taking the parchment Hermione held. ''Got a quill?''

The twins followed suit, then Luna, Neville, and a couple of others. Ernie, who had just bragged about this being more important than anything else, didn't look so happy about putting his name down until Hermione assured him that the list would never reach any teacher's hands. Even Cedric's friend, whom Harry learned was called Lem Goldstein, a cousin of Anthony, signed in the end.

''Now we only still need a name!'' Ginny said. Harry was happy about how proactive and enthusiastic she was, though he hoped dearly that it wasn't to impress him.

''I thought we'd decide on that in the first official meeting,'' Harry said. ''No need to rush it. Hermione, could you give everyone the Galleons you made?''

The bag with Hermione's enchanted coins went around as she explained how they worked, earning her some well-deserved impressed looks and praise about the advanced spellwork. Only when Pucey made an off-hand comment about it being similar to the Dark Mark, did she look a tad uncomfortable, especially as she had to admit that her inspiration came from it. Harry tried to save her from scrutinising looks by pulling the attention to himself again.

''We'll have a good look at all the schedules from other clubs and teams you are all in. Once a date has been decided, it will appear on the side of your coins. We've found a great, hidden meeting spot already. For the first time, I want you to wait on the seventh floor, in the corridor where a tapestry hangs of a wizard teaching trolls ballet. Try not to come all at once, please. We want to avoid being too noticeable, so there's no need to try and be there on the dot.'' It would still be hard to manage, but Harry hoped that this would avoid a huge group standing in front of the wall half an hour before he and his friends would even be there. ''Any further questions?''

''Will you teach us the Patronus charm?'' The Hufflepuff girl, who had enquired about the Patronus earlier too, asked.

''I'd thought of starting with something a bit easier, but if no-one has anything against it, we could do that for the first lesson. It's a very useful spell for sending messages too, not only to defend against Dementors.'' When being met with general excitement, he spoke: ''Patronus charm it is then. I think that's everything for now, have fun in Hogsmeade and remember: do** not** talk about this with anyone who isn't in the group. That includes those who were here at the start of the meeting and left. Understood?''

''Aye aye, Commander Potter,'' one of the Twins jested, saluting him. ''Come on Fred, Lee, we have to be quick about our shopping now.''

''That went well,'' Ron spoke in relief as the clearing slowly emptied. Pucey lingered as if he wanted to talk to Harry, then was pushed to the exit by Malfoy, who threw the older student a warning look. Harry groaned inwardly, he'd have to be very careful about what he'd say to the Slytherin Head Boy. If his suspicions were correct, Pucey had only come in the hopes of catching glimpses of dark magic. As much as Harry would like to introduce dark magic into this curriculum, he'd have to be careful about it and teach mainly heavy magic that wasn't harmful, at the start.

''All in all, I'm pleased by how it went,'' Harry answered, putting up the hood of his winter cloak in anticipation of the snow that would soon pelt down on them again. ''Very glad that Smith is gone, I can imagine he'd have annoyed me to no end while teaching. I'm rather surprised by the amount of Ravenclaws that showed up, since I don't really have any friends there besides Luna.''

''You consider Luna your friend?'' Hermione asked in astonishment, and Harry didn't quite like her tone, which bordered on judging. ''You've hardly talked,'' she continued defensively when seeing Harry's reaction. ''And you don't ever sit with her or invite her anywhere.''

He stiffly replied: ''I invited her here.''

True, if he hadn't, either Ginny or Neville probably would have invited her instead, but he'd wanted to personally ask Luna to join their group. The dreamy Ravenclaw had been one of the first to openly declare her belief in him, and also had been the one who'd told him about Marietta ruining his first plans to get rid of Umbridge, and was generally fun to be around.

''Most Ravenclaws here came because of Ginny,'' Hermione said. ''Michael Corner came only for her, and his friends, Goldstein and Boot, tagged along.''

''Hold on, what does Corner have to do with my sister?'' Ron threw in, who had started to shrink the branches again to their original size.

Hermione looked a tad uncomfortable, she clearly hadn't meant for Ron to hear. ''He and Ginny have been going out since Yule. After Harry left in search of me, she was all alone there and he was a good dancer…''

Ron's face reddened a few shades in anger. Harry tuned the both of them out as Ron started a rant while Hermione tiredly tried to explain him that he didn't have any say in who his sister was or wasn't dating. He was rather relieved that Ginny had finally found someone to date. Maybe that had been why she'd been so active today? Because she could freely throw in her two cents without it looking like she was only trying to get Harry's attention? He decided that he liked this new side of her. The side where they really could be just friends after years of awkwardness.

He couldn't completely stay out of the conversation though, when Ron indignantly said: ''I thought she fancied Harry!''

''She** used** to. Harry has made it clear that he isn't interested in her, it took her years to get over her crush. She still** likes** you of course,'' she hurriedly added.

''I'm happy for her,'' he commented. ''It is hard to have feelings for someone whom you know will never return those.'' His stomach twisted a bit, and something in his tone must have alarmed his friends. He pressed his lips together and tried to keep his voice steady. Now was not the time, he should just tell them to go to Hogsmeade now and-

''Harry? Is there something you want to tell us?'' Hermione carefully asked.

He looked from one to the other, at a loss for words. He hadn't meant to let anything slip like this…

For a brief, crazy moment, he felt like telling them everything. About his feelings, about the Horcrux, about** Voldemort**… He wanted to unload, tell them about all the wonderful things he'd seen and learned, about everything that bothered him and everything he was afraid of. The moment passed as quickly as it came. There was absolutely no possibility in that ending well. He wouldn't be able to explain in a way they'd be able to understand. Harry couldn't fool himself into thinking that Ron or Hermione would agree to his new beliefs, or that they would condone his actions. Even worse, it would mean admitting he'd lied to them for more than a full year now. He'd dug this hole on his own and couldn't expect them to throw him a rope to climb out of it.

Still.. they'd stuck by him for so long, had shared so much with him, that he couldn't stay silent about every single thing anymore.

''You remember last year, when I didn't know who to take with for the Yule Ball?'' he hesitantly started. The Locket flared up hot against his chest, perhaps the Horcrux really thought he was about to spilt he beans. Harry ignored it. ''You told me that if I didn't know yet who or what I liked, I should go with the safe option, Hermione.''

''Oh,'' she said softly. ''I remember. You know now?''

''You've got a crush?'' Ron asked enthusiastically in a way that indicated he'd temporarily forgotten how pissed he was at Michael Corner for snogging Ginny. ''Tell us!'' Then, something seemed to dawn on him and he quieted down. ''Wait, is this about when you woke up at night and…'' he trailed off, for which Harry was glad. He really didn't need his friend blurting out how embarrassingly Harry had started crying on the bathroom floor.

''I have feelings for this guy,'' he blurted out, though calling the Dark Lord 'this guy' felt incredibly foreign on his tongue. ''And I shouldn't. He's… he's far older than I am, and selfish, and arrogant, and… incredibly messed up. Seriously, I think he'd really benefit from having a psychiatrist sometimes. Still I can't help…'' he took a few gulps of cold air and buried his face in his hands. ''I can't help but think of him. I want him to be here,'' he continued in a small voice. ''So that he can tell me that it's alright, that I don't need to be this perfect image everyone else expects me to be. That I can choose my own paths when I am strong enough.'' Harry bit his own tongue to avoid going off on a tangent, and gratefully accepted Hermione's embrace when she hugged him. Ron came closer to, putting an awkward hand on his back.

Hermione hugged him tighter as he buried his face in her shoulder. ''It's okay,'' she whispered. ''It's okay, Harry. Love can be difficult. You don't have to say anything else.''

It wouldn't have been possible for him to say more even if he's wanted to. All that he'd tried to shove away since that night returned with full force. His throat felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, and he wanted to scream out in the hope that some of his anguish would reach the man who caused it.

XxX

It was unwise to know too much. Severus kept telling himself this, even as he stared into the borrowed Pensieve, where he'd dropped every single memory from Potter's Occlumency lessons to view them again. These were all he was going to get. Their third lesson had ended a few minutes ago, and the boy's shields had been fortified to such a frightening degree that Severus hadn't been able to get through. So now he was digging through what he'd seen on Monday and Wednesday instead. He was overlooking something, something important…

Something he'd most likely be better off not knowing.

He couldn't help it, the desire to have the thoughts make** sense** was too overwhelming. As long as he protected his own mind well, even the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to notice a thing. Leaning forward, his nose touched the rippling surface again. Viewing these memories was odd and chaotic, as they were the same glimpses he'd seen before. Only now, he could rearrange the order.

… _Potter stumbled forwards towards the strange, younger version of the Dark Lord..._ A Horcrux, it must be.  
_…Riddle's diary, the memory of yet another younger version of the same man rose from its pages…_ Back then, Severus had thought it a mere dark artefact. Dumbledore hadn't commented further on it either. However…  
_… Potter jerked away from the pain as the Dark Lord, in his rudimentary form, pressed two fingers against the scar_… That scar, the link Lily's son had to the fearsome Lord.  
_…The Dark Lord's snake reared up and bared two sharp fangs, then bit down on two sticks._ The memory was too blurry for Severus to make out any details. _Then, he __**was**__ the snake._

Potter. Connection. Horcruxes.** Parseltongue**…

Severus expelled himself violently from the whirl of memories, releasing a shuddering breath as he once more sank down in his office chair. He took a few minutes to process it all before he started drawing conclusions. When he finally did, he didn't like the direction it was going.

The Dark Lord had multiple Horcruxes to make himself immortal. And somehow, Potter was one of them.

''And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not,'' Severus murmured into the empty air of his office, feeling just as empty inside as he started unravelling the mystery that surrounded Potter further and further.

**He** knew **now**, there was no doubt about it. Why else would he have invested time and effort into Potter's education, given spells of protection, going so far as to even demand respect for the boy of all things? Not to mention he'd stopped trying to kill Potter. Severus tapped a finger against his thinned lips. The Dark Lord had tried to kill Potter before… that must mean he indeed hadn't known before. Could one create a Horcrux by accident?

Another worrying thought crossed his mind: did** Dumbledore** know? The Headmaster had always treated Potter as the one who would save them all. Severus had thought it to be based on an exaggerated trust in the Prophecy. However, for all Dumbledore's words, he hadn't actively taught Potter many useful things when it came to preparing him for facing the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore wished to see the Dark Lord's destruction in the end. If he knew about the Horcruxes, he must seek to destroy them. If he knew** Potter** was a Horcrux…

Severus leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling very cold all of a sudden. ''Well-played, old man,'' he spoke in a cracking voice. ''Well-played…'' Dumbledore had created his own martyr from the very start. Heroically swooping in to have the boy saved from the ashes of the Potter home before the Ministry could arrive, putting him with his Muggle family, spreading word about not only the Dark Lord's defeat at the baby's hand but also about the infamous scar that otherwise only a handful of people had known about… It all had led to a very specific image of Potter, the hero. Worst part about it was that even Severus had fallen for it, thinking the boy would have a saviour-complex himself from the start. The only people who'd seen through it had, ironically, been the very two people the prophecy was about.

One of whom Severus still had to visit today.

He took the memories out again - no need for Dumbledore to stumble across any of this – and cleaned up a bit. All the while, he secured his own mind, wrapping protections around the incriminating memories that he wasn't supposed to know. Only when he could say with absolute certainty that he'd be able to keep those a secret from his Lord, did he walk towards the fireplace.

One of the most annoying things about working at Hogwarts was that he couldn't easily use the Dark Mark for its intended purposes. The wards would alert Dumbledore as soon as he would force-apparate through them using the dark magic that simmered underneath his skin. Instead, he had to move to a different location first that was beyond the wards. Lucius' house was always his first choice, as it wasn't strange for him to visit his friend, and neither was it strange for a teacher to visit a member of the School Board if anyone else would find out who was unaware of their friendship.

He stepped into the green flames and concentrated on his location until he stepped out at the other end. He hadn't expected to actually meet his friend as the manor was rather large, but as soon as he stepped out, he heard: ''Severus! What a surprise!''

''Lucius,'' he greeted, brushing some soot off his robes. ''Do you know if the Dark Lord is available at the moment?''

His friend only showed a mild hint of displeasure at the instant business-like tone, and shook his head. ''Few know of his schedule. There were some plans for today, but they were cancelled. Only Crouch would know now. He barely ever leaves that house, so you will be able to speak to him even if the Dark Lord is absent.''

Severus grunted. ''I have been asked to report directly to our Lord, I wouldn't trust Crouch to give an accurate account of my report if I were to speak to him instead. Nonetheless, I'll take my chances. The worst that can happen is that Crouch blabbers me to death. That man is** far** too talkative.''

''Is Draco well?''

Severus stared at Lucius for a few long seconds to show how much he disliked the sudden switch in topic, especially as discussing his students was not his favourite spare-time activity. A tad unwilling, he answered: ''Last I saw of him, he looked healthy enough. He has been hanging around Potter a tad too much in my personal opinion…''

Lucius didn't look as concerned at Severus felt should be necessary. ''There are few at Hogwarts who are closer to the Dark Lord than Potter is at the moment. Draco couldn't have searched for better company. I am thankful that they overcame their rivalry, that could have ended badly for my son.''

''If you say so. Now then, I won't hold you up any longer.'' He activated the Mark before the other could get a word in, landing in front of the next set of wards he'd have to cross. For all their usefulness, Severus was not a fan of bubble dimensions. They hindered fast travel far too much.

XxX

''They surrendered, My Lord,'' Barty informed him giddily, handing him a roll of parchment. The news did not make him as happy as it should have. He'd planned another raid for that evening and had been looking forward to an excuse to practice violent, deadly magic. The squabbling staff at his office drove him up the wall with their insignificant rumours that they thought would be the news of the century, their next breakthrough. **He** would decide what was noteworthy. After all, he** made** the most important news himself. That was the great advantage of being the Dark Lord as well as the Head Editor.

He took the offered parchment without commentary nonetheless, eyes flying over the words. It was a clear statement of surrender: if he did not attack the last remaining slaver circle, they would release their property and disband. He weighted the pros and cons of this in his mind for a moment.

Not attacking would mean to save magical blood, which he always had to take into consideration. They would also get the same short-term results: the release of the remaining slaves. Long-term, these people might just try again, going deeper into hiding with their actions. Was it better to uproot them before that happened? Or should he leave them be, in case he ever needed another distraction?

''We will not accept surrender,'' he said at last. ''I promised vengeance. Accepting a feeble vow like this that hasn't even been signed by the responsible people, and risking the ire of our allies is too unsafe. We will move the attack to tomorrow. It is clear that they heard word of our plans, this letter comes at too perfect timing. Let them think they're safe before we destroy them. Contact the others, I need to know if this is the only letter that was sent out. It would be much better if the rest of the world does not know that they tried to surrender.''

After Barty left, Voldemort stood silently in the dark living room for a good while, debating whether he'd return to the office. Tomorrow was the Sunday edition though, and there usually wasn't too much to manage for those. It had the usual weekly columns and he'd already checked all important articles that would be printed.

A displeasured hiss escaped his lips. Not having anything to do suddenly was highly annoying. He could not be productive in furthering his plans today, and work was already done. It was only seven o' clock… The attack would have started in two hours. Voldemort sat down and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of magic that coursed through his blood, drawing it to the surface. He only opened them again when a golden glow appeared, so strong that it permeated his eyelids. Leaning back, he observed thousands of specks of light that now hovered in the room like glow bugs. He felt an almost child-like wonder when seeing this innocent display of magic he had produced with such little effort. It was baffling that so many other mages took this for granted, never truly seeing this gift for what it was. One day, when at long last his task would be complete, when he stood on top of the Wizarding World, they would no longer be able -or allowed- to think like that.

The first steps had been taken already. He'd created a comprehensive legislative system and sown enough chaos in unveiling the wrongs of the current society to also implement it. The first drafts lay in the Ministry now and were being reviewed by the Wizengamot. It would be heavily modified, he knew. That was why he'd started strategically, by having his followers push laws regarding magical creatures forwards. It was rather perfect: The public was currently in an uproar about the slave scandals, the creatures were impatient and demanded a change** now**, and Voldemort didn't care enough about his allies to wait with pushing laws until he was certain he had the backing and power to get the drafts through relatively unscathed. Moreover, he had given the drafts to several influential creatures such as Mrs Delacour, so they** knew** what he had initially written. If it would come out differently, they would blame the current government and support him even more.

He couldn't lose.

The next step, after tomorrow's attack, was to start revealing the corruption within the hospitals. He wouldn't leave the public too much time to think upon what exactly happened to all the poor creatures that had been saved and direct their focus inward instead. To all their friends and families who had been treated unfairly, or not at all. He'd be able to exploit Cedric Diggory's name for it, playing on the image that the Triwizard Tournament Champions were a solid front, leading a new generation to positive progression. It would have to last till after Yule, he most definitely wished for people to think upon this topic at such a sentimental family time as most celebrated it as.

The lights dimmed again, leaving him in near pitch-black darkness, as the dining room had no windows and the door that lead into the orangery was closed. He imagined the black wrapping around him, settling heavy on his shoulders. Darkness had always meant protection throughout his life and he still found a sense of comfort in it even after he had become powerful enough to kill every threat with a flick of his fingers.

Kill… he swallowed down the hunger for blood as soon as it rose in his throat. Tomorrow, he had a reason to sate it again… Voldemort lowered his head on his arms, which lay stretched across the table surface. Sharp nails left deep scratches into the wood. He needed to control it again, the raving beast that had awoken when he'd first discovered he could use his magic to inflict death. No matter what everyone whispered, no matter what people like Dumbledore saw in him, he was not a **monster**. He decided when to unleash the hunger, the blinding anger…

Harry had known that, too.

He growled and rose abruptly. To have at least someone to speak to, he searched out his familiar, finding her in one of her usual spots. It didn't do much to divert his mind, as she was lounging on Harry's bed. _~I thought I told you not to come in here. How did you even open the door?~_

_~My tail is flexible and strong,~_ was her only comment. _~I like it in here, it smells like Harrison.~_

_~**Harry**_ _.~_

_~When will Harrison be back?~_ she continued, as if she hadn't heard him at all.

_~When the frost comes,~_ he sighed, sitting down next to her to stroke her scales. _~If everything goes as planned, that is. He won't stay as long as before though, perhaps a day or two.~_

Nagini made her displeasure known by a series of hisses. He wouldn't admit to it, but he felt like doing the same. Harry had always been good at calming his emotions, trying to regulate them on his own was a tedious task. He lay there with Nagini on his chest, for a long time, just letting his thoughts wander. It must have been hours, and he couldn't say if he'd slept or not, only that a sudden breach of the wards alerted him. It wasn't Barty either, the person's magic felt far more reserved.

Severus.

''What a surprise,'' he whispered softly as he came down the stairs, greeting Severus, who was waiting in the entrance hall. ''I take it that you are here to bring me a report of the ongoings at Hogwarts?''

His follower knelt on the floor and lowered his head in a show of deference. Voldemort smiled wryly. So Snape was fully back into his role then, wasn't he? During their first conversation a few months ago, he had for a moment thought there to be no other option than death for the traitor. It was much better this way, Severus was valuable in multiple ways. He'd been young when coming into service, and hadn't been a Death Eater for more than a few years until Voldemort had perished. Before his death, the Dark Lord admittedly hadn't given the man much thought. It was only afterwards that he'd come to know and value Severus. While spending time on the back of Quirrel's head, he'd started to understand how capable Snape was: intelligent, logical, skilled in multiple subjects such as Potions and Dark Arts, and even brave in his own way. Should Severus fully prove his loyalty over time, Voldemort could see the man quickly becoming one of his favourites.

''Rise, Severus. And follow me.''

He went to the drawing room, only stopping in the corridor to call Nagini, pleased as she left Harry's room to join him instead. Whichever one of his followers he talked to, the fear in their faces was always just a tad more present when he had a lethal, enormous, magical snake at his feet. Severus was no exception, though he hid it better than most.

Once they both sat down, Severus started talking: ''My Lord, I am here to tell you about my progress with the task you gave me.'' The other was silent for a few seconds, as if waiting for a sign to continue. Voldemort gave none, only staring unblinkingly at Snape and waiting for the man to get the hint. He wasn't one to waste words. ''Right. Dumbledore quickly agreed when I suggested that Potter should receive Occlumency lessons. Although, in his own words 'There is no reason to assume that you, my Lord, would have access to Potter's mind', he admitted that there could be value in the boy having a fundamental understanding of it. Potter and I had three lessons this week.''

Voldemort sat up a bit straighter. Surely, after three sessions Severus should have been able to figure out what was going on. For he refused to believe that it had been Harry Potter he'd spoken to when trying to contact the teen through their mirrors.

''How did he progress?''

Severus' brow furrowed lightly and he looked down at his own intertwined hands. ''Potter's mind and progress was… unusual.''

''In what way?'' he replied sharply, and perhaps a beat too fast. He should calm himself, he decided, instead of getting so worked up instantly over Harry. He was just a teenager, just a piece of the game…

Just a teenager who happened to be disrespectful, foolish, brave, considerate, reliable… Voldemort gritted his teeth when his mind failed to deliver him any further** negative** adjectives to describe Harry.

''Our first lesson was right after Dumbledore had informed Potter about the necessity to learn Occlumency. He was utterly useless at it, resorting to physical attacks to cast me out of his mind. He might as well have been a small, muggle child.'' Voldemort tried not to react, although rage bubbled up at the implication that** Harry** was anything alike a **Muggle**! ''I did not search for any particular memories, and his mind was entirely chronological. I had expected the second lesson to be much the same.''

''One moment, Severus. All memories you saw… they were undoubtedly Potter's?''

His follower blinked a few times in surprise. ''Of course. May I ask what you mean by that, my Lord?''

''No. Continue.''

Severus threw him a wary look, then kept speaking: ''Our second lesson was two days later. I'd told him to practise before bed, without having much hope that he'd do so. However… when I tried to enter his mind, I initially couldn't. And it wasn't a fluke either. Potter had created this... barrier of magic that looked like smoke and electricity. Even after I finally managed to break through, there were tendrils of smoke following me, attacking me to throw me out. There had been even an attempt to set up a mindscape, causing the whole mind to act differently than before. Then today, during our third lesson, I couldn't get in at all. In less than a week, Potter learnt to shield his mind. **Completely**.''

Voldemort frowned, staring into the fire. It wasn't impossible to strengthen one's defences so quickly, but it didn't sound like Harry had learnt much** from Snape**. Rather, he'd improved incredibly during the days in between sessions. That didn't make sense. It made even less sense when combining it with his own theory, that he hadn't spoken to Harry at all. Unless…. Had he been cursed? Was he under the Imperius curse or some other influence? Would Snape have noticed even when digging through Potter's mind?

''What is your theory about what happened?'' he finally asked. Snape grimaced. It was gone quickly, but Voldemort had seen it. ''You know something, do you not?'' he threateningly spoke.

''Potter is…'' Severus coughed and grimaced again. ''I saw some memories that I would rather forget in that boy's mind. I believe he has had help from someone much well-versed in dark magic.''

''**Who**?''

''A student from Durmstrang. At least, Potter admitted to smuggling a Durmstrang student into Hogwarts. I warned him against it, but I fear he may not have listened and broken the rules again.''

''A student,'' Voldemort flatly spoke. ''From Durmstrang.''

''Most likely a former student, they must have met during the Tournament last year. Potter's mind was in much distress, and when I followed the memories, they all led back to an event that happened not too long ago. Potter and this… student… kissed.''

Voldemort froze while Severus kept on talking about how he had wished he hadn't seen it, how he thought it to be a recent development and that this other person most likely had practised Occlumency with Harry. His own brain was still stuck trying to process the information he'd just heard and his own reaction to that. There had been a flare of pure, unbridled anger. But that was ridiculous. As much as he had liked to tease the teen a bit as it was thrilling to feel the whirl of confused emotions from Harry whenever he did so, he had had no intentions of pursuing anything, something he had had to convince Barty of on multiple occasions. Of course a hormonal teenager stuck in a castle full of others like him would at one point find someone to fool around with. Or, in the case of Harry, most likely even **love**.

It shouldn't matter to him. He supressed the urge to throttle Snape and demand to find out the name and address of this person. Instead, he leaned forwards slightly and said: ''I wish to see this memory, Severus. To verify if it could be the cause of Harry's... distress.'' He at least wanted to know some general things: how this student looked, whether they were male or female…

''Certainly, my Lord,'' Severus spoke in a tone that sounded as if he'd rather be tortured than continue digging up Harry's private life. Still, he complied, lowering the barriers around his own mind and staring straight into Voldemort's eyes to grant access.

_He found the memory instantly, which had been pulled to the surface by his follower. He stood in a shadowy corridor, only two people visible. One of them wore a hood, making the face hard to see. The other was clearly Harry. The boy stumbled forwards, taking the face of the other into his hands and pressing a kiss on the other's lips. The memory was soundless, not uncommon for a flash dug up through Legilimency. Voldemort walked around them to try and decipher the face, but the shadows made it incredibly hard, even more so as Harry blocked most of the view. Most he could see was that it was a man, about a head taller than Harry and with wavy hair that partially fell across his forehead as he leaned downwards. The robes of the other student did not hold any sign of Durmstrang, but as Severus had said, it could also be an alumnus. The memory was laden with all kinds of strong emotions, fear and stress being most prominent. The kiss also looked rather desperate. Voldemort had kissed far too many closeted boys in his time as a Hogwarts student to not recognise all the signs: Harry had only just now come to terms with his feelings._

''I see…'' he hissed as he left the memory. ''Not too much to go on, but your logic is sound.'' As much as he hated to admit it, he may have overreacted. If Harry had wanted to keep this a secret from him -or from everyone- it was no wonder that he was acting strange. The lack of dreams could be attributed to the same cause: teenagers in love usually had other things to do at night than sleeping.

''You may go, Severus. Keep up the lessons, even if you cannot enter his mind anymore. I do not want Dumbledore to know about any of this, he might try to exploit this new… development. Teach Harry potions instead or something, keep an eye on him.'' He felt strangely detached, and merely waved Severus off. He'd wanted to ask still about Dumbledore's movements, or the reception of the most recent prophet articles in Hogwarts, but didn't feel like it anymore. It could wait, Hogwarts was of little importance now anyways.

If Harry wanted to be with other people, that was fine. Just fine. Voldemort had other things to focus on now. Tomorrow, he would give into his bloodlust like he hadn't in years. And even if he would imagine every head he ripped off to belong to a certain Durmstrang student, no-one would have to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was the last chapter that I also had up on FFN.  
But fear not, the next one has already been written and just needs to be beta'd still ^^ So, it won't take very long.


	52. Training

''Make the joints smaller,'' Voldemort spoke as he cast a criticising eye on Barty's most recent creation. ''Living beings have sinews and muscles, you cannot properly imitate that on such a small golem, the material is too inflexible. Joints comprised of smaller marbles will give it enough movement.'' The Death Eater followed the advice, shrinking the pieces that held its limbs together and multiplying them. When he animated the part with a spell, the golem's movements had improved a great deal. It looked like a small mammal of living stone and metal. He would worry later about the details such as skull design or patterns to make it look better. It would make for a good guard and a fast messenger. Much faster than an owl, and more able to defend itself.

''I thank you, fath- My Lord,'' he respectfully spoke, catching his slip-up just in time. It was joyous, having the greatest wizard of all time at his side, teaching him. As much as Barty thought of the Dark Lord as a father figure, he did not wish to ruin it by overstepping his boundaries by voicing it. He regretfully knew that he would never be more than a student at most to the Dark Lord. A cold hand landed on his shoulder and Barty looked up into ruby eyes that were a touch softer than usual.

''This will be very useful, create more of them.''

Barty watched as the man moved to the desk and started answering letters from different followers and allies from across the continent. Their actions under the guise of the Hand of Magic had rapidly gained popularity among the common folk. Each morning, Lucius, who was mainly in charge of the Creature operation, delivered these letters. Barty had a hard time containing his glee over the fact that this part was practically over now and Lucius was slowly disappearing out of the spotlight. The coward did not deserve any kind of recognition in his opinion. Instead, they'd started making moves in gathering information on hospitals, which Barty had been given full reign over. The weight of the operation that rested on his shoulders felt good. It was yet another chance to prove his absolute loyalty and usefulness.

Naturally, it wasn't the only thing that held the Dark Lord's attention. The man was busy with many different plans simultaneously as there was so much to do still. He kept an eye on Hogwarts, tried to counter the Order of the Phoenix whenever those stirred up trouble, controlled the news, influenced the Ministry and kept up relations with the many beings and beasts who owed him now. Barty felt proud to be here for it all, able to aid the Dark Lord at every turn. He knew that some of the Death Eaters made fun of him and only saw him as some sort of lackey who did nothing but keep the house in shape and their Lord fed. They could think what they want,** they** would never be trusted enough to see the man behind the carefully crafted mask.

That didn't mean that it wasn't at times a burden too. When he'd been a mere boy, the Dark Lord had been someone's he'd looked up to so strongly: a capable leader, a giver of knowledge and magic, a stable pillar of support that the darker side of the wizarding world so desperately needed. One who would end corruption and unite them all. Now, Barty knew that some of those traits weren't all they were made out to be. The Dark Lord was not always mentally in control, struggling with his own emotions and making faulty decisions as he did not always take other people's emotional reactions into account. He was also prone to act rash when things didn't go his way and very unwilling to listen to advice that wasn't explicitly asked for. The Dark Lord did not hold the answers to all of life's mysteries.

Instead of this negatively influencing Barty's opinion however, it only strengthened his beliefs in the man's goals. His Lord knew pain, struggle, rejection. Although he succeeded in playing the part of a Pureblood noble well, he was a saviour of the downtrodden and overlooked. It was the Death Eater's deepest wish to one day live in the world they were striving to create now. One where he would not need to hide anymore, where he could walk freely on any street and practise the magic he wished to without fear of Muggles seeing or being brought back to Azkaban. Sometimes, it felt as if they were reaching for utopia and would never succeed. He pushed those thoughts away and tried to focus on the small steps. Magic could do everything, and so could her chosen Lord.

The only question was if Barty would live long enough to see it. His Lord was immortal and in no hurry. Several of the first Knights of Walpurgis had already passed away, without even catching a glimpse of the promised future because of all the setbacks and people who rebelled against change. Barty was no fool, he knew that he wasn't invincible. Even if things would move fast and he wouldn't die from old age before their mission was completed, each battle he threw himself into to fight for freedom could be his last. There were many more to come even without open warfare. For this reason, he at times played with the idea of splitting his soul like his Lord had done. He didn't know the method of course, only that such a thing existed and had been performed multiple times by the one sitting with him now. He'd never questioned it before, not even after he was sent out to gather the containers. Such things were reserved for mages far greater than Barty. He would be here, ready to lay down his life if necessary, as long as during the time he was alive, he'd get what he wanted: recognition.

The golem was working now, and he made it jump up and down a few times, to which Nagini raised her head and hissed threateningly. Barty threw the snake a dirty look, he'd never been fond of snakes, a feeling that was mutual as far as he could tell. It had been a relief whenever Evan had been there to occupy her. Speaking of which…

''My Lord?'' The other grunted, which Barty took as a sign to continue. ''Has there been any news from Hogwarts? It's been weeks since Snape visited.''

''He can't leave anymore, Umbridge has tightened her grip on Hogwarts once more, she has been granted the rights to control any and all points of access to the castle, including the fireplaces of the staff. Snape does not want to raise suspicion by regularly going to the house of a member of the Board or otherwise leave his quarters now she has the ability to remove teachers from office. I agreed with the decision.''

''What about news of Evan then?'' he asked, worried. It had been a shock to hear the Dark Lord's theory that it hadn't been Evan at all who had answered their mirror call. That had been a long time ago and he hadn't heard anything about new developments on that front. Snape had visited only twice since as far as he was aware, but the Dark Lord had been incredibly tight-lipped about it and had been in a horrid mood for more than a week after the last visit, taking it out on anyone -including Barty- who dared ask questions. He hoped that this wasn't the case anymore. By the way that the man instantly stiffened and the air turned cold, that might have been an idle hope.

''He is doing** just fine**.'' The half-growled, aggressive statement didn't make it much better.

''Did you not suspect that he was in danger?'' Barty was rather confused now. Had there been news that he'd missed? His Lord stayed silent, seeming to glare a hole in the wall. Barty slowly rose up and approached the desk, determined to find out what was going on. Clearly, something was wrong here. ''I care about him like a brother, if anything happened…''

''I was wrong,'' the Dark Lord spoke, his voice cutting like a recently-sharpened knife. ''I was so quick to believe that the boy would never hide things from me that I rather searched for conspiracy theories to answer the question why he acted so strangely. We did not share dreams anymore as he has other things to do at night now. He has secrets he doesn't confide…''

''During the call, he didn't seem to know who Noctua was,'' Barty protested, finding it strange how much the Dark Lord brushed that fact aside.

''Surely, it wasn't so important to him to remember the personality I crafted. He only saw my disguise a few times, after all.''

''All summer when you came home from work! My Lord-''

''Quiet, Barty. I relied too much on Evan's connection to me. While he is a valuable asset to have, he also made me vulnerable. It is better this way.''

The Death Eater conjured a chair and sat down next to his Lord, throwing all caution to the wind. Let the Cruciatus come if it had to, he wanted to get to the bottom of this. ''What way?''

There came nothing but silence, white hands flexing into fists a few times. ''My Lord, have I not always been a trustful ear? I have kept many of your secrets, from personal history to your immortality. I only wish to help if I can.''

''Evan is drifting away from me,'' his Lord finally spoke bitterly. ''I did not wish to admit it, but he has… grown on me. He was destined for great things from birth, his fate interwoven with mine through prophecy and soul magic. I thought he was different from all those people who only search me for power.'' Barty tried his best not to be offended at that, although he had to admit deep down, that he too had mostly searched out the Lord's closeness at the start for his own gain. ''Once I introduced him to Necromancy, I had hoped to have him fully on my side. Yet he seems to have forgotten about everything I taught him. He went back to his friends, to his godfather and now he is receiving lessons from someone else entirely, a Durmstrang student he must have met last year. I saw the memories Snape dug up. There is no denying that I was the furthest thing from his mind as he kissed that man.''

Barty was speechless at that, unsure how to react. Truth be told, he felt rather guilty at his naivety. He had been the one to warn Evan away from the Dark Lord and tried to dim the fire between the two that was so clear to him. In his opinion, the teen was far too young to catch the attention of a man as powerful and oftentimes cruel as their Lord could be. Evan needed more experience, find his own place instead of clinging onto one man to carry him further. Still, there had been no doubt in his mind that in time, after Evan had found power on his own, the two would have inevitably circled towards each other again. As his Lord had just so aptly said, they'd been bound by fate and magic since the beginning. Such a strong connection was a rare thing. It had not been Barty's intention to drive Evan away permanently. To now hear that the teen had found another instead…

''It might not be something serious,'' he started. ''Teenagers are… rash. Relationships started at school hardly ever last.''

He shrank back as the Dark Lord rose abruptly and gave him a harsh glare. ''You dare assume that Evan of all people would be looking for something so shallow? We both know him better than that, he won't settle for anything but love.'' A wand was suddenly threateningly pointed at him. ''Leave me be, Barty. I don't want to discuss this further, especially not as it is also** your** fault.'' The truth stung, so to avoid an argument, he quietly retreated. Upon closing the door, Barty's guilt tripled as he saw through the crack that the Lord put his face in his hands and let out a strangled sound.

* * *

The Room of Requirement was cacophony of sounds and light, a horde of students all packed together practising spells like they oftentimes did here. Amongst the crowd, a black-haired teenager ran around to inspect them.

''Good work Susan! Keep it up Neville!'' Harry exclaimed as he ducked out of the way of a stray spell while walking around. ''Okay everyone, I think that's it. Let's take a moment to gather.''

Chaos erupted before everyone finally stopped when the message had been passed around the room. His friends drew the attention of the last few students who hadn't heard the shouts and a minute later, everyone gathered around him. ''I think we can call this a success,'' Harry smiled. ''So, since we've been meeting and practising for a couple of weeks now, and we likely won't be able to meet up until next month with Halloween coming up, I think it's a good time to revise now. I know, I know,'' as protests started rising up. ''Not everyone's favourite. But I usually feel that revision lacks a bit in regular classes apart from the start of the year. I struggled a lot with spells in transfiguration and charms especially during the middle of the year cause we only practiced a couple of times and then never touched it again. Or do any of you still remember how to cast the Skurge charm?''

''I don't know how often you have to deal with Ectoplasm, Potter,'' Draco drawled. ''But I have found no practical use for the Skurge Charm that suggests I would ever need it again unless I wish to become the next Hogwarts Janitor.''

''That's not so unlike this here then. We're training for when we are in danger, if we ever are. Some of you might never be in a situation where you'll need something like a Homorphus charm against a werewolf until thirty years or so after learning it. It wouldn't be very handy if you'd forgotten the wand movement by then. So, revision. We've covered the Patronus Charm, Disarming charm, Fear Hex, the Shield Charm and today the Reductor Curse. I want you all to produce Patroni again to see how well it stuck, and once everyone has their form to its previous strength from where we ended the last revision of that, we'll duel a bit using all the other spells. Now most of you guys got the Shield Charm down, we won't need to use dummies this time.''

That piece of news got the rest a bit more excited, as Harry had often opted for using the dummies instead to avoid injuries. He'd have preferred to do a bit more duelling even from the start, but with such a huge group of people, it could become too overwhelming to keep track of everything that happened. Even now, he'd had to treat some injuries from backfiring or poorly aimed spells. He deeply thanked Voldemort mentally several times for teaching him the basics of healing. Harry doubted that their group would have remained undiscovered for long if he'd have to send them all to the Hospital Wing.

The air around them became bright silver from all the simultaneous Patronus charms that were fired off. As expected, only a few people could produce a corporeal one again instantly, among them Hermione, Cedric and Ginny. Most others struggled, some with the movement, some with the necessary input of emotions or power. Naturally, he hadn't expected everyone to produce one in the first place. Some of the younger students like Dennis Creevey would likely only be apt enough at it after some time. Harry had only been able to learn it during his third year because of desperate need.

His eyes followed Hermione's otter through the air as it soared gracefully. ''Excellent! Those who manage to cast it to your personal satisfaction can help the others to save a bit of time.''

It didn't take too long until more than half was done and he started forming duelling pairs already. He usually matched older and younger students together to improve learning speed, but rejected that method for this revision. He wanted his students to be able to go all out. As he was creating pairs, Neville came up to him, a sheen of sweat on his forehead from concentrating so hard. ''I managed! I finally managed a full Patronus!'' he proudly said, a wide grin on his face. ''It's a bear! No wonder I thought it was big and hairy.''

''Well done!'' Harry said, deeply impressed. Neville had been improving more than probably anyone else, and it was great to see what a confidence boost it gave the usually so timid boy. Neville now even went to Potion class with his head held high. He'd confided in Harry that whenever Snape started berating him, he'd secretly imagine casting all the spells he'd mastered on the Professor.

''I wanted to know if you already have an idea of what we're doing next month, so I can maybe read up on it a bit.''

''Oh sure, one minute.'' Harry turned and tried to find his lesson plan on the many shelves that stood to the side. He always kept all items related to the D.A. in the Room of Requirement itself to lessen the chances of teachers -Umbridge in particular- finding them. ''So, next month I want to focus on spells that immobilise targets in the field. Think of Stunning spells, Body-Bind curses, Feet-freezing spells etcetera. I also found a very useful curse that isn't taught at Hogwarts called the Inverted Movement Hex that I'd like to teach.''

''Thanks Harry, I'll make sure to do my homework!'' Neville excitedly said before joining the rest again to find a partner.

Looking at his students, Harry felt a bubbling excitement as well. Starting this club had been the best decision he'd made all year. It was something practical to do to combat Umbridge's dreary lessons and her smug little smiles. More than that, with members of all four houses here and all from different years, he could feel the resistance of the student body solidifying and growing. And although they all kept in their lanes when Umbridge was around, Harry had the feeling that some of the other teachers and students had noticed too.

Outside of the D.A., he'd seen more and more people from different Houses hanging out together peacefully: in the library, during classes, even on the Quidditch field. To further the idea, he had Hermione write down the Sorting Hat's song from the start of the year -as she could apparently quote it word-by-word- and pinned it to the notice boards in both the Gryffindor Common room as well as the Room of Requirement. Its message of unity in the face of dangerous external forces was something he tried to live by now. In the practice room, it hung right next to several slogans and drawings from his other students, plus the list of members, on which the name 'Dumbledore's Army' was displayed.

When Ginny had first suggested the name, Harry had instinctively wanted to reject it after all the problems he had with the Headmaster nowadays. Several Slytherins had also objected. Just as he had been about to decline the name and pick Cho's more neutral 'Defence Association' however, the Horcrux had spoken up, claiming that it was a great opportunity. It was only a name, it would give positive associations to the club for most of the members and if they'd ever be discovered, Umbridge might try to shift the blame to Dumbledore instead. It was the Ministry who thought that Dumbledore actually was creating a student army, so it made sense that they would jump at the opportunity to discredit the Headmaster. So, Harry had left it to a democratic vote, knowing already what most would choose.

Even though they'd been a bit more left out with the naming of their club, the Slytherins had warmed up to the rest over time, prodded a bit by Draco, which Harry was immensely glad for. The few hostile comments and spells on both sides had quickly been condemned with a speech that Harry was still proud of to this day. It was miraculous to see how quickly everyone had accepted each other now and worked together as a team. It brought further advantages as well: with around forty students, they could have good discussions about regular coursework too; exchanging tips, notes and other knowledge. It was through this that Harry's own extracurricular rune work had improved with leaps and bounds as he could speak about it with third- to seventh-years at the same time who took the subject. It was why they met even more often now, as much time was actually spent on additional topics to help improve each other's skills in more than just defensive and offensive magic.

The major problem they had was trying to find time-slots where the majority was able to attend. It would have been too obvious if groups of students moved to the seventh floor at fixed times, and he had to juggle with the schedules of four Quidditch teams and other clubs. Generally, they were able to find time on weekdays in the evening, and the occasional weekend morning as well. They'd had seven meetings in the past three weeks, which would have been a strain were it not for the fact that many used the opportunity to sometimes finish coursework in groups together right after the training. With the upped speed of homework completion, he had still enough time to schedule new D.A. meetings.

Spells started flying back and forth now, and he took a break from observing by partnering with Cedric to duel a bit himself. As they both were very familiar with all the spells being practiced right now, he threw in a few additional ones as well, and didn't solely rely on the Shield Charm for protection. Barty had taught him so many different defensive spells that he liked to be creative. It was also what these lessons were about, to use more than just the fixed set of spells that they were taught at school. Ron especially had reacted very positively to a game they'd played last week, where they needed to think of something they'd like to be able to do with magic, and then try to find if there was a spell for that. They hadn't started anything practical yet, but Harry really hoped to introduce it after the Christmas holidays.

''Hey, what is that shield that makes you hard to see?'' Cedric asked when took a short break. ''You used it during one of the Tasks last year too, right?''

''Yeah, with the dragon,'' Harry answered. ''It's called a Haze shield. Can't be used too much though, it needs a couple of hairs for every few minutes you keep it up. There are always a few loose strands if I run my hand through my hair, so I try to use it until those run out so I don't have to actually pull any.''

''Are you going to teach that one as well?''

''I guess I could try to squeeze it in somewhere. Not yet though, the regular Shielding Charm should be sufficient to stop any spell I'm teaching next month. Maybe after if we move onto more powerful spells.''

The revision went well. Even when some students struggled, others were quick to jump in and help without Harry needing to do much. He mainly walked around a bit and gave words of advice or praise after his own quick duel: ''Aim a bit more to the left Daphne, your spells tend to stray towards the right side. Good, like that. Hey Seamus, tiny bit less force yeah? Adrian, perfect shield!'' Adrian Pucey threw him a grin and cancelled the shield, then sauntered over to Harry.

''Could we have a quick word?'' the Headboy asked, nodding to the wall a ways off from the group.

''Sure. What's the matter?''

They moved to the side, and Adrian grinned. ''Wanted to congratulate you. All of this-'' he gestured around. ''Is so much better than I thought it would be. At first I was admittedly a tad disappointed when seeing all of the other people who were signing up, mostly coming from light families or even being Mudbl- Muggleborns…'' he hastily corrected when seeing Harry's glare. ''I understand the need for subtlety, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could introduce a few… advanced classes, perhaps? With some stuff that you learned outside of Hogwarts?'' the boy hopefully asked. Harry inwardly sighed.

''I try to include bits of it that are acceptable enough,'' he said in a low voice, also sneakily putting up a silencing spell around them.

''There is so little dark magic!'' Adrian complained.

''The Fear Hex was dark, the Patronus is dark, and a spell that I'll introduce next month will also be. But dark spells take more energy, more time and sacrifices. Even if I wanted to, I can't teach something so taxing all the time. Also, I indeed **don't** want it to become known how much dark magic I know. It took several conversations with some of my friends before they started to accept that maybe not all dark magic is evil. I can't change that much more, or for dozens of people. You also have to recognise that this is a club to learn offensive and defensive magic and that that includes many light spells, which are much easier to learn. I'm sorry, but I am not going to split the group for some secret meeting so you can get high off dark magic.''

Adrian pulled a face and shifted nervously. ''Fair enough, I'm only at Hogwarts one more year anyways. After that I can experiment as much as I like. Do you have anyone you could… recommend me to? So I'd have a teacher or mentor after school?''

Harry scratched his head, getting a bit desperate to end this conversation. He should have expected to be used as a stepping stone for some of the aspiring Slytherin students. ''I don't know,'' he honestly said. ''If I have contact again with some of my friends who know more dark magic, I can ask. Other than that, I recommend going to your Head of House.''

Adrian shook his head resolutely. ''I blew it with professor Snape. He already said he won't help me. I have to forge my own path somehow, but it is so frustrating without any proper contacts. My family isn't well-known, and none of my family members were among the Dark Lord's ranks.''

''Then the only sure way I know for you to get support is to become a Death Eater yourself,'' Harry suggested. ''Not sure if I would recommend it. The Dark Lord has some good ideas, but he demands a lot from his followers. It's not a lifestyle that I would be comfortable with.'' He had thought long and hard on whether he would actually openly speak to Pucey about knowing of the Dark Lord's return. Generally, Harry tried to let rumours stay rumours. However, Draco had already told Adrian before and confirming it made conversations much easier, especially as the two Slytherins spent even more time together than before since the creation of the D.A.

''You have a bit more leeway than most, Potter,'' Adrian sighed. ''For reasons I still don't understand fully. Thank you for this conversation, I will consider your words. I may indeed have no choice in the matter if I wish to pursue deeper magic.''

''Good luck then.''

He went back to the group and ended the lesson, disappointing a few students when announcing that they couldn't stay in the Room for much longer afterwards. Harry had little time however, he had planned something different today that he needed the Room for. When the last person had finally left, Harry stepped out as well and nodded to Ron, who had lingered behind.

As the corridor was empty at last apart from the two of them, Harry spoke: ''Come, quickly.'' They paced up and down in front of the wall again, thinking of something different this time.

''I can barely believe this is finally it,'' Ron said, grinning. Upon entering, Harry instantly went over to check on the potion they'd been brewing all month now. The base was set, existing of crushed moth chrysalis, untouched dew and a variety of plant juices such as laurel sap that the Horcrux had suggested for increased quantity and stabilisation. The original potion as described in their book would have barely given each of them a single sip. Sirius had failed to tell them how he and James had been able to produce enough of it to keep drinking it throughout practise sessions. Now, Harry and Ron would only need to add the mandrake leaves they'd been carrying and their own hair after transferring the base potion in a vial struck by today's full moon's rays.

It would still get very tricky. They were lucky enough to have a clear sky today, so they wouldn't need to do two weather rituals. After creating the potion however, both of them were itching to finally get started with practise, so they'd need to call forth another lightning storm. They'd improved the ritual over the last two weeks, and had even managed to call an instant storm last time. It still wasn't Ron's favourite part, who had concerning chest pains after each time they practised weather magic. He was determined to pull through however, which Harry appreciated more than he could express.

''Okay, I have my invisibility cloak and map,'' Harry said, pulling said items from his bag. ''Can you bottle up the potion? I still want to check the book to ensure we don't mess anything up. Well, the parts that we aren't messing up on purpose on Sirius' advice, that is.''

''He'll be stoked to hear that we're finally getting so close. Have you had any contact with him?''

Harry shook his head and quietly spoke: ''Not much. We're both busy I guess. He with the Order, I with the D.A. and other things. I received a short letter from him a while ago, so I know he's still kicking. I mean, you don't constantly write your mum either, do you?''

''No, but my mum is not so awesome as your godfather! Okay, I got the potion. You really think this'll be enough? Should we put some more water in it?''

''No, we shouldn't risk diluting it. If anything, having so little will force us to train fast, won't it? And if all else fails and we barely make progress, we can try again the way the book describes it.''

''What, with chanting for twenty-four hours at the end? You really think we can disappear for that long without anyone questioning it? You're Harry bloody Potter, Dumbledore will send out search parties after half a day!''

''Don't remind me,'' Harry grumbled. He took the book and quickly read the lines regarding the potion.

_The transformation potion is a vital first step for anyone who wishes to pursue the long path of becoming an Animagus. There are two different methods to approach this, both of which require the same ingredients._

_The traditional way is to gather all ingredients the moment they become absolutely necessary. Start out at the night of a full moon and place a mandrake leaf in your mouth. This leaf is not to be damaged, swallowed or taken out at any point during the next month. When the moon is full again, hold a phial into the moon's rays and place the mandrake leaf in the moon-touched phial. To it, add dew from ground that has not been touched by people -see the index on page 135 about the definition of people- for at least seven days. The dew must be gathered on a teaspoon of pure silver and not be placed into any other container or touched. Add to this the crushed chrysalis of Death's-head Hawk Moth and a single strand of your own hair. Wait until the next lightning storm, which will turn the potion red. It may then be consumed._

_A slightly more modern version of the potion's creation has been tried and tested over the last century by two of the current seven registered Animagi in Britain: Daphne Wicklock and Laura Wren. To have greater control over the timing, the moth and dew are gathered beforehand and set up to simmer during the month in which the mandrake leaf is held in one's mouth. Speculations about the dew losing its potency as an ingredient were negated when the result turned out the same. Critics still believe that this was only the case because additional, secret ingredients may have been added, a claim that has been denied until today. When using this method, the mandrake leaf can be added to the already existing base potion before being poured into the moon-touched phial. The hair still has to be added last._

Harry's hand automatically curled around the locket dangling from his neck as he muttered: ''I certainly hope you were right about the additional things we added. I'd hate to have to do this all over again.''

''Everything fine, Harry?'' Ron asked.

''All good. So, the idea is to sneak out to one of the unused towers and get moonlight from the window, yes?''

''Basically. There's a small tower with view to the east where we can probably see it best at this time of day. After that we return here and call another storm?''

''Yes, I really want to know if we brewed it correctly. If the storm comes fast enough, we can even start practise already.''

''Brilliant. I got the phials and the cauldron, let's go!''

Under the cover of darkness, they sneaked through the cold corridors of Hogwarts. It was a blessing that all of Harry's favourite rooms - Gryffindor tower, the Room of Requirement and the Owlery - were all on the same floor. He now added 'random tower to the east' to that list. Unlocking the tower door was no problem for two students who got up to no good since the very first year here, and it appeared that Filch and Mrs Norris were occupied elsewhere in the large castle at this time. Beyond a set of narrow stone spiral steps lay a small room, which turned out to be a mostly-empty storage room for spare gloves and other safety equipment. It had a single window that was very typical for Hogwarts: old glass and rusted metal handles. Through it, Harry could already see tonight's bright, full moon.

Ron put everything down on the dusty floor while Harry tried his hand on opening the window, which was hard work as it had rusted shut over the years. A couple of oiling spells later, it swung open, and he basked in the moonlight with a feel of awe. He was on his way of transforming into an animal, like his father had done before him. Had they used this same tower to catch the moon?

As agreed beforehand, Ron and he both had separate phials as they did not want to nullify the potion by adding two strands of hair to the same mixture. So, they stood next to each other and held the glass up to the moonlight. Nothing changed, and Ron's face reflected Harry's inner disappointment at feeling absolutely nothing. Then again, he shouldn't have expected anything. As Snape loved to remind them all the time, Potions was a very subtle art of magic. Preparations were rarely paired with rushes of magic, be it light or dark.

Perhaps that was why potions were never really mentioned in categorisations of light and dark magic, Harry pondered. Going by pure logic, he'd have thought it to be a branch of heavy magic, as a potion was usually comprised of dead plants and animals and sometimes required a 'sacrifice' in the form of hairs or other pieces of people. Yet, potions were judged only by their use in labelling them illegal or not and Voldemort had never mentioned a word of dark potions. Did it really work differently? He would ask Snape if the man wasn't such an arse. Even now Harry had mastered Occlumency, Snape insisted on giving him additional 'remedial potion lessons' to keep the fact that Harry had learned it so fast from Dumbledore. He supposed he should be grateful as it meant that Dumbledore wasn't going to pry, but these extra lessons were basically just detentions where he helped prepare ingredients and scrubbed cauldrons in silence as Snape did not appreciate 'blabbering'. It was also very suspicious. Why would Snape care if Harry learned it abnormally fast? Or Dumbledore for that matter? Harry had hoped it would have meant an end to seeing his potion professor more often. At the start, it had sounded as if Snape had wanted the same.

''Here goes nothing,'' Harry spoke, sighing in relief as he could finally take the foul-tasting leaf out of his mouth and added it to the potion, while Ron did the same. They then helped each other with pouring it into the phials. It had an unpleasant, drably consistency and was swamp-green. ''Reminds me of Polyjuice.''

''I wish you hadn't said that, Polyjuice tastes awful.''

''As this has a bunch of leaves, saliva and crushed insects in it, I'm not expecting it to taste of sugar either.''

''Do me a favour and at least never mention again that we're partially drinking each other's spit please,'' Ron grimaced. ''We should have thought of bringing two cauldrons.''

''Too late now. Hey, you won't have to drink it for another hour or so, probably,'' Harry said optimistically.

''Because it will be** so** much better when it turns luke-warm to cold. Come on, let's go back and get this over with. I hope we will have some natural storms too in the next months, I really feel horrible after these rituals. Don't know how you can stand that magic. Do you think your scar makes you resistant against dark magic or something?''

''Doubt it, it burns like hell around Dementors and gives me splitting headaches, and they are dark creatures. I suspect it has something to do with natural affinity or so. Your family has only used light magic for generations, right? I know that at least my grandmother was a Black, and my other grandparents were muggles, so…''

''What happened to them?'' Ron asked. ''They were Muggles so they weren't involved in the war, right? Many of my grandparents' generation were killed by You-Know-Who and his followers, but the war didn't extend much into the Muggle World as far as I know.''

''No idea, actually. Aunt Petunia never spoke of her parents. From what I know now, I think it was mostly because they favoured my mother. You make a good point. They can't have been that old either, so as long as they didn't fall ill or have some accident, they should still be alive. On the other hand, why would Dumbledore claim that my aunt and uncle were the last living family I had left?''

''Dunno… I mean, they're not really anyways,'' Ron said. ''If your grandma was a Black, then you're at least distantly related to a lot of Pureblood families, not least of that to Sirius. Or Malfoy's mum. Did Dumbledore really say that?''

''It was the whole reason for leaving me with the Dursleys in the first place,'' Harry muttered. ''I guess he meant 'direct family'. I'm not entirely sure how that whole protection spell is supposed to work in the first place. Enough of that, can we get back? I'm itching to move on.'' For if he wasn't careful, he'd just go on another angry rant about Dumbledore like the ones he'd had with Sirius, and he didn't think that was very fair to his friend. It wasn't as if Ron could do anything about it either.

As soon as they returned to the Room of Requirement, the Horcrux emerged from the Locket, like always checking over the site they would perform the ritual at, which was the centre of the room they'd picked, a circular space with a dome-shaped ceiling. It was flanked by sets of shelves on which they stored all necessary items and ingredients so they wouldn't constantly have to worry about their schoolbags becoming too suspiciously bulky.

''Same as last time, yeah?''

Harry nodded and started gathering everything. His movements were sure, deliberate, as he knew what he was doing. This was very unlike their first attempt, where they'd just tried to wing it and the Horcrux had thrown in some last improvements to ensure it didn't go completely haywire.

He took a moment to concentrate, drawing magic to the surface of his hands before taking a piece of chalk and drawing a double circle, adding strings of runes at the appropriate places. Twenty-one Algiz for protection, eight Isa for stability, five bindrunes of Hagalaz and Sowilo for lightning storms and so forth, setting specifics for the day and time closer to the middle. Meanwhile, Ron set up their 'altar', which still was a stack of books about stones, although the stack had grown much bigger now so they could place more on it. They'd actually found a couple of flat stones at the shore of the black lake, but none had been really large enough, and enlarging them with magic apparently took away the 'integrity of the stone' according to the Horcrux. So, they'd stuck to Ron's idea, one of the few elements that remained.

''I certainly hope that this time, Trelawney won't start to interpret these storms again,'' Ron said, groaning slightly as he carried a heavy drum to his part of the circle. ''I could barely hold in my laughter when Lavender and Parvati started ranting about Ceraunoscopy after the last storm we created.''

''Very true,'' Harry absentmindedly said, taking a handful of glass and spreading it in front of him, together with the feathers of a thunderbird that he'd stolen from Snape's private collection. ''I'm done. You?''

Ron set the two coloured candles in place, then nodded and sat down. They needed no further conversation, saying everything else through their magic and spells. Harry fell into a meditative state soon, calling forth the warm force from the core of his body. It gathered at the surface of his skin, breaking through his palms and flowing into the air around them. He started rocking back and forth as waves started building up, causing the candles to blaze to life on their own. His body shook when the pounding of the drum started, imitating the thunder that would surely come to be. He got lost in the movements, the magic, the music. The pounding now seemed to come from within, echoing through his very bones. Harry raised the pieces of glass in the air, then spread them on the altar with both hands. Next, he held three iridescent feathers high. The cloud-like patterns on the feathers changed from gold to blue and silver as they caught hold of the weather magic they were summoning with it, like the thunderbird itself could.

_''Manannan_ _mac y Leir, neach-glèidhidh nan geataichean, gairm a-mach an gaoth a tuath, fuachd is gailleann aig Hogwarts_.''

His voice rolled through the room with the beat of the drum, magic spiked and started rumbling too, forming a slow whirl through the entire area. The glass cracked, veins lighting up brightly. The feathers sizzled with electricity, and Harry could barely hold onto them. They repeated the spell, Ron banging the drum with the rhythm of their voices.

''We surrender to the forces of nature and accept that the tides and skies cannot always be in our favour,'' Harry spoke softly, bowing his head. A **crack** shook the floor, magic going wild, crashing down on them. He tried to hold onto the familiar feeling of dark magic as long as he could, wishing with all his might that it was something physical that wouldn't leave. Alas, it lasted no longer than a handful of moments.

He was left exhausted, having to force himself to crawl over to Ron. His friend made a pained noise, holding his rib cage. ''We won't need to do this much more often, I promise,'' Harry said, greatly distraught at the state Ron was in. ''If there is any chance at all of using natural storms or the ones that will happen as rebuttal for the one we called today, we'll do so. I don't care if it takes longer then. This isn't normal.''

''Dark magic isn't normal,'' Ron replied, smiling weakly. ''Not for me at least. You may be right with your affinity theory, it even seems to get worse over time. I also noticed it during the D.A. lessons… you tried to put in a few dark spells, didn't you? That Fear Hex… even when it was my turn to cast it, it was as if my whole body protested against it. You're lucky, you don't look like you have a problem with either type of magic…'' Harry ignored the envy in his friend's voice and made Ron sit up.

''I'm all the worse at potions for that,'' he joked. ''It's a miracle that this one turned out well.'' He looked at their creation on the shelves, surprised when seeing the phials were already filled with a bright red substance. ''Look!''

''Blimey, that was fast… say what you will, this magic does do what it promises to. Hey, there is nothing dark about transfiguring ourselves right?''

''I suspect most branches of magic have light and heavy spells, even Transfiguration. I wouldn't know of anything specific dark transfiguration spells or curses though. Becoming an Animagus is definitely safe as McGonagall is one and she would never dabble in dark arts. Also, it is recognised as a legal skill by the Ministry, there wouldn't be an Animagi register otherwise. '' That seemed to calm Ron somewhat, for he rubbed his chest one last time and then slowly got up to grab the potions.

''I somehow can barely believe we're actually doing this. Mum would freak out if she knew I learnt to turn into an animal. I still wish it was a more convenient spell and we could choose what we will be like in Babbity Rabbity and other children stories…''

Harry vaguely recalled hearing about such a story. Maybe Barty had mentioned it once before when talking about his upbringing as a kid. ''I think the Twins will freak out more when they find out that you can do something they can't,'' Harry grinned, to which Ron completely perked up.

''Yeah, yeah you're right! No-one in my entire family can change into an animal! I would be the first Weasley to do this as far as I know! This is** great**. Hey, **are** we going to register?'' his friend asked, now looking a tad concerned. ''I know the Ministry is very chaotic right now and most definitely wouldn't want Umbridge to find out but… it would be horrible to get punished for this if someone finds out we skipped something as stupid as a registration formality.''

''You can do whatever you want, I won't stop you from registering. I ask only that you keep my form a secret from everyone, as I don't plan to shout it from the rooftops. The register is public, if I'd sign there, what would be the point for me of even having an animal form? I want to use it to hide, that won't exactly work if my enemies could waltz into the Ministry and look me up. Don't forget, they do not only record what animal you are, but also the exact look of it. According to this book, each Animagus has a characteristic or mark, usually from physical traits or items the person so often wears that they have an emotional bond with it.''

''That makes it sound as if our Professor is emotionally attached to her glasses,'' Ron laughed.

Harry merely shrugged. ''This guide probably exaggerates a bit. I suppose any item, that you wear everyday of your life, like glasses, gets some emotional value. It's well possible that I will have a circular pattern around my eyes from my glasses too. I've worn them every single day since I was small. I just hope that my scar will at least disappear as an animal… if it can entirely change one's skin and limbs, surely it should be able to do that, right?''

''Don't know mate,'' Ron spoke uncertainly, eyeing Harry's forehead. ''It's a curse scar so… Who knows, you might become an animal with such shaggy fur that it'll be covered up if you're lucky. If Sirius' guess with you becoming a lion is right, you certainly won't need to worry.''

''Yeah, right,'' Harry laughed. ''Imagine a lion running through Surrey, I would get thrown in a zoo! If my form is not a very handy animal, I likely won't use it.''

''Would still be handy in battle I suppose. If you lose your wand, you can still rip people to pieces with your claws and teeth.''

''Sounds more like you. Remember when you lost your wand and just started pummelling Draco?''

''Good times,'' his friend sighed. ''I know that you're trying hard to get this whole house unity to work, but having to be nice to Draco Malfoy of all people during D.A. meetings is still very stressful. If he makes** one** more snide comment, I can't promise that I won't flip out again. Although he got sneakier with insults, they're definitely still there, especially when you're not within hearing range.''

''That's worrying, I'll have another talk with him in hope that helps.''

''Don't bother Harry. Malfoy and I, we'll never see eye to eye. I can only promise to be as civil as I can muster. Come on, enough talking, I am getting tired. We won't get anywhere unless we go for it. Cheers.'' Harry got out of the circle, being careful not to disturb the chalk lines. It was a silly superstitious thing, he realised. Once a ritual was over and no magic was put in, the circles and runes didn't matter. The Horcrux had pointed this out a few times now, yet Harry found it somehow disrespectful to casually walk through the symbols that had previously channelled such immense power. It would feel the same as walking into a church with muddy boots, even when he himself didn't believe in any other religion than honouring Magic.

He unstoppered his potion and tried not to look at the bits and pieces of slimy plants amidst the crimson substance that had been cooked away for well over a month. ''One sip, right? And then we'll instantly have our first attempt.''

''How many sips do you reckon this thing holds?'' Ron asked doubtfully. ''Five? Six? It's really tiny and that is** with **everything we added.''

''If we'd be doing it 'properly', we wouldn't have needed more than one, I suppose that is the main issue. If we only drink a couple of drops at a time, I figure we could get seven or so, tops. It'll have to do. Ready?''

Ron nodded and took a tiny sip, shuddering instantly after in a way that told Harry it clearly wasn't going to taste any better than Skelegro. He closed his eyes and pinched his nose to at least not smell the foul fumes of fermenting plants. The potion was one of the worst ones he'd had, managing to be both slimy, bitter and stinging all at once. It cost him a great deal to not cough it up again instantly as his eyes started to water. His friend did not have such an extreme reaction, only grimacing a couple of times from the taste. They sat back down on the floor and pointed their wands to their chests, tip at the heart. The Horcrux for once hadn't been able to give any kind of advice on the best method, as he hadn't learned this particular skill. Harry was unsure whether Voldemort ever had. It sounded unlikely that there was magic the Dark Lord hadn't spent time learning, to be honest. Perhaps he simply had such an unfortunate form that he never used it.

Instead of giving its usual commentary, the Horcrux was pacing up and down the room, staring at him with an intensity that felt rather uncomfortable. Harry didn't really think it would listen if asked to go back to the Locket though, Voldemort had always been obsessed with observing and learning rare magic.

''_**Amato Animo Animato Animagus**__,_'' they both spoke at the same time. Harry tried to do what felt most natural to him with spellcasting, trying to not control his magic too much, merely envisioning the result he wanted: change. It was still incredibly difficult, as he had no idea** what** he would be changing into, not giving his powers much to work with.

He felt the potion taking effect as he kept repeating the spell, an almost unbearable heat spreading through his limbs. The potion had been activated as it should, now the rest was up to his willpower and magical proficiency. Harry opened his eyes again and held up his left hand in front of his face. He'd decided that it would be easiest to focus on a limb he could fully see, one that he could most easily use magic with as well. His wand arm had been the first choice, but the poorly-healed scar from the blood quill had started giving him trouble recently. It flared up every so often and had at one alarming moment even bled again. The regular healing spells he knew hadn't worked to fix it; in the end he'd had to resort to Murtlap essence just to ease the pain. Not knowing the exact effects this transformation would have on his body, Harry did not wish to start with a part that already had complications.

It felt as if they sat on the floor in pain for ages. His mouth was running dry from repeating the spell, and still he had not noticed a thing. No change in skin texture, no strange twisting of limbs… Was this the correct way? Had they somehow done something wrong? The potions had turned the right colour, he could hear thunder rumbling outside so the storm was still raging… the spell was correct too. It would be incredibly frustrating if he turned out too weak to perform this piece of magic…

Voldemort would not allow him to think like that, Harry thought. Words echoed in his mind:_ 'If you cannot believe in yourself, you'd better believe in _**_my_**_ decisions. My power runs through you…'_ With a shivering sigh, Harry renewed his attempts, trying to dig deep within himself to draw that power to the surface. He'd been able to withstand so much more… he couldn't fail now. There wasn't any** time**, not enough attempts to waste this one. The fire in his veins intensified, spreading to every last nerve ending as Harry pushed himself to the limit. _Change_, he told himself again and again. _Morph into the animal tied to my soul_. ''_**Amato Animo Animato Animagus**_!''

Before his eyes, his fingers started to shrink. No, that wasn't the correct term. They blackened and became thinner, so impossibly thin that not even all mass of the bones must have remained. For one awful moment, Harry thought something must have gone terribly, terribly wrong and his hand was starting to die and fall off now. Then, he noticed that more was changing: his nails thinned and sharpened, becoming black and hooked. His palm virtually disappeared, fingers elongating to start at his wrist. A film of skin built up between the strange, black bones, and it started to affect his arm and side of his body too, which was incredibly uncomfortable as he was still wearing robes. Abruptly, it stopped, and Harry looked down at the alien thing that was his arm now: five dark, long spines with leathery folds of skin that flapped uselessly when he attempted to move his fingers.

''I have a wing,'' he said in astonishment. ''Ron, I have wings!'' he looked up and nearly burst out in laughter, forgetting his own ordeal of his arm turning into a wing so completely out of proportion to the rest of his body that he could barely move it.

''Harry?'' his friend spoke in a panicking voice. ''This can only turn us into animals, right? I… I feel like I've turned into a girl instead!'' Ron made a sight indeed. Not much had changed, apart from that his ginger hair was no longer ginger: light brown, almost blonde hair had sprouted from his head, cascading down his shoulders. Upon looking closely however, Harry could see that it clearly wasn't** human** hair. It also didn't only stop at his regular hairline, short sand-coloured fur covering his face from the nose up.

''I think Sirius will flip out,'' Harry said, laughing now. ''Ron... if I'm not mistaken… thennot I, but** you** are a lion! That's a mane, and a mighty one at that!''

''I'm a what now?'' the boy asked, perplexed, grabbing fistfuls of the course hair, holding it up to his eyes. ''Blimey Harry, you might be right. A** lion**! Me!'' he then finally looked at Harry's arm in confusion. ''And you are… what?''

With the greatest difficulty, Harry tried to spread his fingers, showing the membrane between them ''I got my wish of being a flying creature… I just hadn't expected it to be a bat of all things. Too early to tell what kind, I guess. I sincerely hope I'm not a vampire bat or so. I don't want to have anything in common with Snape.''

''Do you think that is accurately sized already? If so, you're mighty large for a bat.''

''It might be, it's certainly a lot smaller than my arm usually is. For a bat still huge.'' He stuck out his arm and tried to gauge how long it was from his shoulder to the longest fingertips. ''It's hard to tell, I don't think that my upper arm completely transformed, so there's still length from that added to it. Looks like the wing comes to roughly 15 to 18 inches and that's for one arm. I'm unsure how large it'll be in the end when I'm fully transformed.'' An image came to his mind of flying over London as a gigantic bat with an enormous wingspan. How would it feel to fly without a broom? Would he be able to find out how to use echo location? It opened up a world of new possibilities of where he'd be able to go and what he could do, sneaking out under the cover of night. Ron would not have it so easy, being a large predator that couldn't hide anywhere.

''Do you want to still look up what these animals mean? There's some sort of index about it at the end, right?'' Ron asked.

According to '_Analysing Animagi'_, each form said something about the Animagus' character traits and affinities, including their magical strengths. While Harry was interested in it, he did not want to spend a lot of time on it before actually completing the transformation. ''It's not very accurate and mostly refers to other, detailed books. Besides, I'd first like to know which kind of bat I am before looking up more detailed information about it.

It took the both of them a while to figure out how to transform back. The book on Animagi was very thorough on how to transform** into** an animal, not so much on how to reverse the process. It turned out to feel much more natural, Harry was soon flexing his normal fingers again. His question about whether or not he'd be able to hide the scar sadly still wasn't answered after this session. When buying Hedwig some owl treats in Diagon, he'd often stopped to look at the other animals as well, and the Magical Menagerie held at least twenty variants of bats. They came in many shapes, sizes and colours, with different fur length as well.

While Ron still struggled to change his hair back, Harry finally cleaned up everything from the weather ritual, while sneakily casting glances at the Horcrux. It didn't look very good, being very translucent and wispy. Its skin showed cracks again, and upon Harry's whispered suggestion, returned to the Locket without a word. Harry's limbs felt like lead when moving, exhausted after an entire day of draining magic. First regular classes, then D.A. training, weather magic and Animagus training… he was** not** looking forward to showing up in class tomorrow.

They returned to Gryffindor Tower under the invisibility cloak, at a time that most people had gone to bed already. Hermione was still up and rushed towards them. ''Where have you both** been**?''

''Wanted to still train a bit on our own,'' Ron spoke, groaning slightly as she hugged him.

''I thought you two might have gotten in trouble with Umbridge, you stayed away for so long. Next time** tell** me if you're not going to be here all evening, please.''

''Sorry Mione… ouch. Don't push, my chest hurts pretty bad.'' The girl scowled at that, frowning at Harry.

''You guys shouldn't be so rough. Use dummies again.''

Harry only nodded and rubbed his eyes and muttered another apology before rushing upstairs. He had already unstoppered the flask with sleeping draught when he halted. There had not been any occasion in the past weeks where the Horcrux had been so weak that it had disappeared like it had had to now. This might be his chance to finally find out more about Regulus…

With slightly trembling hands, he fished out the diaries from under his bed, staring at the cover. He felt a mixture of guilt and immense curiosity now. Knowing that he fancied the same man that Regulus was writing his devotion about was… odd. Had this been one of the reasons why he'd felt such a connection, before consciously knowing it? Harry gulped, wondering if it wouldn't be better to throw these books out now, before he would get to the inevitable part where Regulus would write about more explicit things as he'd already discovered the first time he'd randomly read a page. The teen truly wasn't sure if he could handle reading about Voldemort's romantic past now, with someone who wasn't Harry…

''You're being ridiculous,'' he whispered to himself, a bit aggressively shutting his bed hangings and opening the diary. The last entry he'd read before had been about Regulus' birthday, where the Slytherin had come of age right before the start of the summer holidays. With the entries up to July already having taken up more than two thirds of the diary because of Regulus' detailed descriptions of the lessons and conversations between him and Voldemort, they got much shorter now.

_July 3, 1978  
Summer is finally here. No more tests to worry about, no homework. I can now concentrate on the important parts of life: making a difference. On request of the Dark Lord, I have placed tracking spells on many suspected light sympathisers and those close to members of the Order of the Phoenix. It is my mission now to ensure they will be investigated and brought to justice in case I find incriminating evidence. It is my hope that I will be able to convince some of them to listen to the word of the Dark Lord instead, as neither he nor I wish to waste magical blood._

_July 11, 1978.  
It is going quite well. Just yesterday I unfortunately had to eliminate Irene McKinnon. It turned out that instantly after graduating Hogwarts, she decided to lie with a Muggle and turned to the Order of the Phoenix for protection in case she became pregnant. Many of her family are now suspected of having ties to Dumbledore too, especially her older sister Marlene. I shall further investigate._

_July 28, 1978  
So many useless deaths… I do not understand why people are so unwilling to _ _ **listen** _ _. They are throwing their lives away for muggles who would destroy us, for the impure and worthless. I want to save all these families who could become great if they'd only accept the guidance of my Lord. His vision of how the world should be is grand, with magic reigning free. I cannot fathom why this wish is not shared by all. Have they been told lies by other leaders? Or are they this blinded by emotional connections to those animals? In three days, I will see the Dark lord again in person, I hope that I can ask him about it._

_August 1, 1878  
Each celebration, my faith grows stronger. Lughnasadh was grand, as I was allowed in the closest circles of our Lord yesterday and watched him perform the rite. I still feel dizzy from the sheer amount of magic, even if my mind is foggy on what happened. So much magic, warmth and firewhisky… It felt as if his eyes were only on me. I can't forget the blazing feeling of his hand on my knee, the way he leaned forwards to whisper something in my ear. Was the attention I received only my imagination? I do not know… is it a blasphemous thing to wish that we were even closer than master and student? I have not written my thoughts about this previously, as I hoped the feeling would pass with time. I fear that I am trying to play with fire that I shouldn't touch. I'm only a follower, nothing more… I wish I was more._

''You too, huh,'' Harry said. He then clamped his lips shut as the locket reacted, the heartbeat becoming stronger. He froze, waiting to see if the Horcrux would come out to investigate who he was speaking to. But apart from a few strands of smoke, nothing happened. Harry skipped a few pages as Regulus' words came a bit too close to his own feelings of longing. In this case, it was even completely otiose, as Harry already knew that Regulus' wish would be fulfilled. He was right when he finally found a few promising entries:

_October 15, 1978  
My lessons continued at last. They were halted as the Dark Lord has been abroad for a while, gathering allies in hope of crushing the Order at long last. Not much news reaches Hogwarts about it, so I was incredibly glad to speak to my Lord. He assured me that we have the Vampires on our side now, which will be great for long-term plans. Maybe in a few years, they can aid us in continuing our mission on the mainland. His area of jurisdiction is not merely Britain, after all. That is not the most important thing to me today however. It might only my wishful thinking again, but I have the feeling something really did change. During training, He kept close to me, and I could bask in the feel of His magic more than once. Afterwards, I was even asked to stay longer and have a late dinner. We did not have any discussions as usual, which was strange too. I do not know entirely what to make of it. The most frustrating part about it is that I can't risk my neck by voicing my feelings. Were He to react negatively, I may well end up dead._

_October 22, 1978  
If you, my future self, can't tell yet by the scribbles on here, my hands are shaking with excitement. Not only was I asked today to stay longer again, I am to accompany him to Samhain. It was voiced as an order of course, without any further words said about it, but the implications are overwhelming. Never before has the Dark Lord officially taken a plus-one to a celebration to my knowledge. It will be difficult to disappear on a Tuesday, but will break out of Hogwarts if I have to. This is really happening!_

Somehow, it was so in-character for Voldemort that Harry had a hard time not laughing. Showing his interest in another human being by simply ordering them to escort him to a gathering was so blunt and arrogant that it didn't surprise him at all. Had the man even given Regulus any hints beforehand? If so, it didn't look like the Slytherin had picked up on them much.

Harry tried to read more, but the tiresome day took its toll. Grudgingly, he put the diary away and instead took the potion. He didn't even want to know how few hours of sleep there were left…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please leave a review ^^ Your words always make my day.  
This chapter was really fun to write, especially the weather ritual and the Animagus training! So, we now know some details about Harry's form ;P More on that in the next chapter!  
I can't say for certain when I will be able to write though. I don't have any pre-written chapters left to post now. My usual update speed is roughly 3 to 4 weeks.
> 
> If you still feel like reading something, I actually updated the story 'A Rival's Kiss', which was originally a one-shot with open ending, but due to multiple requests I wrote two different endings to it now :) Please check it out if you're interested in more HPLV ;)


	53. Samhain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, still in time for the New Year/ the birthday of our dear dark overlord, is a new chapter!  
I'm really very grateful for all of the amazing reviews you guys wrote to me ^^
> 
> Many thanks also to my beta for reading this like, a day after I sent it.
> 
> Enjoy!

The morning dawned bright and early, and Harry woke up with a shock. Somehow, he felt very odd, nauseous and dizzy. The dreamless sleep potion never failed to leave him well-rested, except today somehow. Was he falling ill? When checking the time, he also noticed that it was much earlier than he'd usually wake, so perhaps that had something to do with why he felt so miserable. He grabbed the Locket to ask the Horcrux, then noticed it was still as dull as last night. Yesterday must have really left it exhausted. Harry debated turning around and getting some sleep again, but did not want to either waste another potion or risk the ire of something that could literally strangle him. Thus, he fished the diaries out once more. With Halloween around the corner, he was insanely curious about Regulus' Samhain 'date' with Voldemort.

The days leading up to the 31st of October, Regulus' writing lost all composure. There were no dates added anymore, just a couple of scribbles like '_What will I wear?_' and _'Should I tell my parents?_' that weren't even answered. It gave Harry quite a good view of how excited the Slytherin was and he would have found it amusing if he didn't think he'd be in the exact same state of mind. Harry flushed at the thought of how he'd act if Voldemort would somehow ask** him** out. He'd had a couple of weeks to come to terms with his feelings now, and voicing it to Ron and Hermione -scarce though he information to them had been- had certainly helped. He tried to move on and not think about it too much, only indulging in daydreams now and then. Realistically, he knew that it was very unlikely that anything could come of it, but he could** hope**, right? The Horcrux somehow seemed to think that Harry had a shot. Harry reminded himself that it was stuck as a twenty-one-year-old, not the sixties Voldemort was in at the moment, so the Horcrux's opinion couldn't be trusted too much on the matter. He didn't want to set himself up for disappointment and rejection. The Dark Lord surely also had better things to do than thinking anything of Harry right now.

Shaking his head and then regretting it immensely when he saw double for a second, Harry diverted his attention to the diary. At least he had this, a second-hand experience of someone who had indeed managed to have a relationship with the Dark Lord.

_November 1, 1978  
Yesterday was so incredibly exciting that I keep telling myself I must wipe the smile from my face during class or when walking around in corridors. It was very similar to the Samhain celebrations in the Forbidden Forest that I attended the last two years, yet also different. Conversations were much more covert, even though only those from dark circles attended. The Dark Lord told me that talk of war is undesirable during celebrations, which was one of the bigger challenges to overcome. Now here I finally was in a setting where I was not surrounded by only other students but actual figures of importance, and I could not speak to them about the matters I wanted to! The frustration was eased much by all the looks we got. I had a hard time not smirking at all those jealous people -witches mostly- as_ _ ** I** _ _ was on the Dark Lord's arm, and_ _ ** I** _ _ danced with him. _

_Naturally, dancing and talking wasn't all there was to this, not with a Dark Lord in attendance. Samhain is the one day in the year that the Black Cosmos is easiest to reach, and the souls of ancestors can be communicated with. The Dark Lord himself acted as a medium, His magic almost choking in its intensity as He allowed the departed to temporarily speak through Him. It was a wonderful experience. One thing that I was also especially pleased about is that He outlawed eating muggle meat this year. From His recent studies on the matter, He found that it has no additional benefits for magical purposes and can actually make one ill due to the poor nutritional value of the meat and transmittable diseases as many muggles eat a lot of garbage and are riddled with sickness._

Harry stopped reading there for a moment and cast his eyes skyward. On one hand, he was glad that Voldemort had apparently **stopped** the whole cannibalism act during this ritual that for some merlin-forsaken reasons had still persisted. On the other hand, his reasoning had been because it was bad for the health of mages… He didn't know whether to be happy or miffed. He settled for happy, as the end-result was at least good in his opinion.

Another thing he once again took note of was that Regulus still referred to Voldemort with capital letters on Him and He like some sort of god. To each their own of course, and it had been understandable when he'd been some far away figure of great importance during Regulus' earlier years, but it was slightly uncomfortable to read it in entries where they literally talked face-to-face.

_I felt a great loss as the evening drew to a close, I wished it could have continued eternally. My hand still burns from the kiss He bestowed upon it before delivering me close to Hogsmeade. The Portkey I have now is great for getting_ _ ** out** _ _ of Hogwarts, getting in is a whole different trouble. I had to spend a while at the house of another follower and covertly use one of the tunnels when I could. I hope that the tunnel leading to the fourth floor will hold, there are dangerous cracks running through the walls. It is the only way in and out of Hogwarts I know that is not well-known._

Harry wondered why Voldemort had never used the tunnels of Hogwarts to infiltrate the castle, if some of his followers had known about them. He also was admittedly a bit jealous over the fact that Regulus apparently had a Portkey to transport him directly to the Dark Lord. If Voldemort could create such a thing, it had been a conscious decision to** not** give Harry one of those.

_November 10, 1978  
I've been summoned almost every day since Samhain for training now. While I am learning a lot, it is leaving me exhausted to do this on top of my regular schoolwork. My excuses to fellow students as to why I am not available anymore are also running out. It is certainly worth it, the Dark Lord is an utter genius and talking to him is exhilarating. I get such a rush each time I am around him, and certainly do not mind the extra attention. What I am slightly uncertain about is how to react to his advances, if they are such. Since he took me to the celebration, he has been far more liberal, giving me brief touches during training sessions. A hand on my shoulder, on my hip, brushing it against mine… I am almost certain that there is more behind it and I don't_ _ ** mind** _ _, anything but! How do I ask to be sure? We haven't actually talked about anything. What are we? I'm so confused now…_

_November 18, 1978  
I did it, I asked. Merlin, I felt so awkward as he reduced me to a stuttering mess at dinner. My head is still flaming red, I'm sure. He only laughed as if the whole situation amused him, then told me he'd answer that if I returned tomorrow. My heart is pounding away right now. I don't know what to expect tomorrow at all, it could go either way. What if a group of Death Eaters will be awaiting me to punish me for my impudence?_

Harry flushed red as well as he started reading the next entry, realising it was the one he had already seen at Grimmauld place. Unable to resist though, and feeling oddly turned on, he continued, reading the entire entry this time.

_November 19, 1978_   
_I finally understand why people say that death by frostbite is bliss. I would gladly wander the poles to recreate what I had today. It felt like an arctic storm, biting and stinging, my ribs cracking under the pressure of his hard, icy arms as he thrust his cold erection inside of me. At times I almost felt like passing out, and could have died happy right then and there. When I arrived today, he left me little time for nerves, greeting me with the most heated kiss I've ever received, practically dragging me into the master bedroom after. I'm still very sore, yet somehow cannot wait to recreate that feeling again.._

Harry closed the diary, falling back on his pillow with beating heart. ''Fuck,'' he whispered to express all of his feelings at once. Realising he somehow wanted to be romantically involved with Voldemort was one thing. What he felt ** now** , the heat pooling in his groin, was on a whole different level. Only the weight of the Locket stopped him from reaching down and searching relief. The Horcrux would never let it go if it caught him masturbating. Especially not as Harry wasn't sure if he could hold back moaning the name of his current fixation.

How had this even happened, he pondered. At the start, even right after Voldemort's resurrection, he had **not** found the man appealing. His magic, sure. His behaviour, on occasion. The man had slowly grown on him over time, aided by the feelings they could mentally share and the rituals he'd been a part of. Nevertheless, he hadn't considered Voldemort beautiful before, for sure not ** hot** . Was this what people spoke of when talking about rose-coloured glasses? For right in this moment, Harry wished for nothing more than for slender hands to straddle his hips and that alien, serpentine nose to nuzzle his neck. He flushed when recalling how much he had stared at Voldemort's smooth hands when trying to heal them. Alright, so perhaps he'd found ** parts** of Voldemort already attractive before.

A cold shower would do him a lot of good right about now.

Thankfully, his newfound feelings were pushed away by an insanely busy schedule. It felt as if half a year had already passed instead of scarcely two months. To think that it would be** another** two months until the holidays made him tired even thinking about it. Umbridge was still relentless, calling people out for the smallest things. She had introduced a new Decree that disbanded all former clubs, which appeared to be mostly to spite the Gryffindor Quidditch team after Fred and George had tried playing some pranks on her. She hadn't been able to catch them red-handed, so had decided to punish them like this. Angelina had to go all the way up to Dumbledore to have the team reinstated. The rule did not really affect the D.A. The fact that their defence group did not have permission would be the least of their worries if they'd ever be discovered.

Harry had managed to do McGonagall proud, going under Umbridge's radar entirely. The woman only now and then threw him a smug little smile and sweetly asked with fake concern how his hand was doing. She was so full of herself that she wholly believed in her punishment's effectivity. She'd most likely be shocked to hear that it had stoked a rebellion instead right under her nose.

Filch was a lot more suspicious, keeping an eye on every single student that wasn't in class. The castle's sheer size was the only thing they could use to avoid being caught by him or Mrs Norris. It was quite a feat for a squib to always be present when students were misbehaving, and Umbridge had taken note of that ability. So far, Filch was her sole ally within Hogwarts. A few Slytherins had tried to suck up on her for a bit too until they'd been chewed out by their Headboy and influential people like Draco and Daphne. None of the younger students wanted to be on the shit list of their older peers, so that had quickly died down. It was no secret among Slytherin that Snape also was not overly fond of Umbridge, so that made it even more unlikely for anyone to take her side.

It was three days later, right before the Halloween feast, and Harry sat on his bed in the Gryffindor dorms. The book he was reading did not hold anything illegal per se, but he'd wanted some peace and quiet that the common room could not provide. Ron was at Quidditch practise for the upcoming match anyways. Harry hadn't kept up much with Quidditch anymore since quitting the team. The first time he'd enter the pitch again would be as a spectator in the next Slytherin vs Gryffindor match. What annoyed him most about it was the attitudes that half of the school appeared to have towards Ron. Or** against** Ron. His friend also had not yet learned to brush nasty comments and threats off like Harry had, looking green whenever passing Slytherins jeered at him. It was one of those things where talking to Draco hadn't helped either. The blond had given him a disbelieving laugh and mentioned 'sports jokes for newbies' and 'Weasley being ridiculous'. It was concerning to see how much it affected Ron though, and he hoped that the rest of the team looked after his friend a bit. Hermione had already given the Twins an earful (when Ron could not hear it) about the way they teased their brother about it. Not exactly great teamwork. Ginny, who had gotten the position of Seeker, did not get the same amount of jabs at her as she was more likely to sneakily hex the person insinuating that she'd fail.

''You haven't turned a single page in ten minutes.'' Harry looked up, not even having noticed that the Horcrux had materialised next to him. It had gained strength again over the past days, looking very solid. Its long black robes flowed over Harry's blankets, and a hood covered much of its pale face and wavy hair. Harry tried to avoid the piercing eyes that stared at him from underneath the cowl, flecked with red and reminding him too much of his current fantasies. ''Sunken in thoughts?''

Catching himself and trying not to sound breathless or shaky, he answered: ''I'm worried about Ron. The Quidditch match is in a few days and he's looked ready to throw in the towel at times.''

''One has to have resolve to succeed, your friend is not fit for this position,'' the Horcrux unhelpfully said.

''That is the **worse** advice I could give Ron right now,'' he grumbled.

''It isn't as if losing Quidditch will be the end of the world. You are making this out to be so dramatic. If you really cared, you shouldn't have given up yourself.''

''Gee thanks, here I thought you would** appreciate** me taking my studies more seriously than sport.''

''I did until you started whining about Gryffindor's chances.''

''Look, even if I was on the field, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. I can't replace Ron as a Keeper. My spot has been filled already by someone I trust. My presence wouldn't make a difference now. That does not mean that I can't** worry** for the rest for the team, okay?''

''You should rather be worried about Weasley for different reasons than **Quidditch**.''

Frowning, Harry eyed the Horcrux suspiciously. ''If you did anything-''

''If I had, I would hardly warn you about it. I am talking about his struggles with spellwork. I wanted to wait and see what you would do about it first…'' it trailed off, sounding disappointed. Harry thought it was unfair to expect him to do anything as he did not even know what was wrong. Besides, Ron himself had brushed it off when Harry had suggested seeing Madam Pomfrey about those chest pains. He could hardly be responsible for all of his friends

''I haven't the slightest clue about why he has problems,'' Harry defensively said. ''None of the books I have read on heavy magic mention anything about this, and he can perform some dark spells fine, like the Patronus Charm!''

''Tell me your theories,'' the Horcrux spoke, less haughty now.

Harry closed the book he'd been reading and stared at his hands as he tried to come up with sensible explanations. ''So far, I think he's only had problems with the weather rituals and the Fear Hex. Both are heavy spells, so it must have to do with that. The only plausible theory I've had is that some people could have a different affinity to magic. He comes from a family of light mages… magic has to be genetic, otherwise there wouldn't be traits passed down families like Parseltongue or the Metamorphmagus ability.''

''Interesting theory. In this case incorrect of course, but food for thought nonetheless.'' Harry rolled his eyes, not sure why the Horcrux had even wanted him to guess if it was just going to be obnoxious about it. ''Magic does have a genetic component, although it may be smaller than you think. There is no such thing as a singular 'magic gene'. I have also never heard of an affinity as you theorise to exist. Certainly, someone can be drawn to certain areas of magic, but our magical cores are not by default light or dark. It is a mentality to use or shun dark magic, often based on one's education and the opinion of people you grow up with. Instead of only affected by one's physical makeup, magic is tied to both the soul and the mind as well.''

''Isn't that a necromancy theory?'' Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. Why did things always come back to this topic? Then, he suddenly realised how excited the Horcrux had been when Harry had mentioned participating in a Necromancy ritual and later gave a watered-down version of what had happened. It knew hardly anything about the topic yet, and gave Harry a poorly-disguised confused look.

''This is the essence of magical theory. In either case, what you have to consider with Weasley is the mind. One's magic is affected by one's mental state. Thoughts, doubts, all of that influences us when casting magic. You could not produce a Patronus in your third year until you saw definite proof of that you could, correct?'' Harry nodded, getting more interested in the explanation than he wanted to admit. ''Weasley is highly emotional and influenced by everyone else's opinions of him before his own. His magic reacts to that. All of his life, he has heard that dark magic is evil, dangerous. Deep down, he believes it. That causes a mental blockade, to which his magic then reacts. You know why?''

''The results created by magic is channelled by our imagination,'' Harry dutifully replied. ''When we envision something, it happens. That's the base of accidental magic too, isn't it?''

''Exactly, good to hear that you picked up on **some** of my lessons.''

''So Ron is hurt by the rituals we do because he believes it should?''

''Subconsciously, but that is the idea. It also explains why it does not happen with** all** dark magic. He only learned much later that the Patronus charm is a sacrificial spell, when he had already made positive connections with it. Even his family members use it.''

''And what can** I** do about that?''

''What you were always supposed to if what you told me about the Triwizard Tournament is true. Change the opinion of as many people as possible about dark magic. Talk to your friend about it so he knows what is going on. Knowledge is the first step to eliminating something that takes place on a subconscious level.''

''Why are you helping me with this?''

''I want something in return for giving you this information.''

Harry quietly snorted. He should have expected that. ''Oh?''

''Skip this travesty of a Halloween feast this evening and accompany me to the Forbidden Forest. It is tragic that you would indulge in Muggle traditions on such an important evening as Samhain.''

Harry grimaced. ''I don't know…'' he spoke, slightly unwilling. What was the Horcrux' plan? For he surely must have one. After what he'd read about the Samhain celebration Regulus had attended, he was not sure if it would be one of his favourite things in the world. Communicating with deceased spirits through a medium, celebrating death… Not to mention that this was the day his own parents had died. Their resurrection had been a bittersweet gift, he did not think he could go through anything like that again.

''You don't have a choice,'' the Horcrux spoke coolly, narrowing its eyes. ''I gave you something of importance, this is the price.''

''We did not negotiate a price, you gave it to me without me asking for it,'' Harry insisted stubbornly.

Its irises took on a definite red note now. ''**Everything** has a price. Always,'' it hissed back, leaning closer. ''Especially when it is me you are bargaining with. I have taught you for months now, Harry. I want to see some results. You have not been focusing on the type of magic I want you to study. The D.A. is all well and good, yet not **enough**. Tonight will be a perfect opportunity.''

''And if I refuse?''

A smirk spread over its handsome features. ''Always making it difficult, huh? It would be** unwise** to say the least. Two months is still an awfully long time to be stuck with me.'' It did not fail Harry's notice that it seemed to have accepted that Harry would contact Voldemort in the Christmas holidays and hand the Locket over. Was it getting more desperate to make good use of the remaining time?

Reluctantly, he said: ''Alright, I accept. **However**, I do not want to drink blood or any other gross stuff. I know that in your time, mages sometimes ate Muggles during Samhain. I will absolutely refuse to do such a thing and your older self even banned the practise.''

''Agreed,'' the other was quick to say, without even asking further questions. Too quick. Before Harry could ask why, footsteps came up the stairs and the Horcrux dissolved into strands of fog again. He did not have too much time to worry about what it had planned, as he was far too busy trying to give excuses to Ron as to why he couldn't come to the feast, complaining about headaches. He actually hadn't felt too well for a couple of days now and had the nagging feeling that the Horcrux was at fault as it had leeched off Harry's magic when gathering strength again. The good thing about it was that Ron bought the story easily, only wishing him well. Harry let some time pass so he could be absolutely certain that everyone would have left and wouldn't come back for forgotten items.

He threw on his invisibility cloak, pulled out the Marauders map and used as many shortcuts as he knew to quickly get to the ground floor. He exited through a side entrance, following the Horcrux as it strode down the grassy fields. Harry cast a sad look at Hagrid's Hut, missing the Half-Giant dearly, who still had not returned from whatever mission he was on. The Care of Magical Creatures lessons were safer with Professor Grubby-Plank teaching, but Harry wished to have Hagrid's optimistic attitude and beaming smiles around once more.

''Hurry a bit, will you?'' the Horcrux said, sounding agitated. Harry did not listen, slowing down even when they were very close to entering the Forbidden Forest. Last time he'd set foot in here had been ages ago, when he'd been battling hundreds of monstrous spiders and seen a dragon. He did not have very fond memories of the place, to put it mildly. The Horcrux was determined however, and Harry really did not feel like getting on the wrong foot with it again. Even if Harry could partially resist its tricks, he had no defence against direct attacks. His knee hurt again just thinking of when it had decided to shatter his kneecap for not obeying. A repetition of that wasn't desirable.

They did not stop shortly after passing the border of trees, going deeper and deeper into the forest on paths that Harry had never noticed before. This wasn't the way to the Acromantulas at least, that was something to be joyful about. The Centaur herd was also in a different part if Harry wasn't mistaken. A run-in with Bane would have been bad as well. At long, long last, when Harry's feet hurt from walking, the Horcrux slowed down. It took Harry a moment to notice why: they had reached a place where the trees were a tad less dense than in the rest of the forest, and moon rays shone on a pair of moss-covered, weathered stones that he'd mistaken for tree stumps. Harry shivered when he approached them, there was a static in the air here that wasn't wholly pleasant. He took off his cloak to see the things better and was instantly assaulted by magic as the feeling increased tenfold. He resisted the urge to wrap the silvery material around him again.

''We did not bring anything for a Samhain celebration,'' Harry remarked, now even more on edge.

''We have everything we need,'' it replied, kneeling in front of one of the stones. ''From this place of power, magic wells up, can you feel it? Today, it is at its strongest. My Knights used to meet here on special occasions to tap into its might. None of them knew how to properly wield it of course.''

''Unlike you?''

The Horcrux looked over its shoulder at Harry, sharp teeth blinking from beneath the hood. ''However did you guess? Come closer, kneel at the other stone. Bow your head to magic, let it run through your body.'' Admittedly curious and always up for learning something new about magic, Harry approached the stone. Waves thrummed through his body as he placed his hands on the rough stone, which was covered in spirals he did not understand. It was warm beneath his touch, a great surprise as the outside temperature had dropped to around the freezing point. ''Let it flow through you, encompass your very being…'' it whispered.

Goosebumps covered Harry's skin as he gave into this, without knowing what 'this' was, exactly. He'd somehow expected that the Horcrux would have introduced him to some Samhain ritual, not let him tap into power that felt older than the earth itself. It coursed through his veins and took his breath away, similarly to what Voldemort could do. Only this magic was not purely dark. It was just…** old**.

''_**Legilimens**_.''

The spell came far too unexpected for Harry to do anything. He'd completely lowered his defences and could not break free from the stream of power. He barely managed to open his eyes in shock and look at the Horcrux, which was bathing in the moonlight, as real as anything. Harry only saw the impression of a moment as if it was struck in his brain like a flash of lightening: a maniacal grin, glowing red eyes, undeniably solid white skin. Then, he was pulled into his own mind which he wasn't shielding right now. He had no chance as the Horcrux delved in. Harry didn't even know** how**. He'd had his eyes closed and was still wearing the snake-fang that should protect him against exactly this! How could it have performed mind-magic?

_He did not have much time to ponder on it, his mindscape appearing around them. It was less disorganised as the first time he'd created the place. They had practised Occlumency regularly still, and Harry noticed that as time went by, his mindscape had improved as well, becoming far more organised. Instead of grabbing one of the books that contained Harry's memories however, the Horcrux spread out its arms, glowing blue threads spreading out across the space. Harry noticed that his own hands glowed blue too. Was this the stream of magic they were connected to?_

''_What are you doing?'' Harry asked, agitated._

_~On this night of death and souls, the night of your creation, I reach out!~ the Horcrux hissed. ~The shroud is thin, Magic flows through me. Join me, my soul! I have refined your vessel, honed its abilities, prepared it for your possession!~_

_Harry watched on in horror, finally grasping what was going on. Stings of betrayal filled him as he realised what the Horcrux was doing: calling its… brethren, for a lack of a better word. ''No!'' he growled, trying to combat the utter disbelief that filled him._

_The mindscape started to tremble and the Horcrux lowered its hands, a lazy smirk on its face when turning towards Harry. ~Come now, Harry… I promised you that I would make you stronger and better, a worthy vessel of my soul. I lived up to my promise, now do_ _ ** your** _ _ part. The locket serves me, not the other way around. Why should it be different with you?~_

_~You lied to me!~ Harry sputtered._

_~From the moment you told me that my soul resided inside of you, inactive, I was intrigued and thought I could use you through the bond we inevitably have. I realised soon that you were so much more without you even knowing it. That piece of soul inside of you is not as passive as you would like to think. When you turned my own spell against me and took possession of _ _ **my** _ _ Locket, I knew that that wasn't just you. The Locket has been prepared specifically to house my soul after all. _

_I dropped our previous arrangement, having found a new purpose: ensuring that you would protect our soul to the best of your ability. I only left out the obvious: to be a good host, you actually have to host at some point. I know how awful it is to be locked up for so long with no contact to the outside world. Surely, the piece you hold will be of the same opinion. So I trained you, guided you. _

_The Occlumency lessons fell right into my lap. I could shape your mind and gain access to it at the same time. Your_ _ ** feelings** _ _ for my older self played into my cards as well. You gave so much of yourself to me Harry. There is quite a bit of magic in a first kiss, as disgustingly romantic as that sounds. And now, on the very same night that my soul latched onto you fourteen years ago, it will finally be given a chance to breathe. I'm very interested to see what happens… will you be able to keep control at times? Or will you vanish into the background?~_

_Harry felt as if he had been punched in the gut. All those conversations, all the times that the Horcrux had helped him in class… it had all been part of a grander plan? To mould him into the perfect container? Even that kiss… No, he refused to believe that. It had been_ _ ** his** _ _ decision to come that close to the Horcrux. Whatever it claimed, it wouldn't take that from Harry too._

_~Voldemort won't allow this.~ he spoke in a trembling voice._

_ **~I ** _ _ **am Voldemort. ** _ _ **So are you** _ _.~_

_Blackness started to spread out all across the room, as if drips of ink climbed up the cream walls Harry felt so comfortable in. Harry blinked and looked up, squinting his eyes. No, not blackness. It was blue, dark blue. A sense of calm enveloped him as he looked at the Horcrux. ''You forgot one detail,'' Harry spoke, smiling sadly at the Locket Horcrux. ''This piece of soul is nothing like you.''_

''_**What**__?''_

_Serenity descended upon them, and the strands of magic that the Horcrux had spread disappeared. A shape became visible, small and humanoid. Harry approached it and crouched down, looking at it in wonder. ''When I became a Vessel, Voldemort was not so different than he is now. I doubt he learned incredibly much during the years he was a spirit. So, the man I met that summer should be almost the same as the piece that lives inside of me.'' He met red eyes as he picked up his own Horcrux, which was very similar in appearance to the rudimentary form that Voldemort had used before his resurrection. The Locket-Horcrux looked at its patchy red skin and deformed limbs with disgust ''This is what happens when you take dark magic too far,'' Harry spoke calmly, cradling the thing in his arms. It released a painful wail and clutched Harry's arms with long, blistered fingers. ''I doubt it can even speak, let alone take over control.''_

''_That is what I become? No, no, that can't be! My Horcruxes ensure my survival, my power!''_

''_Your sanity was chipped away with each one you created. According to my parents, it was only countered when I gave my blood willingly during the resurrection ritual.'' Harry hoped that he wasn't twisting the truth too much. Voldemort definitely__** was **__saner now and had admitted before to spiralling out of control, but he'd also been rather reasonable already when stuck in the temporary body he'd crafted. His words did seem to have much impact though. _

_The being in his arms raised a hand and pointed it at the other. Harry did not know what happened, but the Locket-Horcrux released a furious cry and fled from Harry's mind. The thing then turned its face to Harry instead and lifted a finger, tracing the scar on his forehead. A familiar rushing sound filled his ears that had Harry's heart shooting up in his throat._

The teen blinked as he came to his senses, staring at the sight before him as he wondered what in Merlin's name was going on. Before him rose a very familiar building: the neglected ruin of Riddle Manor. He stood right outside the gates, behind which he could see the three dead trees that hid the entrance to the dimensional bubble. The freezing cold wind that whipped into his face was a clear sign of that this wasn't a dream or a memory either. He was really here, several hundred miles away from where he'd been seconds before. Something heavy was in his hands, and Harry lifted it up, seeing that he held the Locket, clutched in his fist instead of hanging around his neck. So this was it then? His chance to finally hand it over without any interference? The moment had come so sudden that Harry didn't move for a while.

Alarmingly, that did mean that Harry had been incorrect. He could not have transported himself here, and the Locket-Horcrux had been trying to get away… The piece of soul that he bore was indeed more powerful than he'd expected. That was something he could worry about later, now was not the time. He had no idea how late it was and could not check just yet lest he'd alert the Ministry of underage magic in Little Hangleton, on the front porch of Voldemort's old house.

The iron gates creaked as he pushed it open, frost blooms on the dark metal melting underneath his fingertips. Harry hadn't expected the cold weather to reach this far south yet. Quickly, before the Horcrux in his hand would have a chance to recover from whatever 'Harry's' piece of soul had done to it, he pushed on, stepping through the magical entrance without hesitation. He instantly continued towards the front door without stopping even as the scenery changed. As soon as he pounded on the door, a very frazzled-looking Barty pulled it open forcefully, looking just about ready to scream at whoever had appeared at this day and time until he recognised who it was.

''**Evan**?'' he asked, aghast. ''What… How…''

''Good to see you too,'' Harry said, trying to smile. ''Is **he** home?''

''No,'' Barty answered, to Harry's crushing disappointment. ''It's Samhain, as a Dark Lord he has responsibilities today that he chose to take up again. You can come in nonetheless, no need to freeze on the porch.''

''Thanks,'' Harry muttered, gratefully stepping inside of the entrance hall. The smell was overwhelmingly familiar, and he took a moment to enjoy it. Barty led him to the kitchen and started preparing some tea as Harry took a seat, feeling incredibly tired now that all of the power he'd felt from the stone in the Forbidden Forest left him.

''Did you apparate here?'' the Death Eater asked with worry. ''Are you in trouble?''

Harry shook his head. ''I can't even properly explain what happened. Truth be told, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself. I can only say that it has something to do with this.'' With the greatest difficulty, he opened his fist, the emerald 'S' on the locket shining in the light. Barty looked at it and did a double-take.

''That is…the missing Horcrux!'' he rasped. ''How in Circe's name did you get a hold of that?''

Harry was tired, but not too tired to pick up on what Barty had just said. Voldemort had never told Harry exactly how many Horcruxes he'd made. If this was the only one that was missing however, there were seven, including him. Six now that the diary had been destroyed. ''It was at my godfather's place,'' Harry mumbled. ''Before you start scolding me, I did try to contact you and Voldemort about it,'' -he ignored Barty's instant muttering protests about respect for names- ''but it had too much control over me already by then. I could barely sleep a couple of minutes each night, making it impossible to reach out through dreams. When I finally convinced it to let me sleep properly again, it forced me to take dreamless sleep potions. It didn't sound very happy about meeting its older self again and cut off all my communication attempts, taking over my body when I tried to inform others about it or threatening to hurt my friends. It wasn't all bad though, it taught me a lot. Dumbledore wanted Snape to teach me Occlumency, and it basically forced me to learn how to block Snape out within a couple of days.''

''I thought that was your… associate… from Durmstrang?'' Harry looked up in confusion, so Barty added: ''The Occlumency lessons weren't Dumbledore's idea, Evan. After that last odd mirror call, our Lord was on alert and thought an impostor had answered. He had Snape check your mind to see if it was really you. Snape told him about several things that he thought might be related to your odd behaviour and mentioned the student you smuggled in.''

If only Harry had known all of this earlier, then he could perhaps have given Snape an actual hint about needing some help to reach out to the Dark Lord. He was infinitely grateful that it was Barty he could tell this all to first. The Death Eater had no qualms in freely and directly giving Harry information. With Voldemort, he would have had to figure out half of it himself.

''There was never a student, that was just a story I made up to explain some things that Snape saw in my head. It was… this,'' Harry explained, gesturing to the Locket. ''It could visualise, although only I saw it. I needed some sort of way to answer Snape's questions without giving away our Lord's secrets. I highly doubt that he trusted many of his followers with the information about his method of immortality. I only know that **you** know because you gathered all of the other vessels. What's wrong?'' Harry asked as Barty was just intently staring at him.

''There was no student,'' the blond slowly repeated. ''It was this piece of our Lord's soul that taught you?''

''Errr, pretty much.'' Harry said, wondering why this was so important. Suddenly, he got a very bad feeling. What** exactly** had Snape told them? Surely he wouldn't-

''So the one you kissed…'' Barty hinted, for some insane reason having a delighted smile on his lips.

Instantly, Harry knew his face was growing flaming red. ''I'm going to** kill** Snape,'' he yelped, jumping up. ''He is dead, so, **so** dead!'' Barty reacted much faster than Harry had anticipated, grabbing his arms and forcing him to sit down again. Harry eyed the Death Eater warily, unsure of what to say or do now. Even before realising what all those confusing feelings about Voldemort actually were, Barty had noticed something, Harry realised. And from what he could gather, the man hadn't been too keen on it, warning Harry away from Voldemort a couple of times.

''Tell me everything, from the beginning when you found this object,'' Barty spoke, releasing Harry to pick up his own cup of tea, then leaning against the kitchen counter.

''First of, promise that you won't tell him,'' Harry begged. ''About the kiss.''

Barty's eyebrows shot up. ''Why?''

''It's… it's complicated,'' Harry struggled to admit. ''And** private**,'' he added. Barty looked unimpressed, as if he had never heard the word privacy before.

''I'll decide that after hearing your story.''

So Harry recounted his tale from the day that he had found the locket. He omitted only a few details that he thought were unimportant to the bigger picture, such as finding Regulus' diaries. There had been no mention of Horcruxes in it so far after all, and Harry still had not gotten to the part where Regulus had chosen to betray the Dark Lord. Instead, he focused on the effects that the Horcrux had had on him in summer. He continued with the way it had first threatened him, then helped him.

''Then came those damned Occlumency lessons. I won't deny that they weren't useful, but it dug up some shocking facts about myself that I'd tried to deny before,'' Harry admitted quietly, struggling to form coherent sentences. ''Little moments I'd ignored, emotions that I had pushed down, they were all pulled to the surface to be examined all at once… Overnight, I had to come to terms with the sudden realisation that what I felt around the Dark Lord was not just a result of his magic.'' Harry peeked at Barty, who looked at him with compassion without interrupting. ''Honestly, I didn't even know that I liked men before,'' Harry weakly said. ''And it just laughed at me mockingly for that.'' He curled up, hands clamping down on the mug as if hanging on for dear life. ''I was so angry and hurt, and not thinking straight. Then in one desperate moment, I confused this piece of Voldemort for** him**… and kissed it. Didn't end well, clearly,'' Harry bitterly spoke.

''I thought you were already aware of your feelings far earlier,'' Barty spoke. ''The way you looked at him, spoke to him… You practically swoon whenever you feel his magic.''

''I've never** swooned**,'' Harry protested, at which Barty laughed. The mood brightened a bit to Harry's immense relief.

''You did too.''

''Did not!''

''I'm glad,'' the Death Eater admitted suddenly. ''When I heard that you were together with some Durmstrang student, I had feared that my words would have permanently chased you away from our Lord. I only wanted you to be careful and use your head for once before you would dive into a pool of emotions. We both know how he can be.''

''Yeah,'' Harry miserably spoke. ''Which is why I don't want you to tell him. I** know** that nothing good can come out of it, I had plenty of time to think about it these past weeks. He is good at manipulation and has used me before. His mental instability is worrying and not something I can handle when swamped with exams, an insane teacher and a secret Defence club to run. Besides that, I doubt he'd be interested in** me**. Sure, I hold some sort of importance I guess, because I have a piece of his soul too, but in the grand scheme of things I'm just a teenager. That** I** have feelings doesn't mean that they'd be reciprocated. I'm happy just being near him, I don't want to destroy that by pushing it.''

''What if he did want you too?''

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he thought of how to answer that. ''I'm not sure if wanting is enough,'' he said. ''Not to sound ungrateful in case he would want something more from me… I'm just not someone who would look for a short-term fling. He's admitted to not understanding more complicated emotions, not even being able to feel those. He… he cannot** love**.'' Harry looked up to Barty, aware of the vulnerability he was showing. ''How could I be with a person of whom I'd know that they could never love me?''

The blond came closer and pulled Harry into an awkward hug. ''I don't want to tell you how to live your life, Evan. I only hope that you are aware of how rare the connection between the both of you is. A prophecy, brother wand cores, blood and soul magic… Your emotions may be influenced by all of that. Don't despair about your chances when you don't** know** yet. Have faith in our Lord, always. I'll keep silent about it, of course. If only because you are too young for him anyways right now,** and** he'd deserve to hear it from you personally. It is not my place.''

''Thank you.''

''These newfound feelings had better not influence how you treat him though.'' Barty warned, narrowing his eyes. ''I expect nothing but respect and reverence from you still. You are getting far too liberal with saying his name. Next time you do not address him properly, I'll hex your head off.''

He should have known something like that was coming. ''Understood.''

''Good. So, nothing about this whole story explains why you are sitting here now. What happened after?''

Relieved that he'd been able to share his complicated crush on Voldemort with someone who didn't judge him one way or the other, Harry continued speaking. How it had kept training Harry without mentioning the kiss other than in a teasing manner. How they'd worked together rather harmoniously, or so he'd thought. Lastly, he turned sombre as he recounted the events that had transpired tonight. Barty didn't interrupt at all, only whistling when it was over.

''Now that is something. I knew our Lord was powerful but this? Apparating you from the Forbidden Forest to here? I never heard about that place of power, it must have been very ancient if the magic it gave was used to go straight through the wards of Hogwarts. There are usually anti-apparition charms all over the place. Of course, it could also be that you were so deep into the forest that you passed those already.''

''I don't really know how far the wards go,'' Harry admitted. ''The grounds of Hogwarts are nearly fully surrounded by fences on all sides, but the Forest seems to go on endlessly. I'm not sure if the fence run through there as well or if they expect the many creatures in there to act as a barrier. We walked long and far enough, I think. Even if I could apparate back there though, I doubt I could find my way back to the castle easily.''

''Especially as that would cost time again,'' Barty muttered. ''The Halloween feast will last much longer than any regular dinner, but it is around eight-thirty now, only one and a half hour left before curfew. Some of your housemates might already be returning.''

''That late already?'' Harry groaned. ''I'll need to start coming up with excuses to explain my absence then… I told Ron that I wouldn't attend because I didn't feel well. That won't fly if he does not find me in the dorms when he returns.''

The atmosphere changed within the blink of an eye, and Harry's breath caught as an incredibly familiar feel of caressing dark magic creeped upon him. Barty grabbed his left arm and winced, eyes trained on the door. Harry couldn't look, merely basking in the feel of the Dark Lord's magic, even though he noticed that the man was angry. A few seconds later, the door was slammed open.

''Bartemius, you'd better have a** very** good explanation for why you-'' he stopped mid-sentence, and their eyes met. It wasn't often that he'd ever surprised Voldemort, so he relished in the shocked look. ''Harry,'' Voldemort spoke, his voice sounding slightly raspy. For a moment, the teen wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not. He didn't get much time to think about it however, for fury suddenly flooded his every sense, a hand caught his throat and shoved Harry into the nearest wall. The chair clattered uselessly to the floor.

''Months of silence!'' Voldemort boomed. ''And **now** you think you can just show up here without warning? Who do you think you **are**?'' Harry clawed at the hand that cut of his air supply, trying to form words and failing. Even when he stopped struggling, the man didn't let go, leaning in so close that Harry could see that Voldemort's crimson irises had flecks in them of a darker shade of red. He'd never noticed that before…

Not knowing what else to do, Harry turned to the one ability he could always use to calm the man down. He placed the hand that wasn't still grasping the locket on the other's arm and concentrated on pleasant thoughts. Flying. The D.A., his friends… slowly, the hold loosened and Harry's back slid down the wall. In that moment, he noticed that Barty had mysteriously disappeared. Coward. Before Voldemort could continue his rant, Harry held up his other hand. ''I found this,'' he spoke, with slight difficulty as his throat was rather sore now.

Taking the chain and holding the locket up into the light, Voldemort stared in silence.

''You told me that, in the unlikely case that I'd ever come across a missing Horcrux, I should return it to you as soon as possible. So, here I am. Took longer than I'd hoped-''

''Where was it?'' the man harshly cut in.

''The Black family house,'' Harry said, as he still couldn't pronounce the address due to the Fidelius charm. He could see the cogs in the man's head turning, and felt an overwhelming onslaught of different emotions as Voldemort took a step back, from rage to sadness.

''The traitor…'' he whispered in disbelief, an underlying pain in his tone that Harry found incredibly different to listen to, wishing he could hug the Dark Lord. He stayed put, hugs would definitely not be appreciated right now. Then, Voldemort's ire was directed at him again. ''You arrived there three months ago!'' he growled. ''Even if you found it on the very last day, that does not excuse keeping it after!''

''I tried to tell you about it!'' Harry exclaimed, getting angry now too. It was entirely unfair that Voldemort was blaming him for it. ''It stopped me from sleeping first and when I was finally at Hogwarts and had enough privacy to try contacting Barty through the mirror, it possessed me.''

''I taught you how to connect to them! Are you telling me that you were not strong enough to withstand its influence?''

''I'm really not sure why you sound so disappointed!'' Harry yelled back. ''Aren't you the one who created them with the ability to possess other people? It did what it was supposed to do, it holds** your** magic. I didn't have a chance against that!'' He fell silent, breathing heavily as he gave Voldemort a fuming look. ''No matter how much you taught me, I'm nowhere near as strong as you are,'' he continued, slowly calming down when the Dark Lord did not deny it. ''Only the piece of soul inside myself could finally stave off its hold over me, which is how I came to be here today.''

''The Horcrux you hold attacked the other one?'' Voldemort asked, sounding rather disturbed. ''What happened?''

Harry sighed and rubbed his neck, wondering how to explain it without mentioning anything about the mindscape to not have the subject of occlumency come up. ''The piece in the locket tried to 'free' the one in me and have it possess me. Said something about me having to become a good host,'' Harry grimaced. ''It only seems that the one in my head is content as is and had no intentions of taking over. I'm sorry that I picked the locket up in the first place, thinking that I could keep it safe for you without being influenced. That was a mistake.''

''You… wished to keep it safe?''

''To make the headquarters of the Order liveable, there have been several thorough cleaning attempts on the house. Any and all objects that were considered dark were thrown away. I found this in one of the last untouched rooms, I had no idea what would happen to it if I'd just left it there. I heard that Fletcher stole a couple of items that he thought to be valuable before they could land in the bin. You wouldn't want your Horcrux to end up in a shabby shop in Knockturn, would you?''

Voldemort quieted down and frowned. Harry flinched as the man lifted his hands to Harry's face, but instead of clamping down around his throat again, a cool palm was pressed against his cheek. Magic raced out from it pleasantly, sending tingles across Harry's entire body. He tried to ignore that in favour of concentrating on the man in front of him. ''My soul… did it harm you?''

Harry shrugged and tried to play it off. ''To about the same degree as you usually do. It punished me if I showed too much disrespect or disobedience. Nothing unexpected. It also helped me.''

''In what way?''

Just as he was about to answer, Harry realised that it would be very unwise to tell Voldemort as much as he'd told Barty. If the Death Eater had come to the conclusion of Harry's 'Durmstrang friend' not existing after hearing that it had been the Horcrux who'd aided Harry with Occlumency, the Dark Lord certainly would. That would lead to **more** questions that Harry wasn't prepared to answer. ''It… it talked to me,'' Harry stuttered, trying to stick to the truth, yet water it down so much that Snape's information wouldn't be doubted. ''Although I was cut off from you, the Horcrux still **was** you in a way as well. We discussed magical theories and it helped me if I struggled in class and my friends couldn't help me.''

Voldemort's hand fell away and his face grew blank. Harry felt through the link that the man closed up. ''I've heard that you made some new friends as well to help you,'' he spoke in a clipped tone. ''It is good that you are trying to associate yourself with people who know more about different aspects of magic. Durmstrang is known for its extensive attention to mind-magic.''

''So I've heard,'' Harry spoke, feeling uncomfortable.

''Now you won't need to be concerned about my Horcrux keeping you awake, I hope that our shared dreams will return… that is, if other nightly activities allow **time** for that.''

Despite how much the other was currently closing off the link they shared, something still seeped through. Something so dark and unpleasant that it had Harry wishing he couldn't feel anything right now. In a flash of shock, he recognised it for jealousy… yet not of a kind Harry had ever experienced himself. Sure, he'd sometimes been envious of other people, especially when he'd been at the Dursley's still. He was sometimes jealous too when his friends rather spent time with each other than with him. This… this wasn't anything like that. It felt like an all-encompassing wave of negativity. Barty's carefully voiced words from before now made a whole lot more sense. Voldemort did have feelings, and the Death Eater had known that. It filled Harry with dread to feel so sharply what it contained. Only jealousy, possessiveness, **entitlement**. There was not a hint of anything that Harry himself felt for the other. No care, no longing… certainly not love. Harry squared his jaw and blinked back tears at the pressing weight of that discovery.

_Be careful of his ugly sides_, Harry's mother had warned. Those reared its head now. Merely the thought of Harry holding the attention of another reduced Voldemort once more to a murderous beast, unable to think of anyone but himself, including Harry. He could feel it, the way that Voldemort wanted to claw the heart out of anyone who dared cross his path. It was terrifying, and Harry was so** not** ready to deal with this. In a desperate attempt to please the man, he hissed: ~_Nothing could keep me away from you willingly_.~

That appeared to mellow the man a bit again, although sharp stings of unpleasant emotions remained. Whether they were directed towards Harry still, he couldn't tell. ~_See that it doesn't. Now, you should leave again. Your__** friends**__ will surely be missing you.~_

''Before I leave… could you make a Portkey?'' Harry hurriedly said, thinking of the one that Regulus had had at one point. Voldemort raised an eyebrow. ''I… I mean, for emergencies. Had my own soul piece not aided me, I'd still be at Hogwarts now.''

''During Dumbledore's time as Headmaster, he made many changes to the wards to bolster its defences. An anti-Portkey field was one of them, installed shortly before my first death. Giving you a Portkey would be useless. They only work when created by a person inside of the wards. That is why it was so essential that Bartemius was in the castle when enchanting the Triwizard cup. He connected it to the wards themselves. Although…'' he added, stroking his chin. ''You could potentially use it during Hogsmeade weekends, and to reach me more easily during holidays if they refuse to let you leave the Order's headquarters. Come.''

They went over to the dining room, where Voldemort plucked Harry's glasses from his nose. ''It is best to use an everyday object that you always have on you,'' he explained, placing the object on the dining table. Harry squinted his eyes to see what the Dark Lord was doing. He lifted his left sleeve and revealed a pale arm, on which something shimmered… With fascination, Harry watched as ink bloomed across the ivory skin, forming a dark blob that could possibly be the Dark Mark. Voldemort placed the tip of his wand first against the mark, then drew it through the air to the pair of spectacles, a trail of black fog following. '_**'Portus Signum, Morsmordre**_!''

It glowed a bright blue for a moment, and Voldemort carefully placed the glasses on Harry's nose again. ''You can activate it by saying 'Morsmordre'. Emergencies only,'' he warned. ''Both the creation and possession of unauthorised portkeys is highly illegal. With the Ministry's current quest against Dumbledore and his Order, they will keep a close watch over you. Do not reveal to **anyone** that a Portus spell has been placed on these glasses, not even to your closest friends or your godfather. You are no use to me in Azkaban.'' Harry nodded to signal he'd understood. ''Also, this Portkey is keyed to me personally. You will be transported to my side, wherever I may be, another reason why you should limit its use. I might be flying, or in battle. If you intend to activate it, try to first reach me through the mirror.''

''Understood. Thank you.'' He tried to convey the gratitude he felt through their link. The man gave him a small, graceful nod in return.

''The Ministry has a whole team dedicated to tracking down unauthorised Portkeys,'' Voldemort still warned. ''Only activate it when you are in places with other interfering magic. This house is secure, and I assume that your godfather's place and Hogsmeade are as well. Should you be sent back to your Muggle family next summer however, it would be unwise to use it as a method of escaping from there.''

''I'll take that to heart. So, can I use this to get back to Hogsmeade now?'' he asked. ''Or does it only go one-way?''

''It saves your last destination, much like the Triwizard cup did. Should you use this to travel from someplace to me, you can then use it to get back there. As you are already here now, that won't work. Barty can…'' Voldemort trailed off, then resolutely said: ''I'll apparate you to either the Forbidden Forest or Hogsmeade.''

''I can find my way back more easily from Hogsmeade without being seen,'' Harry smiled, his heart skipping slightly at the thought of side-apparating with the Dark Lord. It slightly healed his previous crushing disappointment about Voldemort's feelings towards him.

''What were you doing until my appearance interrupted you?'' Harry asked after saying his goodbyes to Barty and walking through the garden to the exit of the bubble dimension.

''A Samhain celebration with the Malfoys. As a reward for his excellent work in aiding me with the uncovering of the slave trade, Lucius asked to be connected to his departed father. I agreed to act as a medium. It is… an odd sensation to connect to the minds of those who have passed on. It is much trickier than finding their souls in the Black Cosmos. They either come or they don't and whisper of secrets. I was only just getting ready with the preparations when Barty called me. I have to still go back after.''

''I'm sorry.''

Voldemort slowly shook his head and wrapped the invisibility cloak around Harry's shoulders. ''You brought the missing piece of my soul back to me. That was worth the interruption. Hold on tightly now.''

The teen tried not to suppress how content he was as Voldemort drew him close, snaking an arm around his torso. Harry held on too, relishing in the opportunity to sneakily give the man a hug under the guise of side-apparition. He pressed his face into the silky robes and breathed in the Dark Lord's scent, right before the world disappeared in a flurry of colours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit that this chapter turned out very differently than I had originally planned and it has honestly messed up my plot ideas for some of the future chapters.. The Horcrux was supposed to be there until Christmas, my apologies to everyone who liked it so much X'D These scenes just... happened somehow. I decided to stick with it and come up with a tweaked flow of my original plans rather than trash it :P
> 
> At least Harry and Voldemort finally had another scene together ;P


	54. Bloodquill Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support once again! I hope that the new year is treating you all well so far.  
(In case you are all getting two notifications and are wondering why, I re-uploaded chap 53 right before this one because I saw there had been some formatting issues with it, parts written in italics that weren't supposed to be and stuff)
> 
> Enjoy!

As it turned out, Harry did not need to explain his absence at all. During the Halloween feast, Peeves had pulled a stunt, blocking the entrance doors to the Great Hall and every single subsequent door and stairway entrance after that. It left most students stuck until the teachers had taken care of the blockades and McGonagall had chased the Poltergeist down. Harry returned easily, unseen under his invisibility cloak and making use of the map to find unaffected hidden passages. When he arrived in Gryffindor tower, he even had enough time to shower and change before his tired dormmates finally made an appearance.

In the days that followed, Harry thought often about his latest encounter with Voldemort, thoughts wandering towards various topics concerning the man, including but not limited to the two Horcruxes he'd had contact with on that day. If he was honest, he didn't even know what he should focus on, letting his mind wander as he tried to place the many impressions of that day.

First of all there was the Locket-Horcrux, which had betrayed him. Harry still wanted to slap himself for being so naïve to think that it had actually wanted to help, or even liked him. All of those delusions had fallen apart the moment he'd found out how it had used everything Harry had given it to its advantage. Whenever his fingers absentmindedly searched for the chain around his neck and didn't find it, the teen had to sternly remind himself of that it was better this way, now he had escaped its influence.

Secondly, he inevitably thought of the piece of soul in his head. He'd known of its existence for more than a year now, ever since Voldemort had revealed to him what he was. It had always been something abstract: magic that mingled with his and which was the cause of certain abilities like Parseltongue. He'd never anticipated that it could materialise in his mind, much less have so much control. Harry dearly hoped that the magic he had absorbed from that place of power had played a role in his Horcrux's strength, that it had been a one-time occasion. It thankfully hadn't been eager to go along with its younger self's plans or Harry would be in a whole different world of trouble now. There were many uncertainties concerning this soul piece though. Harry wasn't sure if he should try and search it out. It hadn't looked very able to talk, and besides that, he did not want to fall into the trap of yet another Horcrux.

Finally, there was Voldemort himself, the main soul which gave Harry so many different feelings that the Gryffindor feared his brain was tearing itself apart. His heart ached as he recalled the emotions that had resonated through their mental bond. Despite his own pessimism towards the likelihood of Voldemort returning his affection, he had still** hoped**. Now he knew that the man indeed did seem to harbour feelings that were not usual for a mentor and his student, but it didn't lift his spirits at all. What Harry had wished to find wasn't there, instead stumbling over a raw feel of something he could only describe as ownership. Voldemort wanted Harry to belong to him, and that overshadowed anything else. Maybe other people could be happy with that, the types who flocked to powerful figures in hopes of catching their eye and one day twirl at their arm. It had been enough for Regulus: to have the Dark Lord's attention, to make others jealous of the position he'd ascended to.

Harry did not need all that. He shied away from power, would throw out all of his gold if necessary, could care less about the opinion of others by now. What he did need was someone he could talk to on equal ground, someone who'd truly and honestly care for him. As much as he yearned with all of his being to be close to Voldemort again, rationally he knew that the Dark Lord would never give him any of that. They'd never be** equal**, partially Harry's fault as well as he'd sworn fealty to the man in the first place.

And thus, his brain remained a mess, spiralling into dark places that only his friends could pull him out of at times. He'd barely registered the commotion that held Hogwarts in its grasp until the weekend arrived and Hermione pulled him along to the Quidditch pitch for Ron's and Ginny's first match. Harry gathered what little he had left of his sanity and decided to try his best to be supportive to his friend. He hadn't gone out to the pitch himself to watch Ron as the team was never really happy to have spectators during practice, but Ginny had told him enough about how Ron** could** be incredibly good. His main weakness was performing when nervous. Unfortunately, Quidditch was mainly popular because of the amount of people who could watch it at once. Being surrounded by hundreds of students who either pressured one to succeed or were vocal about how they'd wish you'd lose was not exactly a nerve-free environment.

''What's going on there?'' he asked Hermione when they were seated. Something was happening in the Slytherin stands, they were far less composed than usual.

''You shouldn't skip breakfast so often, then you'd find out more of what is going on in school,'' the girl replied a bit frosty. ''Ron could have used the support too.'' A twinge of guilt made itself known in Harry's stomach. ''Anyway, it doesn't look like they're up to much good. Some were wearing badges with 'Weasley is our King' on it. I** doubt** that it is in actual support of their rival team.''

Harry cursed and swore to himself that if Draco had** anything** to do with this, he'd practice a few nice curses on the blond. He'd reserve his judgement until speaking to the Slytherin though. Admittedly, Draco had been getting worked up over the Quidditch match and been rather nasty about how he thought the Gryffindor team didn't stand a chance with Ron on board, but he hadn't gotten personal with insults as far as Harry was aware.

The match began, and Harry did not need to wait long to understand the meaning of the badges. Before even the first goal was scored on either side, the Slytherins started singing a song that made Harry's blood boil with rage. Confined to the Gryffindor stand as he was, he could do nothing but cross his fingers for Ron. It didn't help, the song clearly got to him, and Harry's friend became less and less able to block the Quaffles thrown his way. He started zigzagging uselessly. Even from the stands, Harry could see that Ron was completely red in the face from embarrassment.

He threw a foul look over at the Slytherin stands for sinking so low as to personally attack a single player. Pansy Parkinson stood in front, conducting with her wand. Lee Jordan tried to speak louder and louder to drown out the noise with his running commentary, and Luna let her new lion hat roar, but even that couldn't compete against dozens of loud voices all singing the same thing. The match quickly turned into a disaster. Not only Ron was distracted by it, Angelina had a short shouting match with Warrington in mid-air, and Fred made a foul by throwing his beating bat at one of the Chasers in fury, giving the Slytherin team a free pass that Ron failed to catch as well.

Ginny saved the day, catching the snitch right before Gryffindor could be so far behind that even those 150 points wouldn't have saved them. It wasn't a great victory, barely scraping by on ten points. It would make the rest of the games this year impossibly difficult. The Quiditch cup would most likely go to Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw unless Ron miraculously found confidence and Gryffindor would outshine both teams with incredibly high scores to make up for this. Harry silently applauded her, he'd have done the exact same thing, it was clear that they wouldn't have been able to pull back. The reactions of the other Gryffindors about their new Seeker's decision were divided until a few D.A. members started to vehemently defend Ginny's actions, making Harry proud of 'his' students.

Harry waited impatiently until Ron came out, who took so long that he and Hermione feared that their best friend was trying to drown himself in the shower.

When he finally appeared, it was with puffy eyes and a frown. ''I was miserable,'' he said first thing.

''You still won. Even after that horrible low trick they pulled, Slytherin lost!'' Hermione tried cheering him up.

''Not by any achievement of mine,'' Ron sulked. ''I want to… to be alone for now. Go congratulate Ginny from me. It looks like all Quidditch talent went straight to my sister.''

''I have something else to do first,'' Harry said, noticing how cold his own voice was. ''Ron, did Draco wear one of those badges?''

To his relief, Ron shook his head. ''At first I thought it had all been his idea, really. Neither he nor Pucey wore a badge though, and I even heard their other teammates say that they were being stuck up spoil-sports and house traitors. I don't know who orchestrated it, but for once it wasn't Malfoy.''

Finding out who had been behind it turned out to be much easier than Harry had thought. For purposes of emergency D.A. meetings, Harry was kept up to date about how to enter the various common rooms -except Ravenclaw, as the doorknob gave a unique riddle to each student- so he could easily waltz into the Slytherin common room now. Which he did. With a drawn wand. Hostile eyes were instantly on him as he approached a rather loud group smack in the middle of the common room, lounging on the expensive black leather couches.

''Aww, has Potter come to defend our King?'' Parkinson cackled, jutting her chin in the air. A few people around her traded slightly uncomfortable looks as Harry approached. Everyone here had at least heard rumours, especially after Harry had been invited for the start-of-year party. It looked like Quidditch made people like Parkison a bit forgetful however, as she stood and brushed off her robes before stepping closer to Harry with a challenging expression. ''Did you like my lyrics? I wanted to add a few more lines about Weasley you know… Something about poverty and ugliness… but in the end I decided that a few strong, simple lines were best so the simpleton would actually be able to ** understand** it.''

Harry's jaw clenched and he raised his wand to her throat. ''This is how you want to try winning games, Parkinson?'' he asked. ''So little faith in the Slytherin team that the audience needs to resolve to dirty tricks? Or do you just find it fun to walk all over other people?''

''The latter,'' she smirked. ''Someone has to put you and your little friends in place, Potter. I don't know what has gotten into** some** of us, but** I** still have enough house pride left to not do the bidding of a couple of **Gryffindors**.''

''Is that what this is about? You want to get back at me because I happened to befriend a few of your house mates?'' he laughed. ''That's pathetic, Parkinson. We have** real** enemies to focus on in this castle instead of tearing each other down.''

The girl would have none of it. In a flash, she had her wand out as well and started to circle around Harry. She had poor footwork, Harry observed. And her attempts to distract him by using feints were far too obvious as well. ''Come on then, scared?'' she bit. ''Barging in here like you're all important, whereas everything you say is just based on attention-seeking** lies**. _**Reducto!**_''

Harry stepped out of the way as other students dived for safety. He was slightly surprised by her choice of spell. The Reductor curse was, to his knowledge, a spell used to blast objects out of the way or -when enough power was put into the spell- to reduce them to dust. Spells meant for objects often had very different effects on living tissue and the other way around however… Even a cutting curse that could cut through a solid steel bar would only leave a deep gash in a human, not sever the entire arm. Similarly, he doubted that the Reductor curse would have been able to damage him as seriously as Parkinson clearly wanted. It showed her inexperience and lack of knowledge in duelling, so he quickly put an end to it.

''_**Pertimescite**_!'' Harry shouted, quickly moving forwards so she wouldn't get a shield up in time. As soon as the spell hit, Parkinson's started screaming. Her face twisted into a grimace of absolute fear, and she froze up completely as she stared ahead with empty eyes. Before Harry could cancel the spell, someone else did so for him, and a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him around.

Completely unremorseful, he stared at Snape's enraged face before the man started dragging him out of the common room.

''**What was that**?'' Snape sputtered as he practically threw Harry into his office.

''A Fear Hex,'' Harry replied non-apologetically. With any other teacher, he might have tried to reason with why he'd acted like he had, told them that Parkinson had fired the first spell… but Snape was not the type of man to listen to excuses. ''It won't harm her.''

The Potion professor threw a glare at him like a dagger. ''I know what the spell was, Potter,'' he snarled. ''Why were **you** in **there**? My students did nothing illegal. Childish maybe, but not anything that breaks school rules. Was it not enough for you that their little song didn't work and your House secured a victory after all?''

''No!'' Harry loudly said, getting frustrated. ''This wasn't about the Quidditch match for me. They tried to shame my best friend in front of the entire school, there should be consequences for that! If** bullying** is not against school rules, then what the hell is?''

''Watch you tone!''

''_Hem Hem_.''

Both of them froze and looked at the entrance of Snape's office. In the doorframe stood Professor Umbridge, with a sweet smile on her face and once again dressed from head to toe in pink. ''There seems to be a problem here, Professor Snape? One of your students, Ms Parkinson, was kind enough to inform me that Potter here just broke into the Slytherin common room?''

''I have been able to handle Mr Potter's punishment for years now, I do think I'm capable of disciplining the dunderhead now too,'' Snape sneered. Umbridge did not look impressed, a small frown on her face.

''It has come to my ears that Mr. Potter has been serving an awful lot of detentions with you this year, Severus. Forgive me but… if two to three detentions a week still do not show an improvement in his behaviour, maybe different punishment is in order?'' she smiled. ''After only one week of** my** detentions, Mr Potter did not give trouble in my classroom anymore. Perhaps he should be reminded of that this doesn't mean that he can do so in the rest of the school.''

Harry had expected Snape to jump at this opportunity, but the other seemed very hesitant. ''That won't be necessary, Dolores. While unusual and discouraged, it is not forbidden for students to enter each other's common rooms. His spat with Ms Parkinson also did not cause harm on either side. I shall put him to work for provoking my students of course, but more than that would be out of proportion.''

''It was not a request, Severus,'' she spoke, a bit sharper now. She opened her leather handbag and pulled a piece of paper out of it. ''I just received this from the Minister himself. Educational Decree number twenty-four, which gives me all authority I need to decide on a student's punishment as I see fit, even if another teacher or Head of House decides otherwise. You see Severus, after my** last** decree, Minerva refused to accept my decision to not let the Gryffindor team reform. A clear mistake by all accounts as I'm sure you'll agree after today. So… if I say that a few detentions for Mr Potter won't do, then that is final, understood?''

Snape's eyes flicked back and forth between her and Harry. ''I of course respect the Minister's words and by extension, your verdicts,'' he spoke in a monotonous drawl.

''Splendid!'' she smiled. ''If only all teachers would be so cooperative as you. I'm sure Minerva will try to protest to Dumbledore about this too. Well, perhaps then** she** will have to be put on probation for disrespecting her superiors just like poor Sybill. I **am **glad to have your backing in this, Severus. Your attitude is most certainly the reason as for why your students are among the brightest, I'm sure. Give my regards to Ms Parkinson when you see her. Potter, come with me. Now.''

Harry gave Snape only a half-hearted glare. He did not know if the potion professor enjoyed watching him suffer by Umbridge's hand or let him go unwillingly, but it would have been very unwise to suddenly stand up to Umbridge. So, Harry tried giving Snape the benefit of the doubt in this case. He moved from one office to another, a worse one in his opinion. Neither teacher had a great sense of aesthetics, but somehow Harry found wilted roses and kitsch décor worse than jars with animals floating in formaldehyde.

''Have a seat, Mr Potter,'' she said, already taking out a familiar black quill. ''The sentence _'I must not cause trouble_' should do the trick, don't you think so? In the meantime, I will have to think on what to do about Mr Weasley…''

''What?'' Harry asked in alarm, for the first time actually addressing her. ''Why?''

''It was clear that you did this on his behalf,'' she replied. ''I cannot possibly have him get away with this.''

''Ron didn't know anything about this!'' he protested.

Umbridge only shook her head slowly, and it dawned on Harry that he was only making it worse by showing how this affected him. ''I cannot verify that as the truth. You** are** a known liar, Mr Potter. Just to be** safe**, I will remove Mr Weasley from the Gryffindor team, I think. Yes… even in the unlikely case that he was not an accomplice in this, it should make him reconsider just who he should pick as acceptable company. Write your lines now, Mr Potter.''

Stewing in anger, he grabbed the bloodquill in his fist, wishing with all his might that her head would explode. The scar on his right hand, which had already been giving him trouble before, flared up in agonizing pain the moment Harry started writing. It was far more unbearable than the last time he'd served these detentions. The thought of having to go through this again for hours or even days made him wish he could just quit Hogwarts here and now. Only Umbridge's satisfied grin made him clench his teeth together and continue writing. Sweat dropped down his face and he felt decidedly ill after a while, black spots dancing in his vision. Now would have been a good time for the Horcrux inside his scar to show some powers, he bitterly thought.

His hand was swollen like a balloon once she let him go. She didn't even bother with healing his hand this time, probably overconfident in her new position. Harry did what he probably should have done the very first time as well: swallowing his pride, he went to yet another office, knocking on the door with his good hand. McGonagall opened it, already dressed in a quilted night robe. He hadn't realised just how late it was.

''Potter! What are you doing here?''

''I… I had detention with professor Umbridge,'' he quietly admitted.

Her face fell, eyes twinkling sharply. ''I told you how dangerous-'' she started, until her eyes fell on Harry's hand, which he was holding now. ''Come in,'' she said, her voice changing to concerned.

''There is a new Decree,'' Harry instantly said once he was seated. ''I didn't do anything that involved her personally, professor. However, she has the power to overrule other teachers on punishment now. Professor Snape was just about to give me a detention for causing a commotion in the Slytherin common room, when she showed up and said a common detention with him wouldn't do.''

''Hand, Potter,'' McGonagall sternly said. He winced as she took the fleshy thing that hardly resembled a hand anymore. She studied his swollen skin, which had only thinly healed over again. The new words could still be read beneath. ''Severus mentioned this decree before in teacher's lounge before. I did not know that you would be the first person she'd test that on. If the Minister gave her full authority over disciplinary actions, she might indeed be allowed to change the current policy against corporeal punishment,'' she muttered. ''**This** goes further than that though. You told me once before that she used a blood quill, correct?''

''Yeah, those are illegal, right?''

''They very well should be… Whether that will help us now the Ministry is so clearly against us is another thing altogether. But really Potter, the Slytherin common room? If this was about the Quidditch match-''

''It was about Ron! Professor, why can people just get away with such open bullying? They attacked his pride, his weaknesses. That it was in relation to a game as provocation for him does not change the fact that they insulted him! Why is that so accepted?''

''Nothing about it was against school rules,'' McGonagall frowned. ''As long as he was not physically harmed or jinxed, my hands are tied. It is also not forbidden to enter another common room though, if you got detention for that then I will go have a word with both Severus and Dolores…''

''I hexed Parkinson,'' Harry admitted, not backing down at another disapproving stare. ''She tried to throw a Reductor curse at me first, but neither Umbridge nor Snape found that worth noting or punishing.''

McGonagall sighed and rubbed her temples, staring at Harry's hand. The time she took with it did not give him many hopes for emergency healing happening anytime soon. ''If Professor Snape was a witness to this event and chose not to punish a student from his House, I am not in the right to correct him. The only thing I can do for you is to inform Professor Dumbledore about this event.''

''I didn't come here for myself, Professor. I understand why I was punished and also that you probably can't do anything about it. She also punished Ron though, who wasn't even there! She said she didn't believe that I acted on my own, that Ron **must** have sent me on his behalf or something like that. She is planning on banning him from playing on the team without any proof he's done something wrong, and he doesn't even know about it yet!''

''What?'' she growled. ''No, no matter how much new power she has, she can't just decide to punish students on a whim because she** thinks **they were involved! I will besure to put in a complaint against her for this. I am afraid that is all I can do for now, Potter. Go visit madam Pomfrey, this looks far more complex than what simple healing charms can fix.''

''I'll have detention for another two days,'' he grumbled miserably. ''What's the point in healing it now if it'll be cut open again tomorrow?''

McGonagall pursed her lips, then waved her wand over his hand. The pain lessened considerably. ''Even if I cannot force you to go to the hospital wing, I still highly recommend it to avoid infections or curses festering. These numbing charms won't hold forever either and you still need to perform well in class despite this.''

Overcoming his own stubbornness for a second time today, Harry followed her advice, getting really tired of having to walk from office to office. Madam Pomfrey did not look exceptionally happy about having to deal with a student this late in the evening either as he walked in.

''Here you finally quit the Quidditch team and you** still** end up here,'' she huffed in frustration. ''Pick a bed, Mr Potter, I have several injured I am tending to at the moment. I'll get to you in a minute.'' A minute turned out to be almost an hour later, as three Quidditch players had been injured in the match and several Hufflepuffs had been the victim of some unknown experimental spell which left them unable to speak.

''So, now to you,'' she sighed, taking a chair to sit at his bedside. Harry sat upright and showed him his hand. ''Can you give me any information to work with?'' she asked as she too studied the skin with a frown.

''I had detention with professor Umbridge, she made me write with a blood quill again,'' he grimaced. ''I also had to do so at the start of the year for a week. At the very end of that, she healed it and I think she deliberately messed up the spell as it scarred. I didn't think too much of it then, but recently the scar started hurting and at one point even opened up and bled. When I had to use the quill again today, the pain was far worse than last times and now my hand is swollen.''

''That horrid toad,'' Madam Pomfrey hissed furiously, taking even Harry aback by the amount of venom in her voice. ''It's not enough to hurt students, now she also has to hinder the healing process? I cannot wait till the moment she is gone from this school.''

''That might take a bit, the Minister just gave her more power. She can do whatever she wants with punishment now without consequences, from what I gathered. I expect more students to start showing up here soon.''

The nurse's face became deeply wrinkled with worry. ''Students should not have to fear for their health and safety in a school,'' she spoke. ''It's madness. And** this**…'' she gestured to his hand. ''Potter, I am very sorry to be the one that has to give you this news, but this is… not possible to heal.''

He looked at her in stunned silence for a moment, wondering if she was joking. ''I'm sorry?'' he asked in disbelief. ''You once regrew all the bones in my arm, you de-petrified people! Surely, a swollen hand is not so much more difficult!''

She pinned him down with a frightening look. ''Do** not** tell me how to do my job, Potter. Simply said, blood quills are cursed objects. When the effects are not properly healed, the curse remains. From what you described, it sounds as if the curse was locked beneath poorly healed skin, then spread over time. It is in your very cells by now. I can stop it from spreading and slow the effects, that is all. This curse cannot be **removed** anymore, it's far too late. Had you come to me right away, perhaps I could have sent you to a curse expert in St. Mungo's to reverse the damage. Now, even that is ruled out.''

''So… so what happens to it now?''

''If you're lucky, nothing for a long time. Eventually though… blood quills curses are designed to affect your blood, to touch it with dark magic to draw it out through the quill. Without the quill as an outlet, the curse itself will slowly poison your bloodstream, disrupt the natural flows and hamper the creation of new blood cells. Frankly spoken, the outcome isn't entirely clear. I could vary from your skin always remaining this irritable to your hand becoming unusable completely. I will speak to some of my colleagues at St. Mungo's still, but I cannot make any promises.''

Harry returned to the common room feeling absolutely numb. Should they be rid of Umbridge in the future, her influence would always remain in Harry's hand… Looking at the red skin in worry, he vowed to himself to make her life hell as soon as the opportunity would arise. This, Ron's punishment, the way she treated students and staff alike… He'd never thought he could hate a teacher more than Snape, yet Umbridge rose far above that. During the next D.A. meeting, perhaps the members could brainstorm a bit about solutions to get her out of the castle once and for all. There was no guarantee that she wouldn't do this to other children as well.

The victory party was long over by the time he made it back. It did not look like it had been a major one either, with just a few spats of glitter and rests of fireworks being sprinkled throughout. Harry wouldn't really have celebrated ten points much either, he couldn't blame them. The small taste of victory was merely because Slytherin had lost, nothing else. The Chasers had not been able to catch up, Ron hadn't stopped a single Quaffle, Fred and George hadn't been in best form, allowing Slytherin to score many points. This victory was solely because Ginny was a better Seeker than Malfoy was. On the other hand, he did not even want to imagine how utterly crushed they'd have been if Slytherin had also caught the snitch, earning another 150 points on top of the massive amount they had already. The end score had been 200 to 190 for Gryffindor, with 150 points credited to Ginny's catch. Had Malfoy managed to grab the tiny golden ball, the match would have ended in 340 to 50 for Slytherin, throwing Harry's house out of the competition instantly. Like this, they still had a** chance** against the other Houses.

Maybe he shouldn't worry about Quidditch so much, Harry grimly thought when looking down at his hand again. Madam Pomfrey had done all she could to contain it, telling him that the curse had spread roughly up to his elbow before she had been able to halt it today. A de-swelling solution had taken care of the bloating for now, and numbness charms kept the pain at bay, but it was no permanent solution.

He fell on his bed completely exhausted and not in the mood to talk. As no-one else seemed to be either, Ron lying in bed staring at the wall and the other three casting hesitant glances at their new Keeper, Harry just shut his bed hangings, drifting off to sleep fast.

XxX

Thin strips of light made the unwelcome presence of dawn known through the blinds that had been put up in front of all windows in the Riddle residence. With a single flick of spidery fingers, the additional curtains were drawn shut, as the room's inhabitant was not ready yet for any sunlight. All night, Voldemort had been sitting at his desk in the inky darkness that eased his eyes, staring at Slytherin's locket. It would have been his by birthright, had Merope Gaunt not sold it for a fraction of its worth before he'd arrived on this world. He'd reclaimed it now, taken it from that old witch Hepzibah… it was more than a mere relic of the past now, he had made it so, imbued it with magic and** soul**.

A piece of soul that had become quite the mystery. Disappeared, resurfaced in the Black house, found and carried by his human Horcrux… The power it had gained across these past few months was not surprising if it had been so close to Harry. Its plans were far more concerning. As much as Voldemort would have wanted to however, he could not open the locket the instant his human Horcrux had left for Hogwarts. They were sturdy things, Horcruxes, made to withstand most anything… including their maker. Without knowing the intentions of this soul piece, it would be unwise to interact with it without draining it first of the power it had borrowed from Harry.

Doing so had been easier than expected. Harry's soul piece 'staving off the other Horcrux' hold' as the boy had worded it, had left the locket inactive. It was fascinating to see that although the metal clearly buzzed with magic, it remained locked and immobile. Once again, he checked the magical field around it, pleased to find that it had reached an acceptable level of innocuity.

~_Open_~

Voldemort leaned back as the locket clicked, two small metal doors swinging open. Wispy trails of grey mist made their way out, forming the figure of his younger self. It was almost transparent and could have been confused for a ghost if it would have been pearly.

''You… what did you do to me?'' it asked, a hostile look on its face. ''And why is it so damned dark in here?'' it complained, narrowing its eyes. Voldemort sighed and let the accursed light in a bit more. He'd forgotten that his nocturnal sight had only developed so strongly after creating the diadem. The beams of sun shone straight through the apparition, which the Dark Lord looked at in disdain. While his Horcruxes would always remain one of his grandest displays of magical prowess, they also served to remind him of a flawed past. This one still looked so strongly like his muggle father had… not only that, he'd been much more aggressive and impatient back then, convinced that he could take over the world in his mid-twenties. Looking back on that, it was laughable. Those years had in the end mainly served to improve his magical abilities and form connections that were useful much later, nothing else.

At least it wasn't the diary-Horcrux, he mused. Or the ring. He didn't think he could have held a meaningful conversation with his teenage self.

''**I** hardly did anything other than drain the magic you took for yourself. Most can be accredited to the last Horcrux I ever made,'' he answered.

''**Harry**?'' it growled. ''I underestimated the boy… and the piece of soul he carries.''

''It seems that way. Now, you are finally back under my control. Why did you hide?''

It glared at him again with eyes that were not quite red yet.

''I was locked up for **decades**,'' it snarled. ''No-one to talk to apart from a few sparse visits, sensory deprivation… Only the purpose of my existence kept me relatively sane. And then Harry came along, allowed me to feed off his magic, **live** again for a while. Why would I give that up and go back to being a prisoner? Especially when I found out that **you** have lost your mind.''

Voldemort arched an eyebrow and leaned forward. ''And how is that?'' he asked.

''Living peacefully alongside Muggles?'' it snorted. ''Letting Mudbloods infiltrate our society? What happened to crushing those who are unworthy? Merlin, even your magical ability must have waned if it got you** killed**. I heard our followers ran for it in an attempt to wash their hands off you. Not exactly great deeds. **I** followed the path of magic, I don't know what the hell you are doing!''

''Enough,'' Voldemort dangerously spoke. ''You know nothing. The world is not as simple as I once believed it to be. I have underestimated my enemies before and paid the price for it. My followers returned, are stronger than ever. I will not let you ruin my plans because you still believe in the superiority of blood. I am a Half-blood myself and none can match me, disproving that theory immediately. It is nothing but propaganda started by a select few families. Magic is what counts. However, I am not here to discuss my current views with you. Your reckless behaviour was extremely unpleasant and jeopardised my plans regarding Harry. You made him lie to me, blocked our communication and tried to turn the piece of soul inside him against himself. Do you have anything to say against that?''

The Horcrux sneered. ''You would understand if you'd have been imprisoned for so long and the main soul you'd been trying to protect was making such grave errors.'' Without a word, Voldemort balled his hand into a fist, concentrating on the source magic he held, to affect the soul piece. It dropped to its knees, shaking under the force of his magic. ''Yes, I used the boy!'' it ground out. ''So what? It wasn't as if it was no mutual agreement. I refrained from harming those close to him, I honed his magical abilities and ensured our secrets were safe! I did more for him than you could have! I was at least** there**. And still-'' the Horcrux broke off, face twisting into a furious expression.

''Still **what**?'' the Dark Lord hissed, keeping his iron grip on the disobedient soul. When it didn't answer, he turned it from unpleasant to painful, making the Horcrux scream out through gritted teeth.

''And still I wasn't enough, he still wanted** you**!'' it finally yelled, breaking free from the spell with an unexpected burst of leftover magic. They stared at each other, two livid gazes locking. Then, Voldemort's brain started making connections fast. The posture, those robes… he'd seen once before.

''When you say that you honed Harry's abilities… did that include his Occlumency lessons?''

The Horcrux brushed off its robes and ran a hand through its hair, now refusing to meet his eyes. ''Yes,'' it curtly said. ''If that is all, I shall return to the eternal hell you put me in. If you fail our task, I** will** find a way to make you experience it as well.'' The figure dissipated into fog again after that empty threat and returned to the locket, which snapped shut with another audible click.

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, a million thoughts whirling. The most prominent of all were relief and satisfaction over being proven wrong in his previous assumptions. It was not very often that finding he'd reached erroneous conclusions brought out a positive response. This time, he felt almost giddy about it. It had all been a ploy then, the whole scam of this Durmstrang student he'd directed so much anger at. Undoubtedly one to fool Snape as an excuse for how Harry could have learned Occlumency so fast, without revealing the existence of this Horcrux. Not that his follower would have an idea about what a Horcrux even was, very few were privileged enough to have found that information. Nonetheless, it** was** appreciated that Harry was not careless with this kind of sensitive information, and many things finally made sense. The boy had avoided him purely due to the Horcrux's manipulations, there were no other factors diverting Harry' attention from him. Even that kiss… it sounded as if rejection had followed.

''He still wanted **me**?'' he gleefully whispered into the dark. All bitterness he'd harnessed since Severus' news faded into the background. The speed at which his own emotions changed was disturbing, yet he could not deny it. There were quite a few things that he should deny no longer, Voldemort reluctantly thought. At the start, he'd mainly played into Harry's clear addiction as it was amusing. But as he'd recently admitted to Barty, he** had** gotten… **attached** to the teen. He'd looked forward to new shared conversation and dreams, only to be angered when those did not follow. The short fuse he'd had over the topic of Harry's lover was uncharacteristic, it had made his blood boil with jealousy. It reminded him all too well of the previous relationship he'd been in, the only other time in his life where he'd actively wished to be in the company of another human being for no other reason than being around them.

Somehow, it was even stronger now, with the added ability of sensing Harry's emotions and being influenced by them in return. A whole world of new emotions had opened up since resurrecting and he suspected that sharing Harry's blood was one reason why. It had affected his own abilities. Over time, he'd come to realise that the emotions he felt were not purely those anymore that he'd learned by studying. Some of them were… genuine,** natural**.

How to proceed was the ultimate question. The fears over Harry permanently being out of reach by being swept off his feet by another coming true after all if he waited, was unacceptable. Voldemort knew now what he wanted, and he should not be denied. Yet, even his own sense of feeble morality that remained was protesting against it. Regulus had already been young, but at least his former lover had been an adult. It was an uncomfortable thought that he could be attracted to someone who was even younger. He had very few issues with most things other people reviled: murder, torture, theft… but** this**? Then again, it was not necessarily physical attraction he felt. It was far more on a magical and ethereal level. He wished to share magic, to converse, to challenge and teach the stubborn Gryffindor. Admittedly, the few times he had held Harry felt delightful, but that was merely an additional pleasantry to something deeper.

In the past, the finer details of developing relationships had always escaped him. Neither care nor any other emotion most connected to being with someone had been within his range of abilities. Physical stimulation had been the only logical way to bind people to him whom he wanted something from. He hadn't bothered with social rituals, especially as he'd usually gone for outcasts. It had not been necessary. Even after he had expanded his range of emotions artificially, the most effort he'd put in had been with Regulus, organising one-on-one talks over dinners. Voldemort still wasn't sure if it had been picked up, Regulus had been just as dense as Harry was when it came to this. In the end, he'd simply dragged the other into his bedchambers, which had worked out splendidly. That was not a possibility now.

Instead, he'd have to find a way to draw the teen's attention away from all other possible suitors, while still keeping him at bay long enough. The only solution he could think of was attempting to take up Harry's time as much as possible, be it through visits or dreams. It was of course made easier by that Harry clearly had much going on at Hogwarts right now, and did also have feelings to some extent. Feelings that Voldemort couldn't quite figure out just yet, but it did lean towards the romantic side. It wasn't quite what he was used to, the boy always seemed to infuriate him with hot-headed, rash actions instead of showing utter devotion and worship. That was not to say he found it undesirable, instead it made things more** interesting**.

Annoyingly, he could not ask other people for advice. The only ones he would have trusted with that were Bellatrix and Barty. The Lestranges were still in prison, and Barty was clearly biased, trying to shield Harry from him. It was ridiculous, but Harry trusted Barty all the more for it, so he let it be. Voldemort had initially wanted to cast Legilimency on his follower to see the conversation the blond had had with Harry before his own arrival, then thought better of it. One reason why Barty was so open was because he too, trusted to not being taken advantage of. There were few people in this world that Voldemort respected, his young Death Eater being one of those.

He took the locket in his hands and debated over whether or not to forcefully call forth the piece of soul again. Although revealing its intentions, it would still have a wealth of information to share, both on the situation in Hogwarts and Harry's current abilities. Furthermore, he still had not punished it quite enough for the little rebellion it had tried to start. After a short debate with himself, Voldemort decisively started weaving spells around the Horcrux. With how much his younger self seemed to despise him, it would be best to lock it up and keep it in a safe location once more. Many other channels could provide him with information, and punishment would bring nothing but an even more resentful Horcrux in the end. All others apart from Harry were currently located in this house, he did not want to risk the possibility of the locket's ideas affecting the rest. It would be wiser to leave it at this.

_~I'm hungry~_ he suddenly heard, and he looked up to see a very annoyed Nagini slithering into the room. Speaking of Horcruxes… She heaved herself up and tried to look intimidating, which was very entertaining as he knew she would never even dare to bare her fangs at him.

_~You ate two days ago, my dear. Are you unwell?~_

_~I miss the taste of meat~ _she muttered.

_~That is called having an appetite, not__** hunger**__. Very well, you don't get treats too often and I'm in a good mood.~ _She perked up at that, eagerly waiting until he summoned a rabbit from the pen downstairs that he'd started to breed them in. It hopped across the room until his familiar showed her skills at moving with lightning-speed, swallowing the creature whole_. ~I hardly think you can taste much of the meat like that,~_ he commented.

Nagini eyed him lazily, her mouth stretching into a mockery of a human grin. _~Why are you in a good mood?~_ she asked, ignoring his comment. He let it slide, arguing with her was hardly ever worth it. He moved away from his chair and gestured for her to follow. She did so reluctantly -eating always made her instantly lazy- but sped up as she realised they were merely changing rooms. Voldemort took his time to answer, stoking up the fireplace high and lying down on the couch in front of it. Nagini draped herself across his chest, wiggling until he would stroke the top of her head.

For a moment, he debated on how much to tell her. Well, it wasn't as if she could spill any secrets… _~I thought Evan had kissed someone, which made me angry,~_ he admitted- The word 'kissed' came out very strange and long. It was only afterwards that he realised there was no word for kissing in Parseltongue and he'd literally said 'pushed his snout against another'. Nagini gave him a blank look.

_~Evan… Harrison?~_

_~Evan, Harrison, Harry Potter… Call him what you like, he doesn't appear to mind. Either way, I just now found out that he didn't.~_

_~What is so bad about pushing his snout against someone? I do the same with you~_ she spoke, instantly demonstrating by rubbing her face against his cheek.

Voldemort released a suffering sigh. _~Human customs dear. Snakes like being close to each other much more than humans do. They usually only embrace their direct family, very close friends and mates. Pushing faces together is reserved for mates only.~_

She instantly reared her head back and gave him her best scandalous look. _~You could have told me that earlier!~_

He let out a hissing chuckle. _~I abide by the rules of your kind when I am with you, my dear. The etiquette of my own often fails me. Were I to treat you like a human, I could not let you into my sleeping den anymore. Or have you on my lap.~_

She hissed something unintelligible but did lie down again. _~So Harrison didn't do that with another, and you are happy because you want him to do that with you?~ _she guessed.

_~It's a bit more difficult. He is… basically a hatchling still. I cannot take him as my mate yet. I do not want anyone_ _ ** else** _ _ to claim him before I do though.~_

_~Why would anyone else if he is still a hatchling?~_

~_Hatchlings do it among each other to find mates for later.~_ was his curt reply. He wished he'd have found a better example, but Nagini had a difficult time understanding concepts beyond the world of her own kind.

_~You want to have him as your mate then? Later?~_

He pondered upon that. Harry intrigued him, and he did want to own the teen. Further than that, he hadn't thought yet. How it would develop, how long it would last… Regulus had only been with him for less than a year before the betrayal, one that he'd now found out ran even far, far deeper than initially thought. That Harry had found the locket in the Black's house could only mean that Regulus had stolen it all those years ago… Not only had his former lover ran away and vanished without an explanation, he had taken one of the most valuable treasures Voldemort possessed with him. The Dark Lord had to be prepared for Harry to turn his back also, at which point he'd be forced to dispose of the boy if his own life was put in danger.

So he answered: _~To your standards, yes. To human standards, I am still unsure. Humans often mate for life as you may recall. Or at least as long as possible.~_ It was a concept he'd painstakingly had to explain to her before as she hadn't understood why he'd still been angry about Regulus leaving him after so many years. Snakes searched partners to mate with during one season a year, often even having multiple partners during that time, whom they then never saw again. Not that Nagini had had that chance. Gigantic tropical snakes were a rare sight in Britain and she'd never explicitly expressed an interest in having him bring her somewhere else for those kinds of needs. He certainly wasn't going to offer.

_~He'll be glad to have someone as strong as you~_ she hissed.

Strength was unlikely to be high on Harry's priority list, which he did not care to try and explain to his familiar. _~I need to find a way to keep his attention until I can allow him to be with me,~_ he explained.

_~Don't humans have all kinds of rituals for that? I vaguely remember things from before… before I met you, I think. They throw bright plants at each other, and food. Then move together in a mass of other people to the waves of music.~_

Voldemort was surprised, both by the fact that she seemed to recall something and by how accurate it was. People did indeed have whole detailed courting rituals. Rituals that involved much more than simply inviting someone over for dinner. Flowers, chocolates, all those frivolities that he had scoffed at before. Although he doubted that he could use either to keep Harry's attention and his own imagine intact… surely there were bound to be some more fitting ideas to be learned from books about these matters. He'd already given the boy gifts before, that had to count for something. _~I'll keep that in mind,~_ he answered, smiling thinly as a plan started to form.

XxX

_Walking into the Great Hall, Harry was met with a sight of empty tables and a stormy sky raging overhead. A moment later, he realised that he had no recollection of what he'd been doing before arriving. His gaze was pulled towards the middle of the head table, to what was usually Dumbledore's chair. Instead of the regular sight of extravagantly coloured robes and long silver hair, he was met with something he hadn't seen in quite a long time; Voldemort, with entirely red, slitted eyes and an even more skeletal frame than usual that reminded of Thestrals. Silky robes rose and fell in the air around him like smoke. A dream, then. Although the normal reaction to a Dark Lord showing up in your dreams was probably fear, all Harry felt was immense relief, as he had missed the odd nightly visits in which everything wasn't quite real. He shouldn't have been so excited about it… The past few days, Harry had had plenty of dark thoughts regarding Voldemort, his own feelings battling with the knowledge that he couldn't allow it. Whatever happened, Harry would not end up as someone's possession. _

_That resolution fell apart quickly with only a single look. Voldemort had accused him of being addicted once… had he been right?_

''_Evan, how good of you to join me, I've been waiting for a while,'' the Dark Lord spoke, his velvety voice carrying through the empty hall. ''Come here.''_

_It felt as if the path stretched out before him as Harry tried to reach the other. On either side of him, plates and dishes popped into view on the tables. Singular raindrops plunged into filled goblets, making sharp tinkling sounds that rang in his ears. At long last, he stood before the raised dais upon which the head table stood, and with the Dark Lord regally looking down on him from his highchair, Harry felt infinitesimal._

''_Hi,'' he managed to rasp out after shaking himself from his stupor. ''I was already wondering when we'd meet again in one of our dreams. This one is yours, right?'' he asked, looking at the table. All details were so sharp that Harry got the impression that he was looking at a hyperrealism painting. From the weave in the tablecloth to the crisp on the chicken skin, everything looked too perfect._

''_**Your**__ last dream left my form rather lacking,'' Voldemort answered. Harry frowned, at long last remembering that his last one from months ago had shown the man in his Noctua disguise, perhaps since Harry had seen it shortly beforehand. It __**had**__ been easier to converse with the Dark Lord when he'd looked more human, Harry admitted. Especially as in Voldemort's own dreams, the other looked even more serpentine than usual, patches of shimmering scales and all. A few of those were visible in between the slender collarbones, as the robe had a deep V-cut that was decidedly distracting. Strange that he'd once found Voldemort ugly, repulsive even. Harry could hardly pull his eyes away now to instead focus on the man's face. _

''_Can you taste that?'' he asked, grasping for straws to get a conversation running. The Dark Lord had started to cut a slice of meat and speared it on a fork. ''I don't think I've ever__** eaten**__ anything in a dream before.''_

''_Senses differ for everyone. Your dreams hold barely any sound apart from our voices. As I invite you in my mind, you dream as I would.''_

''_True, and there is no smell in yours,'' Harry noted. As delicious as the roasted chicken on the table looked, it lacked any aroma. ''Could I…'' he awkwardly gestured to the other empty chairs, as he felt rather uncomfortable standing in front of the long table as if he'd been called up and was in trouble. Voldemort flicked his fingers and a chair moved back. Funny, how even in a place where magic itself was absent, one could still recreate the impression of it. Voldemort was most likely so used to doing everything with magic that his dream-objects instantly reacted to similar gestures. Harry wasn't sure if he could do the same. His own dreams were far more chaotic._

_Somehow, he was able to walk around the table in less than two seconds, blinking in surprise as he suddenly sat down. He glanced sideways to Voldemort, who was clearly enjoying his food. Thinking 'why not', Harry loaded up a plate as well, taking a generous bite out of a Cornish pastry and being delighted as the buttery flakes of the crust melted in his mouth. It might even hold its own in a competition with Mrs Weasley's home-made bakes._

''_Did you… call me for a reason?'' Harry asked nervously, never very sure what to expect out of these conversations. ''Not that I'm not glad you're here, but you usually have something in mind.''_

_Voldemort hummed and wiped his thin lips with a pristine white napkin. ''I have heard far too little from you these past months, and our last conversation was rather hurried. The little news from Hogwarts that trickled through since a High-Inquisitor was appointed has been disturbing. Statements of educational decrees, a teacher on probation, Dumbledore being under fire... As someone who is confronted with this daily, what are your thoughts?''_

_Harry's mood instantly worsened as Umbridge came up, and he clenched his hands around the cutlery. ''It's horrible, living with that woman in the castle. She tries to control all aspects of life in Hogwarts, for students and teachers alike. She wants to be the only one who has power over a mass of helpless people of whom she takes any weapon away. She teaches us theoretical defence out of a book that was surely meant for six-years-olds and brands everyone who asks questions as a troublemaker who should be punished. We're not even allowed to regularly hang out with more than a few friends after class anymore because she fears we might band together.''_

''_And do you? Band together?''_

''_Of course,'' he heatedly replied. ''You don't think I'd sit back and do nothing, do you? We've formed a secret, underground club to practise magic with around forty members, to learn everything she says we're not allowed to. Defence mostly, but also offensive magic. I even threw in a bit of heavy magic into the curriculum.'' Voldemort, who had listened with interest, frowned at the last sentence._

''_When you say 'we formed'… Who is leading this?''_

_Harry sheepishly scratched his head. ''Err, me mostly. I mean, I teach the others. Ron and Hermione help me, as well as Cedric and a couple of the other older members. It was your Horcrux which gave me the idea in the first place, we spoke about several options on what to do about Umbridge after a plan to uncover her usage of dark magic on students failed. It suggested I either kill her, go under her radar for the rest of the school year, or start a rebellion. The first two were no options for me. We've only formed about a month ago, but it's been keeping me going. Now we all might have a chance at passing our Defence exams, because we certainly wouldn't have otherwise. We literally are not allowed to practise the spells she teaches us the theory of.''_

''_I can see how that is problematic. Do you have any further plans regarding this Umbridge?''_

''_Nothing concrete yet. We want her out of course, but at the same time have to be careful enough about it to not get the rest of the Ministry involved. We could still be expelled. For now, the knowledge of that we are doing exactly the opposite of what she wants allows me to get through her classes. Her plan of pitting the Houses against each other backfired, our group becomes tighter each time and we have members from all four Houses. We might have to get more active though. She takes more and more power away from other teachers, and while until now that wasn't the students' problem, that changed today. She has the authority now to override any other teacher's decisions regarding punishment and abuses that power immensely. She…'' Harry broke off, staring at his right hand. Right now, in this dreamworld, it looked as perfect as before Umbridge had touched it. ''She likes using bloodquills to make students write lines with,'' he said. Voldemort, who was still listening intently, did not seem fazed._

''_Corporeal punishment is effective,'' he commented. ''Dumbledore is the first headmaster to have changed that.'' It sounded as if everything was said on the matter with that, to him._

''_Not everything Dumbledore changed was bad then,'' Harry snapped, on which the other narrowed his eyes until only two red slits were visible. ''She is hurting us, unfairly on most occasions, for crimes such as questioning her teaching methods. Not only that, the method she picked also happens to be one that can leave permanent damage!''_

''_Blood quills don't leave scars,'' Voldemort dismissively spoke. ''It was originally created as a tool to easily and precisely draft up blood-contracts without having to cut one's hand open. It was only made illegal because it uses dark magic to draw blood, not because of its general function. It contains a self-healing charm that perfectly knits the skin back together after its usage, I fail to see the problem.''_

_Harry fell silent, frowning. ''I told you she uses these as punishment. Sure, bloodquills heal the wounds they inflicts instantly afterwards, but that only goes so far. It's not as if she makes us write ten lines and done. I'm talking about hours of carving into skin, for days on end. At one point, the healing charm can't keep up anymore and the wound goes down to the bone. Multiple students have scars from it, or open wounds.''_

''_If one knows the proper counter-''_

''_Oh yes, because obviously, everyone will?'' Harry snorted sarcastically, not caring that he was being rude._

''_You have a school nurse-''_

''_And also our pride! You must remember how it was to be a student yourself. Did you or your house mates droop off to the hospital wing each time you were punished by teachers? Only to get another scolding from the school nurse or perhaps your Head of house? We got Murtlap tentacle juice and badly brewed healing potions to take care of it.''_

''_But surely, she wouldn't have dared to make__** you**__ use it,'' Voldemort spoke as if that was obvious. ''Why would you care about what she does to others?''_

_Harry opened his mouth and closed it again a few times, trying to think of what to say. The man really sounded_ _ ** curious** _ _ of all things, and Harry once more had to ask himself just how much out of touch Voldemort was with reality. _

''_Okay first of all, I care about other people… like most other people do,'' he stated. ''That is not such an abnormal thing as you seem to think. If someone hurts my friends, I'll do anything to stop that. Even if you cast that aside, why on earth do you think she wouldn't touch__** me**__?''_

_The Dark Lord let out a short, humourless laugh. ''You're Harry Potter, somehow the darling of the entire Wizarding World because you defeated me when you were young. You saved Hogwarts from a Basilisk, the Minister of Magic personally visited you after you blew up your aunt with accidental magic to reassure you that you were not expelled, and you became Britain's Triwizard Champion last year! The public would be in a riot if anything happened to you. All I hear every day in the office is when we can publish new 'Potter news' as people want their celebrity back.'' _

_Harry tried not to feel hurt at the biting tone in which Voldemort said all of this, instead focusing on the topic at hand: ''Umbridge was there at the award ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament. For some reason, she absolutely despises what she calls 'crossbreeds', any creatures that partially are or look human. Merfolk, centaurs, werewolves etcetera. She insulted Fleur for having Veela heritage and I punched her in the face. Back then I didn't yet know that I would be saddled with her for an entire year. She also seems to believe most gossip magazines and assumes I stand firmly behind Dumbledore's claims about you being back. She likes order and control, so 'fear-mongering' is one of her other most hated things. Me saying that I did not claim you were back, only that a death eater had been out to get me last year, did somehow not improve her opinion of me. On top of that, the entire student body, including me, was outraged about her classes and all of the stupid rules she put up.''_

''_You're saying she used it on you?'' Voldemort growled, and Harry wasn't sure if he should continue speaking or not. The man had put down his food and was leaning towards Harry, body all tensed up. His left hand looked suspiciously as if it was forming into a full-fledged monstrous talon. Harry's rage for Umbridge won out over his concern about angering a Dark Lord who could plunge them all into war if he so desired. Harry found it rather ironic that someone who'd just lectured him on that he shouldn't have cared if it only affected others, was now furious on his behalf. The irony seemed to escape Voldemort._

''_I've served detention with her at the start of the year for four days, after which Umbridge purposefully messed up healing my hand and left a nasty scar that troubled me after. Today my second row of detentions started for something that hadn't even involved her. I did go to the school nurse this time on request of Professor McGonagall, but Madam Pomfrey said that it's too late to do anything.'' He clenched his fist, where words now started to appear as they had when he'd had to write the lines. 'I must not tell lies' and 'I must not cause trouble' appeared and vanished again and again. ''The combination of the curse on the quill and her purposefully incorrectly healing it caused my cells to be deeply afflicted with the curse. It spread to my arm, Madam Pomfrey says I shouldn't hope for a cure. I don't know how long it'll lasts still, but I will lose my arm eventually. It feels surreal, I only got this news an hour ago before I went to bed. I haven't even told my friends yet. I… I don't really know how to process it.''_

_He received neither pity nor compassion, which Harry was somehow grateful for. It would already be difficult enough to tell Ron and Hermione, knowing he'd receive horrified gasps and awkward hugs from them. He truly loved his best friends, but he needed a more proactive approach to his problems. Voldemort rose abruptly, starting to pace with his hands clasped behind his back and muttering under his breath in words that Harry did not understand. ''She will die for what she did,'' the man spoke after a while. It was said with barely restrained anger. How and when are still up for debate, but I will hunt her down if I have to.'' The Dark Lord stopped his pacing and looked at Harry. ''You are not going to protest this time about my desire to murder someone?''_

_Harry sighed, trying to figure out how to express his thoughts best. ''Wanting someone to pay for what they've done is vastly different from wanting to murder someone for who or what they are. One is based on revenge, the other on prejudice. Personally, I don't think killing is ever good if other options are available -I didn't even kill_ _ ** you** _ _ when I had the chance-, but I can't fault you for wanting to murder her. She's done plenty to deserve swift justice. At times, I deeply wish she were dead as well.''_

''_Yet you refuse to bring that about yourself.''_

''_If she is dead, then what? She will be gone from this earth, having learnt nothing, having realised nothing. The Ministry will send someone else to enforce their will and that's that. I want her to…__to __** pay**__. To know deep down that what she's done is wrong and will bear consequences. To make her lose everything she desires to have. I want the roles to be reversed and have __**her**__ feel helpless for once, stripped off all the power she greedily obtained and misused. To show her just how__** hated**__ she is.''_

_Voldemort cocked his head slightly, studying Harry. ''I did not know you had it in you. Perhaps we are not so different as I thought.''_

''_No… I image we aren't,'' the teen agreed quietly. From everything he'd seen of Tom Riddle's childhood, he knew that the possibility had been there to swerve off on the same path. If Vernon and Petunia would have been even a tad worse, if Harry hadn't befriended blood-traitors and Muggleborns right off the bat, if he hadn't landed in Gryffindor… he too might have found the call of dark magic sooner and practised it without restrictions or people to show him how to do so responsibly._

''_You have a Portkey to me now,'' the man said after a while. ''As soon as you can leave the castle unseen, do so. I wish to have a look at your arm personally. Few are better versed in curses than I am.''_

_Harry raised his eyebrows. ''I thought you said 'emergencies only'?''_

''_You are about to lose a limb, I do count that as an emergency,'' Voldemort dryly countered._

_Harry shrugged awkwardly. ''Madam Pomfrey says that if I'm lucky, it will still hold out for years. I didn't take your warnings about the Portkey lightly and Umbridge watches everyone like a hawk. My inconvenience should not hamper your plans…''_

''_Evan,'' Voldemort chided, coming closer and putting a hand on top of his head. ''Do as I say. We will talk about this topic more then.''_

''_Alright,'' Harry agreed, a bit too quickly for his own liking. The weight of the man's hand and the way thin fingers brushed his scalp felt nice and was gone far too soon._

''_Good. Are there any other developments of note in Hogwarts apart from Umbridge?''_

''_Not much. I haven't seen much of Dumbledore either, there haven't been any further lessons in the past weeks. There was only a single one this year, where he showed me a couple more of his own memories of you as a student. He appears to be very busy and is not in the castle most of the time.''_

''_That does not surprise me in the least, The Order of the Phoenix is becoming desperate as they cannot uncover my location or any activity. They've stationed people everywhere they might think I could focus on, from the Department of Mysteries to Godric's Hollow. In an attempt to be faster than me in gaining allies, they have recently been trying to rally creatures to their side, from giants to werewolves. A bit too late, I have the firm support of most magical beings and beasts because I ended the slave trade and ensured the survivors received proper care. Even those who do not believe in my ideals yet are so indebted to me now that they will not pick__the side of my enemies either. Only a few isolated ones who are not aware of what went on behind the scenes might still give Dumbledore their support.''_

''_You've started your next plan, right? I read a few things about hospitals in the Daily Prophet recently.''_

''_I did, although this will be implemented more subtly. The slave trade was mainly abroad, with only a few of our own politicians involved, so openly criticising it was easier. The conspiracy St Mungo's and other magical hospitals are involved in is endorsed by Ministries around the world, including our own. I am trying to frame it first as failures from singular hospitals before revealing that there is a larger picture to consider. The Minister of Magic does unfortunately have the power to ban the Prophet, censorship is a common practise. How was the news received at Hogwarts?''_

''_With everything that is going on inside of the castle, it didn't receive much attention. Much of it was also talk about finances so far, which is a bit too dry for most students to really care about, I think. It caused a small commotion among the Hufflepuffs as Cedric was quoted. He told me that he corresponded with you through writing?''_

''_With some of my staff, yes. I had other things on my mind personally. I am not surprised that this does not pull the younger generation so much, it is mainly meant to catch the eye of those people who are at risk themselves of being affected by bad hospital policies. Perhaps it will still take off in Hogwarts too once the information becomes bolder and I start attaching some personal stories to the articles shortly before the Yule holidays. It is important to read the mood of the public, and around Yule many people get much more sentimental and are willing to invest in charity for some reason.''_

''_You do not seem to care much yourself,'' Harry remarked._

''_I don't, this is politics for me, nothing more. It will gain me support that I can use in the long run, right now it only means more work.''_

''_Surely, you must at least be somehow glad for the people whose lives will improve because of you.''_

_Harry received a bewildered expression, which looked rather terrifying in Voldemort's current form. '_ _ **'For** _ _ them? Why?''_

_Harry inhaled and exhaled deeply, unable to try and explain the concept of empathy to someone who would doubtlessly be repulsed at the very thought of it. ''Never mind. About portkeying to you, it will have to be at a time where Umbridge can't catch me, so probably at night. She randomly summons students to her office during the day or evening just to check what they are up to…''_

''_The next night where I do not have other appointments is coming Wednesday. I do think your arm should hold out four more days.''_

''_Perfect. I only hope I will actually remember… I always forget these dreams so easily.''_

_Voldemort, who had moved to sit back down in his chair and was watching the falling rain, shook his head slowly. ''You are well-versed in Occlumency now, I've heard, and even have a mindscape. The more control you have over your own mind, the easier you will find it to recall anything it registered, including these dreams.''_

_Harry perked up at that. His forgetfulness was one of the things he'd disliked most of all. Hearing that his efforts in Occlumency had additional benefits made the hours of practise all the more worth it._

_The rain stopped abruptly and started falling into the sky, where the clouds dissolved. Harry shielded his eyes from the sudden flood of bright light, trying to blink the sunlight away._

''You're going to miss breakfast again,'' he heard, and Ron's face appeared in his vision, a halo of light enveloping his head as he stood right in front of the windows. ''I promised Hermione to not let you skip another morning.''

Groggily, Harry grasped for his glasses and pushed them on his nose. It was then that he realised he** still** hadn't thanked Voldemort for giving him this new pair as a birthday gift. He really should do so, it wouldn't do to come across as ungrateful or rude. The second thought he had was being annoyed for his first thought to have gone out to Voldemort once again.

''Thanks for waking me, I guess,'' he yawned, still feeling as if he was half-asleep. ''How are you feeling?''

Ron shrugged. ''Don't really want to talk about yesterday if that's alright with you.''

Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a wry grin. ''Sure thing.'' He knew at least a bit how Ron felt, he hadn't wanted to speak to anyone either after that disastrous Quidditch match in third year when the Dementors had made him fall off his broom and lose the match to Hufflepuff. ''I did get a bit of revenge for you though,'' he couldn't help but grin. ''Hexed Parkinson.''

Ron gave him a weak smile back. ''That must have been a glorious sight. I already wondered why you didn't return until so late. Did you get in trouble with the greasy git?''

''At first I thought so, but then I got detentions with Umbridge instead,'' Harry grimaced. ''Had a talk with McGonagall after and needed to go to the hospital wing for my hand.'' The back of his hand looked rather nasty if he was honest, and Ron looked at it in shock. Harry couldn't blame him, despite the treatment of Madam Pomfrey last night, the back was swollen and red again, with knotted scar tissue on either side of a purple stripe in the middle.

''That looks more like you'll have to visit St Mungo's instead of the hospital wing,'' he said with obvious worry.

Harry reluctantly shook his head. ''Madam Pomfrey says she'll contact some Healers there, but that it is unlikely they can do something about it. The bloodquill curse got in too deep. I'll have to live with it.'' He didn't want to scare Ron with the news that he could technically lose it at one point, not with the possibility of Voldemort finding a way to counter it on Wednesday. Harry had a lot of faith in the Dark Lord's abilities, so hopefully he'd find a way even if trained Healers couldn't.

''Hey, I also have some good news,'' Ron said suddenly. ''Hagrid is back! Hermione told me that he returned last evening!''

The news instantly made Harry excited. Having non-lethal Care lessons was alright, but he'd handle firecrabs without protective gloves if it meant having Hagrid around again. ''That's fantastic!'' he exclaimed. ''It's Sunday, so how about we go visit him right after breakfast?''

To Harry's disappointment, going to Hagrid didn't work out as he'd wanted. The man wasn't at breakfast and after the three of them ploughed through two feet of snow, they arrived at an empty hut. Rumours about Umbridge having visited Hagrid on the evening of his return to interrogate him about his whereabouts made their rounds among the student body that day. Harry deep down wished he'd looked out of the window last night instead of instantly crashing into bed. Perhaps then he'd have been able to make it to Hagrid before Umbridge had. Whatever she'd said was bound to be bad. Hagrid was a Half-Giant and wasn't a very popular teacher. If Trelawney was already put on probation, it wasn't unfeasible that Hagrid would be too soon. Hermione had had the same thought, instantly starting to work on a safe lesson plan that she planned on giving to Hagrid to prevent him getting fired.

He spent all day worrying about Hagrid and Umbridge. On top of that came the hostile looks from the Slytherins who hadn't forgotten either yesterday's Quidditch match or Harry storming into the common room to hex one of their own. Just as things had started to take a turn for the better, Harry appeared to have ruined it. Even the Slytherin DA members didn't talk to him that day… he hoped he hadn't fucked it up completely, and refused to apologise for something he found entirely justified. Parkinson had had it coming.

At dinner, he finally saw Hagrid for the first time, and ran up to the man without caring for Umbridge's glares. ''Hagrid!'' he exclaimed, although his outcry was muffled by the man's heavy moleskin coat as they embraced.

''Harry! It's been far too long! How are yeh?''

''How are** you** is a better question,'' Harry said, raising his eyebrows when seeing Hagrid's face. One side was swollen and bruised.

''Oh, 'tis nothin','' Hagrid said nervously, eyes flicking quickly to the teacher's table. ''How about you an' the others come down for a cuppa after food?''

''Perfect,'' Harry smiled. ''I'll be sure not to eat too much in case you have rock cakes,'' he joked.

''Somethin' better!'' Hagrid beamed. ''I still have some self-made toffees lyin' around somewhere!''

Harry grinned back, knowing all of those would probably sneakily be fed to Fang under the table, who seemed to be able to consume most anything without a problem.

Maybe now Hagrid was back, things would finally start looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was a rather massive chapter once again. There's just so much going on that I can't possibly leave out X'D  
Hopefully you all liked reading the dream sequence as much as I loved writing it haha. Sorry that I couldn't squeeze more diary-reading in here.
> 
> Please read and review!  
xx GeMerope


	55. Mortuus Animari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I did not want to change anything about the scenes with Hagrid and Olympe trying to recruit Giants. Even with Harry's new beliefs and loyalties, hardly anything would have changed about the scene where Hagrid talks about his adventures apart from a few internal comments on Harry's side, so I decided to omit this scene and will point to canon for the actual conversation with Hagrid about it. Same for the Care of Magical creatures lesson.
> 
> Thanks so much again for the wonderful reviews!
> 
> Enjoy,

''I can't believe it,'' Hermione said, still shaking her head in disbelief. She was pacing through the fifth year's boy's dorms while Harry and Ron watched her. It had been the safest place they could think of to speak about this apart from the Room of Requirement, which was currently in use by some DA members who'd wanted to train on their own.

Ron pointed his eyes skyward. ''You didn't actually think Hagrid would be interested in a suggestion to teach us about Knarls?''

Hermione heatedly turned around. ''I thought he'd be interested in keeping his job! Or at the very least that he would listen to our warnings. He's taking the threat of Umbridge far too lightly! She even told him that she'll be inspecting his lessons…'' she started to gnaw on her bottom lip.

''Hagrid always liked to live on the dangerous side, we all know that,'' Harry threw in. ''Take this mission he went on as a prime example. Who else would go on a trip through Europe for months to convince Giants, mainly without magic, while being tailed by people from the Ministry? He barely seemed fazed.''

Hermione plopped down on Ron's bed and heaved a deep sigh. ''That doesn't mean it was smart. And I can just tell he is still hiding something. Madame Maxine returned much earlier than Hagrid did, I only don't know why he** can** tell us about his top-secret Order mission, but not about what held him up and injured him.''

''Whatever it is, I hope it was worth it,'' Ron sombrely spoke. ''His mission wasn't exactly a success was it? Being outdone by Death Eaters, and then having the couple of convinced giants being killed off or scared away. I don't share his hopes that they'll remember Dumbledore's name in time. Giants hardly remember anything.''

''Ron!'' Hermione scolded.

''That's just a fact, 'Mione. Giants are like trolls: capable of speech and short-term memory, but not much else. Lots of brawn, hardly a brain.''

''I can't believe that,'' she huffed. ''If so, why would Dumbledore want them as allies? You-Know-Who I can understand, he might want some brutes for heavy infantry once he starts a war. But the Order wouldn't use beings like that to fight for us.''

Harry inwardly rolled his eyes at the blind faith in Dumbledore's goodness. ''Mione, if a war will start, both sides will use what they can get,'' he explained. ''Dumbledore just as much as Voldemort. Of course the Giants would have fought alongside the Order if it would come to a battle.''

''This really does give food for thought huh,'' Ron threw in. ''I wanted to trust in Dumbledore's theories, but deep down did not really believe that You-Know-Who had returned. It was safer to think that that Death Eater acted on his own last year. Now, with Hagrid saying that two other Death Eaters were with the Giants to recruit them in his name… Merlin, what is this heading towards?''

''Dark times,'' Hermione answered. ''And here we are, stuck at Hogwarts, being tormented by that.. that awful woman. I'd never thought I'd say this, but at the moment the Ministry worries me more than Voldemort. They're having a bad influence on our lives at this very moment. And you heard Hagrid, the Ministry is after anyone associated with the Order as if they're considered a terrorist organisation.''

''They** are** regarded as that,'' Harry said, frowning. ''Just like last time. The Order of the Phoenix likes to say they're theoretically on the same side as the Ministry, but that isn't true. Sirius told me that many considered Dumbledore's act of forming an underground group to be radical, including my grandparents. They thought it undermined the authority of the Ministry of Magic and spread panic even faster because the message that it sent out was 'we can't trust our government anymore'. Which was admittedly true, but they never got the chance to prove that because Voldemort didn't die by their hand and all Death Eaters within the Ministry were either arrested or covered up quickly. It isn't any different now: Fudge sees Dumbledore once again as a threat to public stability and will do anything to ensure the Order is disbanded.''

Both of his friends stared at him for a few long seconds after. ''What?'' he asked. ''It's all a matter of perspective. Just because people we like are part of the Order doesn't mean that everyone else automatically thinks they're doing good things. I mean,even** we** don't know what they all do apart from 'secret missions to stop Voldemort somehow'. I trust Sirius and Lupin and all of Ron's family to not go too far, but there's a lot of people in the Order that I don't even personally know.''

''But they're led by** Dumbledore**,'' Ron spoke up as if he was trying to explain something obvious. ''He's gotten rid of one Dark Lord already in his life. He's a good person, surely he won't allow the members of the Order to do anything illegal or unethical.''

Harry scoffed. ''Mad-eye Moody was a member as well. A good friend of your family, certainly a good friend of Dumbledore, and an acclaimed Auror. He still tortured and killed his enemies if he thought that would be easier than taking them to Azkaban. The Order allowed it because it was war. I won't cast judgement on that, but I want the both of you to really understand that even if it comes down to fighting, it's not going to be the paragons of good against the embodiment of evil. Everyone will try to stay alive, to push through their ideals and strive for what they think is right, no matter the cost. Dumbledore… Dumbledore wants** me** to kill someone in the end. It's all talks and training now, but he's literally setting me up to murder a man, don't you** understand** that?''

''I never… thought of it like that,'' Hermione said in a small voice. ''Harry, I'm so sorry.''

''Don't be, I figured out a long time ago that this was his plan. It's not as if there's much left to ruin, I unknowingly already killed someone at eleven. Maybe me attacking Quirrel was in self-defence, but that doesn't change the fact that I did it.'' Harry ran a hand through his hair. ''I often wish I was someone else, anyone else,'' he softly said. ''But I can't, and it's time to accept that, to take control myself. Maybe that is why I've come to love the DA meetings so much. There, I can make my own decisions without anyone else telling me what's best for me to do.'' Although Voldemort had let him make his own choices more than Dumbledore did, the Dark Lord also had made him go along with rituals and plans, including the entirety of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry wanted to help realise the vision Voldemort had shown him, but it was frustrating how little was in his own hands.

''Is that why you like dark magic?'' Ron asked. ''For control?''

Harry tried to shoot him a warning look, but it was too late. The question hung heavy in the air, and Hermione looked at them both in confusion. ''What do you mean? Harry stopped using dark magic after the Tournament, right?'' she asked in concern.

''Not exactly?''

''Harry! I told you last year, you don't need to stoop down to the level of the ones you are fighting against!'' she said, distressed.

Harry helplessly looked over to Ron, who was suddenly very interested in a few loose threads on his sleeves. ''I didn't forget about your words,'' he spoke, sitting down next to her. ''But I've come to learn a few things, and the reason I still use dark magic is not the one you think. You told me that you knew about my plans, that you knew I was learning dark magic to train myself to take down Voldemort. I didn't correct you then, because I wouldn't have known how to explain it. I didn't lie to you,'' he hurried to say as she winced and looked betrayed. ''I don't want to hurt people, nor go down the same path as Voldemort did. But magic is so… versatile and beautiful, and dark magic is simply just another way to use it. Sacrificial magic doesn't only mean curses or finding ways to hurt others. It can protect, heal, save lives. When my own mother sacrificed her life for me, that was some of the darkest magic possible.''

She looked as if she was hesitant to say something, so Harry waited until she got her thoughts together. ''I… didn't want to believe it,'' she muttered. ''Viktor told me much the same, but it's the one thing we've fought over as I thought he was simply biased. Everything I have read about dark magic here at Hogwarts is that it's supposedly something vile. Why would so many people write about it in that light if it isn't?''

''There are plenty who wrote books saying the opposite,'' Harry answered. ''It's just that, which books are available and distributed depends on who is in power. I've found many interesting ones in the room of Sirius' younger brother about druid magic for example. Those are not published anymore because the Ministry wants to keep to their strict system as light magic is easier to control. Admittedly, a lot of dark magic **is** harmful, but you can simply choose not to use those if you don't want to. A lot of it is very useful. Ron and I… we've been practising some weather magic, Sirius told me that he and dad used to do that too when they were at school.''

''Your father did?''

''Yeah, they only stopped when Sirius was kicked out of his family and swore off dark magic to spite them. What did Viktor tell you about it?''

Hermione turned contemplative. ''It started when we compared the curriculums at Hogwarts and Durmstrang. They have very different courses than we do. Some standard ones are mostly the same: Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Herbology… But instead of Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, they have a subject that combines both and is just called Duelling... using any means necessary. It's honestly very much like the D.A. apart from that they learn some seriously heavy curses as well. All of them are required to learn both Runes and Arithmancy instead as standard courses. They then only choose one elective, a specialisation so to speak. Only top students are allowed a dual specialisation. Viktor chose Warding. Apparently Karkaroff wanted him to pick a second but he was focusing on his Quidditch career. There are many more options, even things like Blood magic and Death Magic,'' she said, shivering. ''Viktor found that all very normal and was baffled that at Hogwarts, we learn barely anything about the Dark Arts. Described them as useful, beautiful… He said that people should learn to separate the actions of a few Dark wizards like Grindelwald and You-Know-Who from the magic they favoured. **I** think that the dark magic they used inherently was tied to their actions. It corrupted them, so many studies were done on the effects of dark magic…''

''There's the crux, while the concept of 'dark magic' certainly exists, it has as many varied branches as light magic,'' Harry countered. ''I totally agree that some branches like soul magic and death magic will probably wreak havoc on the body and mind. On the other hand, using dark magic for healing won't. I don't know which types of dark magic users those studies picked, but can imagine it to be biased easily.''

''I'd… need to look that up,'' Hermione replied. ''Excuse me, I have to think. And write a letter to Viktor.''

Ron, who had been quiet the whole time, finally looked at Harry again when their friend had left. ''Sorry that slipped out. Hey, at least she didn't blow up, or run to a teacher?''

''Yeah… I hadn't thought about that she must have had conversations about it before with Viktor. He is part of a dark family still, even if they never followed Grindelwald and don't seem to be prejudiced against those of 'lesser blood' like so many pureblood families do here.''

It was a shame that he hadn't met Viktor again personally. Seeing Fleur over the holidays had been great and he was sure he'd meet her again in the future because of her grandmother's vow to Voldemort, and Cedric was around constantly and helping with the D.A. Harry missed the fourth member of their 'Champion group'. Last year, they'd wanted to stick together, even after the Tournament was over. Viktor had said something about becoming a silent backer as he didn't want his own name being used by the press, but apart from some letters to Hermione, there hadn't been a word from the Quidditch star. Hopefully in time, there would be an opportunity to meet up again.

''Sooo… do you want to practise with the Animagus transfiguration again when the others aren't using the Room anymore?'' Ron hopefully asked. ''I can't wait to continue, even if the weather ritual before is rather painful.''

''About that,'' Harry said, realising he still hadn't spoken to Ron regarding his new insight in his friend's problems. He gave a short summary of what the Locket-Horcrux had revealed to him, then finished with: ''So you see, it doesn't have anything to do with magical affinity or anything.''

''So it's all in my head?'' Ron asked, perplexed. ''Because my magic reacts to what I believe? That's… crazy. How do I counter that? I only started to realise recently that much of what I've been told is questionable.''

Harry shrugged helplessly. ''Keep going and be aware of it? I can't really give much advice for you there, I'm sorry. That I know the cause doesn't enable to improve the situation.'' Somehow, he didn't think that advising Ron to set up a mindscape would be very helpful. Ron was a practical person, and while that was a great trait that Harry was very thankful for at times, a negative was that his friend didn't have the greatest imagination. Even for Harry it had been a stretch to learn how to create a walkable space in his own head and only because he'd been constantly threatened by the Horcrux about what might happen if he didn't succeed. ''To answer your previous question, we could crash now for an hour or two and then sneak out to the Room at night using the invisibility cloak.''

''I still have a mountain of homework so I think crashing is out,'' Ron grimaced. ''I'd wanted to wait till another D.A. meeting to ask some of the higher years for advice but it piled up a lot faster than expected. You're done already?''

''Errr I mostly pushed it away…'' Harry admitted. ''All-nighter it is?''

Ron grinned at him before they pulled out their schoolbooks and spread everything across their beds, dividing the work and unnecessarily yelling answers to each other across the distance of two whole yards for the heck of it. The worries on Harry's mind about flourishing feelings, dark magic and the fate of the world disappeared into a pile of essays.

After spending that evening and night on homework, weather magic and Animagus training, both Harry and Ron were so tired that the Monday passed pretty much in a blur. Tuesday was slightly better, and Harry pulled himself together for Hagrid's first lesson of the year. It turned out to be necessary when Umbridge was waiting with her hated inspection clipboard, asking students left and right questions. Her findings weren't good, even the Gryffindors could barely say a positive word about Hagrid's previous classes and of course she didn't ask Harry, Hermione or Ron about their opinions.

Some of Hermione's advice must have reached Hagrid, for the creatures he showed them weren't lethal in the slightest. 'Showed them' was perhaps not the correct term however, as Harry was one of the few who could see the Thestrals. It didn't increase the credibility of the lesson in Umbridge's eyes that the Gryffindor could back up his teacher's description of the reptilian winged horses. She clearly didn't believe a word that came out of Hagrid's mouth. Upon returning to the castle, he and his friends were all rather dejected, it didn't look like Hagrid was going to be let off the hook easily.

All too soon -or not soon enough, depending on whether you'd have asked Harry's head or heart – it was Wednesday, a few hours before his appointment with Voldemort. It was only the thought that the Dark Lord himself now knew what a vile toad Umbridge was that kept Harry going through his punishment without speaking up. It was thankfully the last day of detentions, and about time too. His hand had looked worse each day, only having had the brief reprise of not being damaged on Sunday as detentions weren't allowed on Sundays - a rule Harry was sure would quickly change with Umbridge now in charge of the school rules regarding punishment.

Madame Pomfrey had healed it as much as possible each time, but it wasn't much. Her conferring with colleagues in St Mungo's hadn't brought about any solutions. They were of the same opinion as she was: that it would have been possible to heal it a month ago when the curse wasn't in that deep yet. Voldemort was Harry's last hope now.

He'd tried to search the man out last night after going to bed. Whether it was wishful thinking or actual magic, Harry had somehow felt connected, even though there hadn't been another shared dream or flashes of what Voldemort was seeing. Had the other noticed that Harry had been trying to reach out? The Dark Lord had far more influence over their bond than he did, which had started to irk Harry. It was something that affected his own mind, surely he should be able to exert as much control over it as the person on the other end!

Right now, he tried to relax a bit as he'd need to sacrifice some sleep to sneak out during the night. Finding that he was far too anxious to sleep, he'd turned to reading the diaries, which he could finally do without disturbance now he didn't need to hide it from the Locket-Horcrux. Harry held up the final one with a weird twinging in his gut. Regulus had written '1979' on the very first page, and when he quickly leafed through, it was glaringly obvious that only just about half of the diary had been filled. The year of his death… The last diary had ended with a Yule celebration where Voldemort had invited Regulus again as his plus-one and the boy had been wanting to tell his parents about the relationship. How could so much have gone wrong in half a year?

Resolutely, Harry flipped it to the first page and started to read.

_January 2, 1979.  
What a horrible start of the year. I can't believe I jinxed it by trying to tell mother and father yesterday. I'd deluded myself into thinking they would be happy for me as they follow the Dark Lord as well. Instead, it was one of the very few occasions where father was angrier than mother was. He blew up on me about having to honour my engagement contract to Plumier and carry on the Black family lineage now I am the family heir. Merlin, I've never even met the witch! I understand that at one point I will have to marry and carry on the line, but surely they should see that the most powerful wizard in the world is a much better match than the daughter of some family whose greatest feat it was to set up the French equivalent of Flourish and Blotts? It's not as if biological issues stand in the way when magic can give us anything we need._

_January 3, 1979  
Thankfully, Bellatrix still had some sense and loyalty left to help me and let me stay at her place these last days until the end of the Yule holidays. I didn't escape a scolding from her about family lines either, but at least she somehow agrees with me in the end? I'm not going to complain, even if her 'solution' would be to marry Plumier and have a relationship on the side with the Dark Lord. I don't envy_ _ ** her** _ _ husband._

_January 14, 1979  
It is still frustratingly hard to speak to my Lord about the situation. First of all I do not want to be too assuming – I can hardly expect Him to suddenly vow endless loyalty to me – and secondly, for some reason He seems to not understand my problem. 'Cutting out my family' is not an option and certainly not a solution I would have expected from someone who campaigns for Pure-blood rights and traditions. _

''Shouldn't have picked a Half-blood who murdered his own family,'' Harry muttered, then realised that of course Regulus was unaware of any of this.

_Well, I suppose it is my own fault too. Whenever I see my Lord, I just get weak and speak about whichever topic is on His mind at the time instead of addressing my issues more thoroughly. But it is getting tougher to even enjoy my nights with Him when my family's disapproval is a constant on my mind._

_January 25, 1979  
If Sirius would still have been there, I'm sure I would have been cut out of the family by now. For whatever insane reason, my mother spoke to the Plumier family and broke off the engagement contract with 'deep regrets'. I'd hoped that to be a sign of that they finally agreed with my choice, but I simply got a Howler about how I shouldn't show my face for a while. I'm the laugh of Slytherin right now and furious about it. If only I could declare my bond with the Dark Lord, they wouldn't be laughing for much longer! I wish my parents would be Death Eaters so they'd be forced to obey _– Harry squinted his eyes since the next few words were scratched through until almost illegible. By years of practise trying to decipher his own old notes, he deciphered 'My Lord' under the squiggles. Regulus then continued with:_ Voldemort… Merlin, writing his name sounds strange even on paper. Even now I know I have permission to use it and he cancelled the taboo spell on me specifically, I get embarrassed even trying to address Him so casually. I know we've been in a relationship of sorts for a few months now, but still…_

''Of sorts,'' Harry snorted quietly, recalling all the elaborate entries he'd mostly awkwardly skipped through at the end of 1978. He was somehow glad that Regulus' poetic erotic descriptions were not so much a recurring theme anymore. Between 'dying in a blissful arctic storm', 'infected by poisonous miasma' and 'being consumed by the centre of a raging Fiendyre', Harry couldn't pick which one was a worse metaphor for sex. Especially as it had fuelled Harry's fantasies in ways that were decidedly uncalled for.

February, March and April seemed to be kinder on the Black heir. Voldemort won a few strategic battles and as a Death Eater, a fact that was known to the people in Slytherin who mattered, Regulus gained some respect back. With no further word from the Black family, the teen turned to his appointed task within Hogwarts again with renewed vigour: scouting for possible allies and certain enemies. Between that came notes about the upcoming NEWTs, the occasional entry about his continued lessons with Voldemort on weekends and shared talks they'd had, mostly about magic and politics. Apart from the glaring fact that Regulus was on such a bad foot with his family that he remained at Hogwarts over Easter, he really was doing rather well.  
_  
May 6, 1979  
I wish I could stay forever. That I didn't have to go back to Hogwarts, nor to my family. Just stay right here in bed with Him for the rest of my life. Has anyone else ever seen this sight? The revered Dark Lord slumbering peacefully, the occasional sound falling from His lips as He dreams? What wonders He must be experiencing now I can only imagine, perhaps magic of the greatest kind that can only be envisioned by His mind. Everything is so much simpler when I am here, no worries on my mind apart from how not to look like a bumbling fool next to Him. Ah, if only life would have granted me a more responsible brother, this could have been my fate. Instead, I must take up my father's cloak as head of the Black family one day. Voldemort and I have not discussed that much either… He has grand views for this world, for the future of our kind. Where will we be in all of that? Why have we not spoken of __**our**__ future? Maybe I am too impatient with this, but I will be out of school soon, turning 18 next month and expected to present a spouse to my parents myself now that the engagement contract was voided. Do I dare be the one to bring up marriage and children? We haven't even been together for a year and our relationship has largely been kept a secret so his enemies won't target me. On top of that, we're in the middle of a war. If He does not like me pushing those topics, He could well kill me with a flick of His finger…_

Harry could definitely see where Regulus was coming from, though somehow doubted that marriage or kids were high on Voldemort's priority list, in times of war** or** peace. How would children even work? Did he want to know? Harry decided that he did** not** want to know and kept on reading.

_May 13, 1979  
The revelations of tonight are of such a nature that I can barely grasp them. Voldemort admitted to me some of his deepest secrets. He has reached that which so many have strived after, true immortality. No wonder then that his personal goals are stretched over a much longer time span than mine. He has all of eternity. And soon, so shall I if I am correctly interpreting His words. Whispers of soul magic and rituals are still on my mind… this changes everything._

Voldemort revealing that he was immortal wasn't such a surprise to Harry. That he'd apparently offered to share it** was**. Just how attached had the Dark Lord been to his former lover? Was it simply a matter of possession, to keep Regulus by his side for eternity? Or was there more? And if the latter, was there more hope for Harry than he'd dared to expect?

The door was thrown open rather forcefully and Harry closed the diary and hid it under his pillow in a reaction of panic. ''Harry! There you are!''

''Hermione? What are… you can't just keep storming into the boy's dorms! What if the others would have been here?''

''Everyone else is down in the common room,'' she said. ''Ron told me you were up here reading. Harry, we need to talk.''

Once he'd gotten over the shock, Harry grew worried. His friend looked frazzled and flushed. The last time he'd seen her like this had been the Yule Ball after Ron's insensitive comments. ''Erhm, have a seat,'' he awkwardly said, gesturing to his bed and wiping a few crumbs off the blankets from the cauldron cakes he'd had before.

''Viktor wrote back,'' she breathlessly spoke as she sat down on the blankets without a care. She handed him a stack of parchment that Harry had first thought to be one of Hermione's over-zealous essays that Ron and him expected most teachers to dread reading so much they automatically gave her an O. On a second glance, he noticed that it was not her handwriting.

''You **must** be soul-mates,'' he whistled as he leafed through the stack, counting twelve pages of thick parchment. Both sides of the parchment were covered in text ''Poor owl that had to bring you this.''

''Harry! This was his reply about… you know what. From our discussion on Sunday. The last page is just a book recommendation list, you don't have to look at that one.''

''Erhm.. that's great,'' he spoke, wondering what she thought he had to do with this. ''Surely you don't expect me to read your personal mail right now.''

''It's not… well not** very** personal this time,'' she replied, blushing slightly. ''I asked him to explain a few things from his point of view. I thought about what you said, about perspectives and our previous conversations. I admit that I'm not always the best at listening to someone else's point of view. I wanted to give Viktor another chance to explain to me why he isn't averse to dark magic and why it is to easily accepted by his family and in his country.''

Harry started reading, which was helped by that Viktor's handwriting was incredibly neat. It explained the basics and origins of dark magic which Harry already knew about, and gave many examples of spells that weren't nefarious. Viktor's English had improved with leaps and bounds, with barely any spelling mistakes and a very extensive vocabulary. Harry didn't know if it was due to Hermione staying with him over summer or if Viktor's accent just made it seem as if he knew less English than he actually did. He'd even included a piece about Lords of Magic, which Harry was mostly interested about.

_During History of Magic, the topic of magical balance was covered extensively at Durmstrang. Legend has it that Lords of Light and Dark magic keep our world from collapsing if one type of magic outweighs the other. They are given magic and power like no other to gain the needed support to restore balance. It was one reason why Grindelwald gained so many followers in such a short time. People wish to believe this tale. I personally do not know what to think of it – Grindelwald was undoubtedly evil and killed many good people for his quest in power. Many of his actions disturbed balance rather than maintained it, including the casual way he used magical creatures and mages with unique abilities. I am very glad that my own family was sceptical of his motives and chose to not participate in his rebellion, for no wizard or witch should base their power on the oppression of others. We are all equal, whether some snobs like that thought or not, I'll fight to defend my belief. I can not deny the underlying truth in what I have been taught though. Both light and dark magic is necessary for our society to survive and pitting whole families against each other for the type of magic they use is detrimental. Both should be taught to use safely and responsibly so we do not get other wizards like Grindelwald or Voldemort trying to use the shunning of dark magic against governments again._

''You do realise that all of this is basically what I was trying to say on Sunday,'' Harry teased.

Hermione huffed and smiled. ''Well, I **suppose**, but you did not write a highly-detailed and sourced twelve-page letter about it, did you? And some of this information is completely new to me.''

''Well, I'm glad that you at least gave it another try. Even if he or his family didn't follow any dark Lords, his family **is** dark and I'd hate to see that driving you apart for no reason,'' Harry honestly said. Hermione smiled and hugged him tightly.

''Thank you, Harry. Sorry if I came across a bit…''

''Judgy?'' he grinned. She huffed again and pushed him over.

''Harry James Potter, that is not even a proper word. You're looking for** judgemental**.''

''Oh yes, that. Makes it so much better,'' he snickered.

They laughed together for a while until Hermione quieted down again. ''Where did** you** learn all of this? I spoke a bit to Ron and while he was rather evasive about the topic, I got the impressed that anything about dark magic he knows that isn't family prejudices came from you.''

''Erhm... yeah… I got to know this guy a while ago,'' he awkwardly said.

Hermione raised her eyebrows instantly. ''This would not be the same guy whom you said would benefit from having a psychiatrist, would it?''

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. ''Maybe?''

''Harry!'' she exclaimed, exasperated.

''I was rather emotional when I said that,'' he admitted. ''Yes, he can be a bit out of touch with other people sometimes, but I was focusing too much on the negatives.'' Harry heaved a heavy sigh. ''Not that that changes much.''

Gently, Hermione took his hand in hers. ''Do you want to talk about it?''

Harry considered that for a while. It wouldn't be too difficult to keep it general enough, he supposed. It wasn't as if Hermione would actually guess that his affections went out to Lord Voldemort of all people. ''I think I would like to tell you a bit about him, yes. Maybe you can make more sense of it than I can.'' And now that the Locket wasn't there anymore, flaring up hot on his skin each time he got slightly too close to the truth for its liking, it was only up to Harry how much he wanted his friend to know. Hermione snatched Ron's pillow off the other's bed and used it to settle comfortably next to Harry, who leaned back into his own.

''I got to know him… roughly about a year and a half ago. He has so much knowledge Hermione, it's incredible. Of ancient rites from Celtic times, of magical history… there's hardly a topic where I can't listen for hours to his stories,'' he smiled. ''And his magic is… indescribable. It's **tangible**.'' Then, Harry's smile slipped from his face. ''But he's also quite dangerous, used to getting his way and explosively angry when it doesn't. I know that he does try to keep himself under control, but he was born with this condition… I don't know too many details about it, but it seems to be a magical affliction that affected his emotions. As a child he couldn't feel more than the most basic emotions and had an incredibly difficult time connecting to people, especially as he grew up in a hostile environment with Muggles. That certainly didn't improve his view on Muggles, one topic that we often clash on. From Hogwarts onwards, he spent a lot of time trying to study other people and read tons of books to slowly heal himself. It allowed him to have more complex feelings over time. And though that is of course a good thing, he never succeeded completely. Things like true empathy are foreign to him even if he seems to believe himself that he understands it. And** love** most definitely is far from his grasp. When I finally noticed that I held romantic thoughts towards him, I completely freaked out, for I thought that he could never reciprocate my feelings. Last time I met him, that was unfortunately confirmed.''

''You were rejected?'' Hermione asked.

''Not exactly, no. He** wants** me, but not in a way I could ever accept. The best way I can describe it is that I feel like some prized object to possess. Instead of focusing on any sort of care for me, he is instead jealous of everyone else whom I could grow close to, wants to keep me under his thumb, to do as he says... It's not** healthy**, Hermione.''

''But Harry, love isn't all fuzzy feelings and happiness,'' she frowned. ''You seem to have this idea that loving and caring would mean that there's only positivity around. That's not realistic. Love is such a complex emotion that encompasses more than the mind-blowing feeling of having a crush. It's also jealousy, fighting, feeling hurt over things the one you love says or does. What is most important is wanting to be around each other. It sounds to me as if he **does** want that.''

Harry gave her a doubtful look. ''Without** any** of the positivity?''

''Not everyone falls in love the same,'' she sagely continued. ''Viktor completely annoyed me at the start. I couldn't see what was so great about him, and his flock of fangirls often disturbed my quiet reading time. It was only after we got talking that there was a spark. And if he would not have come after me after the Yule Ball, I highly doubt that spark would have remained. I never had this feeling of love at first sight or butterflies in my stomach. Instead, I fell in love with him slowly, and through our different views on life it's been hard work to maintain our relationship. I treasure his letters and my visits to him, but it isn't filled with declarations of love. Reading together in the same room, having deep discussion, sharing meals, that is what how we express our feelings. It sounds to me as if you have something similar with this person.''

Harry remained quiet, pondering over her words. By actions alone, it certainly looked like what he and Voldemort shared** was** very similar. Their talks, the shared magic, heck even the **dreams** were all times they spent together that Harry felt were precious. From Voldemort's anger over their contact being cut off, it looked like the man thought the same. It was the emotions that flowed through their mental link that made all of it more difficult than necessary, because actions didn't say much when it was drowned in volatile, murderous undertones that knocked the wind out of his lungs.

''So you're saying that…'' he hesitated.

''Follow your heart. Yes I know, ironic coming from me, but I mean it. Even if it doesn't work out, you'll have at least** tried**.''

Harry gave her a weak smile. ''I'm not sure if you'd say that if you were to ever meet him. I somehow don't think you two would get along.'' Hermione, with her sense of righteous justice as opposed to Voldemort, who would gladly throw entire civilisations off a cliff if it meant mages would be safe…

''As long as** you** go along, I won't say a thing.''

'Going along' was maybe also not the best description for Harry's and Voldemort's previous interactions. Following her advice was going to be problematic to say the least. Still, it did somehow ease his fatalistic thinking and returned some of the hope he had lost during his last meeting with the Dark Lord.

''Thank you,'' he spoke. ''I will... think upon what you said.'' Oh Merlin, and with** this** on his mind Harry now had to go visit Voldemort?

''Hey, Hermione?'' he asked, a thought striking him. ''He kind of… got me birthday presents twice now,'' he said. Her raised eyebrows made his cheeks grow hot. ''Last year I didn't get him any as I did not know when his birthday was… I do now and also had a thought for a gift, but I'd need to order something from a Muggle bookshop for it. It's at the end of December and I wanted to ask if you are going home for Christmas and if so, if we could meet up to go shopping together in Muggle London.''

''I'd be delighted!'' she said, smiling widely. ''I know** so** many good bookshops. Do you have a particular book in mind?''

''Not yet, only that I want it to be some Muggle fantasy literature. He liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy a lot so… something in that fashion.''

''Ohhh, then have I got the perfect book!'' she grinned. ''I'll write it on my Christmas shopping list instantly! This is going to be great, I can show you all of my favourite shops!''

''Thanks, you're the best.''

The door opened and Dean and Ron stopped mid-conversation as they entered, kind of staring at Harry and Hermione. He did admit that it might look weird out of context how they were both lying on his bed while chatting. ''I was just about to leave,'' Hermione sheepishly said, gathering all of Viktor's letter again. ''I hope my advice was useful to you, Harry, and thank you for your insight too.''

She slipped past the others, and Ron looked kind of disgruntled. He wanted to reassure his best friend of that everything was fine, but due to Dean's presence he could hardly say that the conversation had been about views on dark magic and Harry's dilemma over romance. He thus muttered something about homework and gave Ron his pillow back before going to take a shower. As water streamed down his skin, the only thought on his mind was the seconds ticking by until he'd be arriving at Riddle house. Why hadn't they made out a specific time…? It would be much better for his nerves if he'd at least know when he was expected to be there instead of 'at night'.

Restlessly, he waited, unable to concentrate on anything for the entire time he waited for the other guys to fall asleep. Only when he was absolutely sure that they'd fallen in deep slumber, did he dare sneak out, having the sense to already put the invisibility cloak on the instant he procured it from the trunk.

* * *

Waiting was perhaps Voldemort's least favourite thing in the world.

Not that he couldn't be patient, he only did not enjoy it like many other people seemed to, slumping on a couch doing nothing. Time spent unproductively was wasteful, and yet here he stood, waiting. On Harry Potter of all people.

Oddly, he had not been able to properly judge the timeframe. All books he wished to consult had been read and marked, the ingredients that might be necessary were prepared and Voldemort had finished any work he'd planned today. Barty wasn't present, nor were any of his other followers he could have discussed ideas with. All that was left was to wait and go over possible solutions in his mind. Healing was admittedly not a branch of magic that he had fully explored even if he was more well-versed in it than most mages. With so little information from Harry's side, it would pose a challenge, especially as the teen had already been told by trained Healers that nothing could be done anymore. None of them held the wealth of knowledge in curses that he did however, so there might just be a chance still. If not… well, there were other possibilities. Backup solutions.

The last shared dream had left him uncomfortably shaken with rage as he'd woken up. It was strange that he felt such anger as he was not personally involved, so he chalked it up to Dolores Umbridge injuring his Horcrux, his property. That explanation, while rational, did leave an unsatisfied taste in his mouth that he hoped would soon leave.

Nagini kept his company as he sat in the magically heated orangery, the crust of frost that had settled on the glass during the day now melted. He looked over the snowy field in his backyard, where moonlight was reflected on a million crystals that clung heavy to the grass. It gave an eerie, otherworldly view that he very much enjoyed. Wrapped in warming charms so the chill could not touch his already freezing blood, he untangled Nagini from his legs and stepped outside, the snow sinking underneath his weight. As his warming charms were spelled to affect him directly, the crunchy frost did not melt as it would have for a regular human, and as he stretched out a pale hand, he could study the snowflakes that fell on it for almost a minute before it finally turned into a droplet of water.

A bright blue flash behind him lit up the meadow like a freshly-formed glacier. ''Evan,'' he greeted, turning around as the head of the teen appeared from underneath an invisibility cloak.

''I'd hoped to arrive in a slightly warmer place.''

''Complaining already?'' he lightly asked, supressing a grin as Harry ducked his head.

''Err, sorry. Good evening, is there a reason why you are outside?'' It was a far cry from expected politeness, but Voldemort let it slide.

''I thought it would make you uncomfortable,'' he lied, then turned on his heel to march back inside as Harry grumbled something about him succeeding.

He guided the Gryffindor to the dining room, where the table was all set up for a medical examination: potions to one side, knives and tools to the other, which Harry eyed with clear discomfort. ''Sit here and show me your arm, I need to have a look at it first.''

Surprisingly without a word of protest, which was very telling about the severity of the situation, Harry removed his cloak and outer robe, pushing up the narrow sleeve of the inner robe. It was a rather interesting sight. The boy usually had worn Muggle clothing when visiting, and in their dreams oftentimes wore something more similar to dress robes. There hadn't been many occasions where Voldemort had seen Harry in his school uniform, and last time a thick winter cloak had hidden most of it. The style had changed a great deal over the years, with house colours being far less prominent, only visible on the sewn-on badge and striped tie instead of covering the whole outer robe.

It was then that Voldemort's attention shifted to the exposed hand, and he gingerly took it in his to study it up close. Harry's beautiful skin was marred by familiar knotted scars that came from improper healing and bruises of various colours, with in the middle a slash of vivid red where the skin was most irritable. Attempts at recent healing were clearly visible. Spells to reduce swelling and anaesthetic charms were tangible on the surface, and the way the wound itself had healed pointed to a solution of Murtlap tentacle. Not a pretty sight, and far more aggressive than he had hoped. Multiple ways of having Umbridge die horrendous deaths welled up, only to be shoved aside for practical reasons. It wouldn't do to get distracted.

Sighing, he took a knife and tested the edge against his thumb, where a drop of blood welled up instantly. Harry gave him a nervous glance and looked about to speak up when Voldemort had already pointed his wand at the hand and muttered _**''Pafsílȳpos,''**_, entirely numbing Harry's hand with the strongest spell for pain relief that he knew. The only one that would still leave the boy conscious, that was. Although how long that would remain so entirely depended on how strong Harry's stomach was.

He made a careful incision along the red line with the enchanted knife. Its blade blackened almost instantly, indicating just how strong the curse was that resided in the flesh. He turned the arm over and, after casting a few more spells to halt the flow of blood for now, slid open the arm almost to Harry's elbow, where the blade finally turned back to silver. Even when stabbing it right through the flesh, the entire blade remained black, showing that the curse went far further than merely the outer layer. He started pulling out tendons and exposed the bone, where he had the same results: entirely tainted. Shame, he could have worked around it if at least the bone would have remained unaffected.

''On the bright side, it looks like the Hogwarts school nurse knows what she is talking about,'' he finally commented, wiping his bloodied hands on a piece of cloth - constantly spelling them clean would only be a waste of magic while he still wasn't finished. ''From a healing point of view, you arm is done for. Even the bone is affected, the cells are warping as we speak.''

''There's nothing you can do?'' Harry asked, sounding rather calm.

''Not to** heal** your arm, no. We will have to look into other options. I have studied bloodquills since you told me about this and can remove the curse itself, which will negate the necessity to keep up the charms that now stop it from spreading. Unfortunately, blood curses have a tendency to speed up when being attacked. All affected cells will surely die off completely. Your arm will need to be replaced after.'' He waited for a tactful three seconds to let the news sink in before continuing: ''The previous estimate of it still functioning for years is incorrect. With the nature of this curse, you will start showing symptoms of declining functionality within a few months, starting with pain and bleeding and leading to numbness and the inability to control your limb. Since this is your wand arm, you would have to start training to cast with your left instead, as the flow of magic will be hindered by this curse if we leave it as is.''

''But I can't just…** replace** it,'' the teen spoke, far more distressed now. ''If the Healers in St Mungo's said they couldn't do anything, it would be highly suspicious if I suddenly showed up with a wooden arm, right?''

Voldemort chuckled darkly. ''Wooden? Perhaps that is good enough a replacement for light mages like Alastor Moody, but I can assure you that your new arm would not differ so much from your current one. I am not a master in blood magic for nothing, Evan.''

The other eyed him with a distrust that stung. ''That somehow sounds like you're going to rip off a limb from some poor random Muggle and attach it to me.''

''I'd never use a Muggle for something like that,'' he answered, offended at the mere thought. ''This is your** wand arm**. No, human limbs in general do not work well with magical transplantation, it is nearly always rejected. We'll need something stronger. A centaur limb will do.'' Harry jerked his arm from the table and stared at him wide-eyed for reasons he did not quite understand. ''If you do not wish to be connected to creature blood, I can most likely try to work something out to at least try with a witch or wizard…'' he started, slightly thrown off. It would be far trickier and he hadn't thought that the boy would mind receiving blood and flesh of a being or beast. He never had had a problem with creatures before…

''I'd rather have my arm die off than mutilate someone else for it!'' Harry strongly spoke, standing up. The knife clattered to the floor and several tendons, which still hadn't been reconnected, dangled in the air. A thick sludge of blood started flowing out of the wound not quite unlike a stream of underwater lava.

''Sit down, you seem to misunderstand, I would not be taking it from a live body,'' he reassured quickly, finally having grasped what the problem was - although that did not mean that he personally agreed. If it would have been more effective, he'd gladly have sacrificed some random centaur. To disguise himself permanently as Noctua, he'd also had to skin the man alive after all, tying the skin to his own body through the tattoos he now bore on his right arm. He continued his explanation as he took Harry's arm again and guided it back to the table to reattach everything he'd severed before. ''If I have a bone of a creature that died recently, I can attach it to you and regrow the flesh around it, provided that they did not die from a wound in the needed limb. This should not provide much of a problem, arm wounds are unlikely to be lethal, so any skeleton will do that is about your size. Through our rescue operations, I have enough connections now among centaurs and other possible suitable creatures to easily find the necessary ingredients. I could start working on it this very night still.''

''And this is really the only way? There is no possibility to reverse the curse and keep my own arm?''

''You are about a month too late for that. As stated before, your only other option is using it until it becomes paralysed, then going to the hospital where you **will** most likely be given a wooden prosthetic. No healer at St. Mungo's who wants to keep his job would dabble in crafting one from blood and bone as long as dark magic is illegal still.''

Harry sighed deeply and flexed his fingers, staring with disgust at the open wounds. ''I absolutely hate Umbridge so much right now.'' Voldemort could feel it, the hatred simmering beneath Harry's skin, and relished in it. ''I'll destroy her for this,'' the Gryffindor breathed. ''For doing this to me, and potentially to others too.''

''Most of this was caused by the fact that it was not healed properly. Had it only been the blood quill itself, the curse would not have festered,'' Voldemort reminded him. ''That does decrease the possibility of other students having these issues as well, although it is not entirely implausible.''

''I really do hope it's just me then. I think she's a lot harsher on me because I publicly punched her in the face. Knowing what I do now about her though, I wish I could have punched her twice.''

''So what will it be? Will you take my offer?'' It wasn't everyday that the opportunity presented itself to perform Necromancy on a live human being, especially on one whom he wanted to accept the Art itself. Harry would be a natural Necromancer; the boy simply did not want to see it nor accept it. Well, the Dark Lord would merely have to give a few pushes in the right direction… let his Horcrux come into contact with the Black Cosmos and orchestrate situations where Harry would be forced to use it… He could simply not pass up the opportunity to hone these talents. Naturally, hecould also have replaced the arm with source magic as he'd done with Barty's fingers after the resurrection ritual - although it **would** raise questions if Harry appeared at Hogwarts with a mysterious silver arm.

''I don't seem to have much of a choice,'' was the grim answer. ''If it can be avoided, I'd rather not lose the ability to move and cast magic with one of my arms. As long as none will come to harm for this…''

''You have my word,'' the Dark Lord spoke, slightly annoyed at the teen's tendency to prioritise others above them. Did he not understand that it was his duty as a vessel of Voldemort's soul to ensure the best protection? ''Will you risk another trip from Hogwarts or settle this tonight?''

''Rather sooner than later,'' Harry muttered to the man's satisfaction. ''Before I can get second thoughts about it. I have History of Magic first thing in the morning anyways, then I can make up for lost sleep.''

''Binns still teaches, does he?''

''Yeah… I doubt I'll pass my O.W.L. in that.''

''It is still possible with enough self-study,'' he chided. ''I myself still managed to get an O in the subject. While I admit that the lessons itself are useless, the exams are not too hard to pass if you memorise your textbooks.'' He received a glassy look in return.

''I don't plan on following a career path with history of magic.''

''Short-sighted,'' he snapped back. ''Knowledge about the history of our kind, especially in relation to other races that we will have to live together with, will be invaluable. Much of the last centuries was shaped by wars with the Goblins, and while this does not seem relevant to wizards and witches nowadays, the Goblins have not forgotten. If you show them disinterest about their history and culture, they will treat you like dirt. This is a primal reason why they dislike mages so much, something which could easily be avoided by a bit of study. I will expect you to at the very leastpass your History exam with a good enough grade to continue for your N.E.W.T., else do not bother coming back here.'' He knew the words had hit their mark as he felt sudden panic radiating from the other. ''Now hold still, I will need to patch this up well enough for you to not slowly bleed out while I am gone in search for a bone.''

''Can I come with?'' Harry asked instantly. ''I mean, it will be** my** arm.''

He considered this for a moment. ''If you vow to do exactly as I say and follow my every order, then yes.''

''I will! My Lord!'' the teen hurried to speak, almost tripping over his own tongue. It looked like threatening to cut contact had made Harry rather eager to get back in his good graces, eager enough to even use his title. He looked in wide emerald eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, pleased when finding none. It was only then that he noticed Harry's pupils had increased so much that only a small ring of green was left. He once again had not realised how dark it was in here, not having bothered to make any light. As the boy had not complained before, he deduced that it had been a help rather than a hindrance, the darkness concealing much of the gore on the dining table.

He patched up the arm and sealed the wound with a brush of his fingers that had the delightful effect of being able to feel Harry squirming lightly underneath his touch. This night was going to be interesting…

XxX

Going deeper and deeper into the foreign forest they had apparated into, Harry wondered if it might have been better to have stayed home after all. Voldemort weaved with silent grace through dark silhouettes of trees that Harry had to be careful not to run into. While in the presence of an adult wizard, he did not have a spare wand to use now to negate the Trace, so he could not cast magic that could ease his way. Instead, he tried to stick as close to Voldemort as possible, which turned out to be pretty difficult. The canopy of pine needles was so dense that no light shone through at all. When looking up, he could make out white flecks of snow somewhere high above, but none of it reached the ground. Instead, there was only bare earth and thousands of dense, dark tree trunks. If Voldemort hadn't said this was a magical forest, he might not have believed it: it didn't hold a candle to the lush forest of Merlin in France where each path had shown new wonders. Only on occasion did he glimpse something that didn't fit: faint glowing figures in the corners of his eyes, a shadow that was as large as a house suddenly coming loose and moving, fog that rose from the ground to form into obscure symbols before dissipating…

''We are almost there,'' the Dark Lord spoke, reaching out the hand that didn't hold his wand in a tight grip.

''Am I… supposed to give you something?'' he asked tentatively, staring at the expectant open hand.

''Your** hand**, Evan,'' the other replied with amusement. ''You are much better protected when we cannot be so easily separated.''

Feeling heat rise on his skin despite the cold, Harry did as told, willing his heart to calm down. It was** only** holding hands to not get lost in some nefarious ancient magic. Holding hands... with Voldemort… on a walk in a magical forest. Oh Merlin, he had it** bad**. Harry silently prayed that his nervousness would not materialise in clammy hands, the **last** thing he needed was give an uncomfortable sweaty handshake that would disgust Voldemort so much that the man never wanted to touch him again.

He did his best to enjoy it as he still struggled to keep up, practically being dragged along. When the Dark Lord stopped abruptly at the edge of what looked to be the start of a clearing below where at least some light filtered through the trees, Harry skidded to a halt to not bump into the other, then cursed himself for the missed opportunity.

Since when had he gotten so desperate? He entirely blamed Hermione for her speech from today. This trip should be about fixing his cursed arm that was about to fall off, there should be no thoughts on his mind on ways to get closer to his subject of infatuation. Still, it was hard not to when the man looked every bit the powerful Lord he was, glowing red eyes peering into the forest to scan for danger.

It crept in slowly from all sides, a whispering that Harry only noticed when it was far too close already. Something cold was pressed against the back of his neck and a voice boomed: '_'__Vem går där_?''

Not daring to turn around, Harry looked at Voldemort, who had turned with a slow yet deliberate movement and pointed his wand at whoever stood behind them. ''I am Lord Voldemort and request an audience with your herd,'' he spoke calmly.

The sound of something heavy stomping on the ground and the sharp object being removed, combined with Voldemort's words, told Harry enough about who they'd been 'greeted' by. He turned around… and couldn't stop staring. In front of them stood a large centaur with gleaming dark hair and a dark brown body that turned black towards the middle of the back. It took a moment before Harry realised that this was the first female centaur he'd ever seen. Just like the male counterparts he'd met, she did not wear anything resembling clothing, only a strap holding a quiver of arrows secured around her torso. Much like the merfolk he'd seen though, this centaur looked nothing like Harry had imagined going by Muggle folklore. The most obvious difference being that the chest of her 'human' body did not look very female at all, lacking some very obvious anatomical parts. It was only because of her face and voice that he could tell the difference. He still tried to avoid looking pointedly at her chest, keeping all wondering to himself, although it was rather difficult with it being at eye-height due to her sheer size.

''My herd is hunting,'' she spoke, surprisingly with very little accent at all. ''It is only I who can uphold the law of hospitality tonight. I speak for the herd.'' Her tone was so cold that Harry found it difficult to find any hospitality, especially as she slowly turned her still-strung bow in such a way that a glimmer of light reflected off the tip of the arrow. As if a wordless exchange had taken place that Harry hadn't heard, the centaur suddenly jumped down the small slope to the clearing below and Voldemort dragged Harry with to follow her. Soon, they were once again weaving through trees. Harry somehow got the feeling that there must be something wrong with him, as he still had a hard time avoiding running into trees while a beast the size of a large horse strode through them with ease.

More and more branches started whipping in his face, the sea of naked tree trunks becoming filled with more and more plants, most of them thorny and prickly. In front of them, the centaur disappeared, and Harry almost pressed himself against Voldemort's back to avoid being scraped by the holly bushes he was being dragged through.

Light was all around, and Harry blinked a few times once he left the shield of Voldemort's inky robes. Within a ring of tall bushes lay a living space, clearly recently used. Spheres of pure light danced around, the embers of a fire glowed and multi-coloured smoke that smelled of herbs drifted from them. In the back, animal hides were draped over colossal dead branches to form a tent large enough to hold several centaurs. It was empty now. He sniffed up some of the smoke that was all around and instantly became dizzy.

''We have heard of your tales even here, Lord Voldemort,'' the centaur spoke. She went over to the tent and pulled forth a large bag, from which she took several leaves which were thrown in the fire. ''Two of our own whom had been lost for years returned two moons ago. They could not tell us what price it would cost. Have you come for payment?''

''I have come in need of aid,'' the man answered, which Harry knew very well to be resounding 'yes'. Voldemort put his hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him forwards. ''This young one has been cursed. I need several fitting bones to craft him a new arm.''

The centaur scraped her hood over the ground. ''Asking for our dead is no small thing.''

''Your dead would become a part of life again as is your creed.''

''In a wizard. A human.''

''Not any wizard, one tied directly to me,'' Voldemort answered, brushing Harry's bangs aside to reveal the scar. The teen shifted uncomfortably, wanting to be a part of the conversation without only being talked** about** instead of to. However, he'd promised to follow the man's every order and as soon as they had entered the forest, the Dark Lord had ordered him to only speak when spoken to. The centaur came closer again, a frown on her face, tail swishing back and forth.

''The skies have spoken often of this young one… each time that mars is bright. The red moon is drawing closer.'' She leaned down and stared Harry directly in the eyes. He stared back, fascinated to see that her pupils weren't round, instead flat and horizontal. He wondered if that was an equine thing… he'd never seen a real horse up close. ''Both death and life surround you. Remember, you do not need to choose, unlike so many others,'' she whispered before withdrawing abruptly. ''Such a heavy burden for a mere foal. We shall lighten it somewhat.'' She sank down in front of the fire, waving the smoke into her face. It went on for several minutes, during which Harry's eyes slowly got used to the brightness of the creatures flying around. At least he thought them to be animals of sorts. Having nothing better to do for now, he observed one as it flew in slow zigzags through the air and landed on a large tree stump. Leaning in closer, Harry saw that it was filled with bright water, pine needles and several leaves of trees that definitely did not grow anywhere in this forest.

''This looks quite magical, like wish-granting water from a fairy-tale,'' he commented.

''Don't touch it. And whatever you do, don't drink it,'' the other quietly warned.

Harry raised his head. ''Why, is it cursed?''

''Yes, you'll be cursed with amoebic dysentery if you drink contaminated forest water from a tree stump puddle,'' Voldemort hissed. ''Now be silent!''

Not knowing what amoebic dysentery was and somehow feeling like he was being made fun of, Harry only pulled a face and did as told until the centaur finally moved again. ''The ancestors have spoken,'' she said when getting up, her fur gleaming in the light as she moved. Come.''

And off they went again, leaving the comfortable space for the creepy forest, though they did not walk far this time. She pointed with an arrow to a heap of moss out of which several twigs stuck. On closer inspection, Harry saw they weren't twigs at all, instead a bleached, overgrown skeleton. ''Almost reclaimed by the earth, this one left us in summer at a mere seven years old. Will this suffice to pay our debt, Lord Voldemort?''

''We shall see. Harry, come here.'' Harry was slightly thrown off by the fact that Voldemort used his given name for once instead of 'Evan', and wondered if there was any significance in that.

They both knelt at the heap of moss, which Harry tried to carefully remove to not disturb the bones too much. Empty sockets of the skull gazed at him, and Harry bowed his head in respect as it felt like the right thing to do while Voldemort had already dug up the part he wanted. ''Your arm,'' the man said, comparing the length of bone with Harry's lower arm, humming. ''A good fit. Slightly longer than yours, but then again, we're not working with human anatomy here. Perhaps we can shrink it a tad.''

Harry did not respond, turning instead to the centaur. ''Thank you for allowing this.'' She did not answer, looking up to the trees instead. In a rather sorrowful voice she spoke: ''Winter hides the moon.''

''Err, right,'' he said, looking up too. Somehow, he couldn't imagine the moon to be visible at any time of year under the huge evergreen trees.

''It is only within ourselves, that we can find it,'' she sighed. Harry blinked, and only still caught sight of a dark tail as she cantered away.

''That was strange. She seemed so down-to-earth before.''

''Centaurs can be very practical when the need arises. As soon as that need it gone… this happens. They only talk in astronomical riddles again.''

''Yeah… although that talk about mars being bright, that was also what the centaurs at Hogwarts told me several years ago,'' he worriedly mentioned ''Do you think I should pay it any mind?''

''Divination brought the both of us quite a bit of grief before,'' Voldemort bitterly spoke. ''I don't recommend listening to it.''

Harry pondered on that for a moment. It was true, if there hadn't been a Prophecy made, Voldemort would not have come after him as a child. He might have still had his parents, and the Dark Lord might not have died. But he also wouldn't have become a Horcrux, nor felt the need to search Voldemort out… ''It didn't only bring grief,'' Harry thus muttered. ''I would probably never have met you like I did now, growing up among the Order of the Phoenix instead.''

He almost regretted his words as Voldemort halted and frowned at him, ruby eyes searching his face for something. He tried to reach out and feel what emotions were going through the other now, finding only confusion. ''Surely, that would have been a better life?''

''I can't say,'' Harry truthfully spoke. ''I would never have known that you were right. Fighting and dying for a wrong cause does not seem** better**.''

A proud smile graced Voldemort's serpentine features, and the man unexpectedly drew him close. ''Remember that when I am taking your arm apart a few minutes from now,'' he chuckled darkly into Harry's ear before whisking them away to England again. Whatever Harry had expected the Dark Lord to say, it had absolutely not been that.

''Somehow I get the feeling that magical transportation is getting worse,'' he thus commented as they landed in the dining room of Riddle manor again, trying to ignore the way his ears tingled. ''It's almost painful… the Portkey wasn't any better.''

Voldemort went towards the table and carefully placed the centaur bones on its surface, which was still covered by equipment and potions Harry hoped they wouldn't need. ''That has little to do with the means of transportation and everything with my wards. We are defying forces of nature and magic by burning through dimensional walls like this. Naturally, I** can** since I was the one to put them up, but it is never going to be pleasant. I do not care much for comfort.''

''Wouldn't have guessed,'' Harry muttered underneath his breath.

''Sit down in the same position as before,'' Voldemort spoke, already brandishing the knife again.

While it hadn't exactly** hurt** before, Harry still wouldn't really like to see his own flesh again so soon. ''Is your answer to everything cutting people open?'' he sarcastically asked.

''No, I do not lack creativity,'' the other replied neutrally in such a way that Harry couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be a cynical response or not. Maybe he should just stop trying so hard. Instead of making things even more awkward, Harry sat down on the chair and heaved a breath as he placed his arm on the table, stomach twisting and churning. He was really going to lose a limb right now… and have it replaced. By a centaur skeleton. He hardly knew what to think about that, trying to concentrate on gratitude that Voldemort was even doing this for him.

''Are there many centaur herds across the world?'' he thus asked to break the pressing silence and distract himself from the procedure that was about to follow. The Dark Lord sank down on a chair next to him and numbed his arm already again, made an incision and then unstoppered a cork from a vial with swirling silver liquid which he carefully started to pour into the wound.

''A few, mostly in Europe and Asia,'' the man absentmindedly spoke as he continued working on the arm. ''They are restricted to magical forests for obvious reasons, Muggles can still see them and we wouldn't want that to happen. The only herd in Britain is located in the Forbidden Forest. Well, you've met them,'' he spoke wryly. ''Gave me quite a bit of trouble when I needed unicorn blood to survive. I prefer the Scandinavian herds. They're a bit less… obnoxious than the British one. Though nothing can compare to how annoying the Greek centaurs are. Just because they made contact first and worked together with Greek philosophers during classic times, they feel like they have some sort of ascended status among centaurs.''

''Yeah, imagine how obnoxious it must be to speak to someone who thinks they're above the rest of their kind.''

''Quite,'' Voldemort spoke in all seriousness. Harry almost dared to roll his eyes. Almost. ''Hold still, I need to negate the curse now.''

Voldemort placed a few large salt crystals around Harry's hand on the table and lit a long and thin red candle. Some of the wax dripped down into the wound, which Harry was at first worried about before realising that the numb arm would be discarded afterwards. What** would** happen to his limb exactly? '_'__**Ignis, purgato**__,'' _Voldemort spoke before putting the candle away. Next, the Dark Lord picked up one of the salt rocks and held it over the hand. An empty glass filled up with water, then rose in the air and poured itself over the salt until it had all dissolved and dripped over Harry's skin. ''_**Aqua,**_ _**purgato.**__**Maledicite sanguinis usque in aeternum super vos discedite!**_''

Harry clenched his teeth together when, despite the strong numbing charm that had been cast upon him, flares of pain still shot through as if fire was eating him alive. The wound on his hand burned worse than ever before, and from it, a blackness spread. In front of his eyes, his hand and arm… shrivelled up, only halting at his elbow. Harry could do nothing but watch in horror as it withered away, the curse spreading rapidly, eating up all of his blood. He felt as if a numbing spell had been fired at his brain instead, it all felt so surreal. The swirling dark magic that leaked out from it was very unlike he'd come to get used to: stinging and hostile.

With a sharp movement, Voldemort cut the **thing** off that hardly resembled anything human anymore. In its stead, he prodded the bones that had lain peacefully on the forest floor just a while ago, into the new wound. It still smelled of moss… Harry tried not to move, letting the Dark Lord do as he pleased. The end of the bones, where it connected to his elbow now, was wrapped up in strips of what looked like leather of which he did not dare ask the origin. Voldemort cut Harry's other hand, blood from his left hand being rubbed over the bone that was uselessly sticking out of him. It gleamed, slick with dark wetness of which the metal stench was starting to overpower the remaining hints of forest.

The Dark Lord rose from his chair and looked down on the half-finished abomination of bone, blood and hide. His magic slashed through the room, destroying the floor below where geometric shapes appeared that were all too familiar. Before Harry knew it, he got a déjà vu from last summer where his parent's corpses had been revived. For some reason, he hadn't caught on when Voldemort had spoken of blood magic. Of** course** he'd meant Necromancy.

Like last time, his mind was pulled along again in that moment where Voldemort crossed over. He was more aware of the transition this time; as soon as the sound of rushing waves filled his ears, he blinked and opened his eyes to a vast universe in which he floated weightlessly under the glow of four moons. The sight filled him with an unsettling amount of familiarity, and Harry wished with all of his might to be gone from this place again. It was not the yellow moon that Voldemort sought out this time, staring up instead at the red blazing eye of fire to which the sun paled in comparison. '_'I call upon you, Ruin, to restore the devastation left behind by the war against time. Mortuus Animari.''_

Under the sound of rattling chains, Harry woke up again. This time, he did not need to wait very long for Voldemort to return, whose robes once more burned at the edges as if he'd just escaped from a fire. His eyes and hands shone purple as he grabbed the bone. The glowing magic took a hold of Harry, overwhelming and powerful. He felt glued to his seat as he was drenched in Voldemort's magic, basking in it. Without a further word, **things** started to grow. No description would have been perfect, but it looked like mould growing all over rapidly and solidifying, until there came an unexpected turning point where it suddenly looked like an arm. The whole process couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds, and as the electrifying rush of magic died down, Harry realised with a shock that he could** feel** it, **move** it.

''It... it worked,'' he said, his tongue feeling like sandpaper.

''You always sound so surprised about that. I know that it is generally not a state you are familiar with, but I** do** know what I am doing.''

With fascination, Harry carefully moved the new attachment, which did not feel as foreign as he would have imagined. The leather strips which still were wound tightly around his elbow hindered the movement a bit until Voldemort snapped his fingers and they fell to the ground. ''It even has my skin colour,'' he wondered out aloud, somehow not having thought before about the possibility of getting a white arm.

''The bone provided the basic structure, but the flesh and skin itself are mainly grown using your own genes. There will of course be some differences…'' Voldemort spoke, reaching out to run his fingers across the side of Harry's new arm, which had a few patches that were quite a bit hairier than his previous one had been. The movement instantly raised goose bumps and Harry hated to admit how much he liked it. ''You might need a shave to erase suspicion. It is also approximately half an inch longer than your other arm. I did cut off some of the bone, but it was difficult to judge the exact length of the final product before placing it. It still is close enough to not be too noticeable.''

''It's perfect,'' Harry reassured the other. ''Thank you. This is… amazing.'' And he meant it: the way the muscles shifted and his fingers flexed, he couldn't have asked for a better replacement. Voldemort had undone the rot Umbridge had left and Harry was incredibly grateful for it. ''How could I ever repay you for this?'' he asked.

''For now, this will be enough,'' the man answered, picking up the shrivelled arm that had been his mere minutes ago and staring at it as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

''Erhm.. well I didn't really want it back anyways so… fine?'' he asked hesitantly, not really wanting to know what someone could use a cut-off dead limb for. An image of Borgin and Burkes swam in his mind, with he hand of the hanged or whatever that thing had been called on display.

''Excellent. I suggest you go wash up upstairs. You** are** staying the night, yes?''

Portkeying back after all of this and trying to get back into Hogwarts was not a very appealing thought, not when a warm shower and bed were waiting right upstairs. However, morning would probably dawn within a few hours, not giving much time for a proper sleep anyways. ''I don't think I can. What time is it?''

''Two o clock.''

That was a lot earlier than Harry had expected, it felt to him as if the trip into the forest alone had taken hours. ''Oh, well in that case… if you don't mind, I'll sleep now and leave shortly before six.''

He picked up his outer robe again and went to the bathroom, finding it pleasantly clean with a steaming bath already drawn. With a pleased sigh, he slipped into the water, still staring at his arm in wonder. The tufts of fur on it were strange, and he'd need to use a razor as soon as he got back to Gryffindor tower if he did not want to get odd questions when changing in front of the other guys. Other than that, it looked very human, with perhaps slightly longer and sturdier nails than his left hand. It was a relief to see the unmarred skin on the back of his hand. Now he'd only need to make sure to not get detention with Umbridge again, he doubted Voldemort would be very happy about needing to fix up his arm a second time.

Overwhelmed by fatigue, he leaned his head back on the edge of the tub and let himself be enveloped by warm water and the smell of soap. Dark magic was always so exhausting… in a good way, but still. Even though he hadn't really cast any spells himself, he'd still experienced it second-hand from the Dark Lord and merely thinking about it made his body feel heavy. Incredibly heavy…

He awoke with a shock and flailing arms as something heavy was pushing his ribcage together. He tried to speak, but could only cough and spit out unholy amounts of water as two arms constricted tightly around him. An angry hiss sounded from behind and he heard: ''Stop struggling and **breathe**, damn it!''

After another few coughs that felt as if his lungs were being expelled from his body, Harry finally was able to draw in a few gulps of air. He turned to look at Voldemort and incredulously said: ''Couldn't you just have used _Anapneo_?''

By the fire that shot from red eyes that resembled the deepest pits of hell, Harry deduced that pointing out Voldemort could have used magic instead of a physical move, could not be put on his list of top ten brightest moments. ''You were** drowning yourself**,'' the man spit out furiously. ''I **demand** that you tell me why!''

''Drowning my-? I fell asleep!''

''You** fell asleep**. In the** bath**? All of my attempts to both kill you and to prevent you from dying, and you are planning on going by accidental drowning in two feet of water? That's it, I am not letting you out of my sight until you return to school in the morning.'' Before Harry could register anything else, he was being dragged out of the bathroom. Only when they entered a pitch-black room and he was pushed on a bed - that wasn't his – did he notice that he was, in fact, still entirely wet and very naked.

''Can you at least give me a towel?'' he asked in humiliation. Oh Merlin, Voldemort had hauled his naked ass out of the bathtub. It wasn't as if he hadn't had to strip before during rituals, but there he at the very least had been able to cover his private parts. A towel was forcefully pushed in his face and Harry tried his best to dry himself off and wrapped it around his hips after while he tried not to think about the fact that Voldemort could excellently see in the dark. ''I really did not mean to make you worry…''

''I did **not.** **worry**.'' But the onslaught of panic he'd felt all of this time wasn't only his own, Harry found with a small hint of satisfaction. Voldemort was… scared of Harry dying. Maybe Hermione really had been right, he thought as he settled down on the bed and tried to make out Voldemort's form next to him in the darkness. Maybe love did come in many forms. The thought of that made his heart do a few strange flips, and he carefully reached out to place his hand on the other man's arm, sending over his feelings of joy and gratitude to placate the Dark Lord. Surely, Voldemort would deny it tomorrow, but Harry relished in the emotions he received back through the link and the feel of a cold hand being briefly pressed against his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write hehe. And yes, foreshadowing for more necromancy int he future ;P I very much like exploring this type of magic..  
I hope all the banter between Voldemort and Harry isn't too out of character. They are kind of getting more comfortable around each other, so harry can get away with a lot more now without being choked to death.
> 
> Please read and review!  
xx GeMerope


	56. Regulus' Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, thank you for all your support once again.  
I got some questions regarding Harry's new arm: if it's detectable, if the bloodquill would work on it etc. I hope this chapter will clear a couple of those questions. More details regarding it will have to wait till chapter 57, sorry!
> 
> Also a major shout-out to my beta (Penname Riafya on AO3), who was a major help to me with this chapter, especially regarding analysis of the diary entries. Some of Harry's thoughts on it are hers :)
> 
> Enjoy!

When Harry returned to Hogwarts, he was on edge for days. Surely, someone would have either noticed his absence or see that there was something **off** about him now. The centaur arm looked and felt very human even after he shaved the off patches of hair, but Harry was hyper-aware of the difference in length and the altered nails. However, as the week went on like normal and he shared many evenings with Ron, Hermione and occasionally other members of the D.A., his fear turned out to be unjustified. No-one noticed a thing, too caught up in their own lives to take note of such a small detail, stressing out over exams and homework, family issues and detentions instead. Harry gratefully used that to get back a semblance of normalcy again, focusing on school while trying to avoid Umbridge as much as possible.

Only the nights reminded him of the secrets he carried, whenever he and Voldemort would share dreams. It wasn't as often as he would have hoped, explained by the Dark Lord's busy schedule and night shifts, but when he did reach the other, Harry made good use of it to strike up conversations about everything he could think of now that he could finally remember the encounters. Each time, Harry would be reminded of the very last time he'd seen the man in reality, waking up after a few hours of peaceful sleep. They hadn't mentioned it again, hadn't even mentioned it that very morning when the Dark Lord had unnervingly stared at him as Harry got ready before the light of day had reached them, and left for Hogwarts. He oddly didn't mind too much. It had been a moment of peace, one he simply wished to fondly remember as he went about his day without complications ruining it. Whether it had changed anything, he'd see in time… for now, there were other matters on his mind, far **too** many between politics, friends and Umbridge.

He learned a great deal just by talking to Voldemort, even about things he hadn't even thought of before. For example, when speaking about Umbridge's inspections and detentions, Voldemort had commented that he suspected the old gargoyle to have a time-turner.

''_There is no possibility for her schedule to work otherwise,''_ he'd said. _''Defence Against the Dark Arts is a mandatory subject for five years, and then she will have one OWL and one NEWT class. That is twelve classes in total, and with years varying between three to four hours of Defence a week, she has a rough schedule of 40 hours. She would not be able to inspect teachers without missing her own classes, nor have these patrols you speak of. That she spends many evenings giving detentions to singular students as well is another indication.''_

Knowing this, Harry instantly informed all D.A. members that multiple versions of Umbridge might be prowling the castle. They were extra careful not to be seen together and trickled towards the Room of Requirement one by one over the span of an hour before starting an official meeting, mainly doing homework before everyone had arrived. Harry's extra 'duties' as teacher and an upped pace of trying to catch up with Runes in addition to his official schedule left him so swamped with work that he crashed in bed at the end of each day, asleep within seconds. He hadn't even found a gap of time within to continue with Animagus training. Ron and he had only spent time on it twice now, and Harry hadn't had much more success during the second try in finding out which type of bat he was, although now both of his arms transformed into wings.

It was thus that he had forgotten a bit about Regulus' last diary until one morning, where he was trying to tidy his bed a bit and found the book stuck between his headboard and the end of his mattress. He vaguely recalled that he'd hurriedly hid it under his pillow last time when Hermione had come in. It must have slipped down into the crack. There weren't many pages left at all, so as busy as he was, the Gryffindor reserved one Sunday morning in early December to finally finish the thing. He somehow felt nervous about it, having read these diaries over several months now and feeling connected to Regulus in a way - even when at times he couldn't stand reading about the Slytherin's prejudiced and extremist ideas.

Well... it was time to find out what exactly had happened in those last months.

_May 21, 1979  
Immortality is certainly a heavy topic, one that had weighed on my mind all week now. Tearing one's soul apart, using an object to tie oneself to the very plane of existence. It sounds like a warped fairytale… I spent all of last night discussing the topic with Voldemort, who provided me with enough details about the ritual to know that it is not a pleasant or clean process. I agree with him though: we all should try our utmost to explore our magic as far as we possibly can. Magic flows through my blood, pure and strong, I owe it to the force who granted me this privilege at birth to use it to the best of my abilities. Knowing of this possibility, I cannot see how I could refuse this humbling gift. Eternity on this earth, being able to see the span of all the centuries in which magic will bloom. For it is certain that His goals will not be reached anytime soon. They are too grand for that, and we have too much resistance from all sides from short-sighted people willingly siding with Muggles and those of low blood. A new future is ahead, and regardless of what my parents say now, they would not be able to refuse my wishes any longer once I have been granted power beyond their wildest dreams, once I will be everlasting._

_May 25, 1979  
Tomorrow I will meet Him again and inform Him of my decision. I do hope that he will recognise my declaration how I mean it… agreeing to share eternity is essentially declaring my willingness to marry him, isn't it? I'm so insanely nervous… Perhaps I will still ask a bit more about this concept of a Horcrux first, how he came to know of it etcetera, to calm my nerves._

Harry fiddled with the edge of the page, somehow having a bad feeling about this whole thing. It was the end of May already and Regulus was basically going to make it clear to Voldemort that he wanted to propose? At this point, Harry couldn't even fully grasp** why** Regulus wanted to jump into marriage. During all the dinner talks and lessons, it looked like Voldemort only ever talked about himself and his interests and did not even notice Regulus' worries and problems. Even when carefully brought up, they'd been brushed aside… Being a great lover and leader -In Regulus' eyes- did not mean that they were meant to be. It was already clear as day to Harry that these two people would not be happy in the long run, even if he hadn't known Regulus' death date before.

With a feeling of dread, he turned the page, only slightly relieved when he saw a few more entries still, less so when noticing how forceful the quill had pushed on the parchment and seeing blots of ink and long-dried water staining the otherwise so smooth surface.

_May 26  
I don't know how to start writing this. Everything was a lie. Everything I knew, overturned. My fingers tremble in rage, my heart beats furiously. He deceived me, deceived everyone. Purebloods rising on top? Erasing the stain Muggles left on our society? As if… how dare he, how DARE he, one stained himself by Muggle blood, speak about this! Unknowing fool that I was, I asked about the creation of his Horcrux, and was not prepared for the story I heard. A mother barely more than a squib, giving up the remainder of her magic and pawning off a treasured artefact. A father, a plain and arrogant Muggle. This is the heritage of the great Dark Lord? How can he stand there and pretend he is grander than the rest of us, chosen by Magic herself, with that kind of history? Magic would _ _ **never** _ _ choose a Mudblood…_

''Oh Regulus,'' Harry groaned, feeling sorrowful. He'd seen this coming of course, and as much as he felt sorry for Voldemort, who clearly had started to trust and perhaps even care for his lover, it really was Voldemort's own fault as well. What had the man expected? He'd used the hatred of Purebloods against anyone who did not conform to their 'noble' standards to push his own campaign forward. Voldemort had **known** how deeply indoctrinated Regulus had been, born and raised into an ideology he fully embraced, one he had discussed to great length with his Lord. Voldemort might have thought it was enough that he'd been special, chosen as a Lord of magic, and that he'd left his past behind. Many Pure-bloods surely would see that differently, including a fanatic Black Heir who wished for nothing more than those of his blood to rise up in society. Regulus had devoted his life to living up to his family's traditions, to their expectations… Finding out that Voldemort himself partially descended from Muggles must have completely shattered his worldview.

It looked like that, when having to choose between leaving everything Regulus had been led to believe about the superiority of pure blood behind, and blaming Voldemort for being deceptive, Regulus clearly picked the latter. Regulus had thrown himself into this relationship because he admired Voldemort, his leader, the one chosen by magic, but never the man himself because he never got to know him, not really. He loved the symbol, the picture he had created in his head and once that picture was broken, couldn't face the truth.

One interesting thing that Harry did pick up still from the entries was the singular use of 'Horcrux'. It looked like even with Regulus, Voldemort hadn't wished to reveal his last ace, that he had multiple ones. Considering that Voldemort's very first Horcrux had been the diary, created by the death of Myrtle, Voldemort must have somehow twisted the story a bit too if he spoke instead of his parents.

_May 28  
It's been three days and my initial anger is over, replaced instead by dread. There are so many thoughts on my mind that I do not have the slightest clue which one I should analyse first. I know that he lied to me and the rest of our kind. That he is a hypocrite who claims to despise Mudbloods and Muggleborns despite being one himself. It raises so many questions as well. It is well-known that both magical strength and intelligence are directly linked to blood purity. So how is it possible that he is such a genius? And why is he stronger than everyone else I know, enough that even Pure-bloods shudder at the mere touch of his magic? Was the ancient line of Slytherin really so powerful that it could heal the infection of Muggle blood? Then why did he tell me that his mother, from the very same line, barely had magic at all? Nothing about this makes sense. Moreover, while all of this coming to light should have erased all of my feelings, I cry each time the thought of leaving him behind plagues me. Damn him… damn him for making me love him so._

_May 29  
I know only one thing for certain now. Whatever is truth or lie in his story, I need to take hold of my responsibilities. My family is what matters most, and as much as it pains me, with him I cannot continue my line. For the good of the Noble and most Ancient House of Black, I shall have to speak of this shameful secret with my parents and admit my mistake on shunning my previous engagement in favour of this... this man._

_June 1  
I received special permission from Headmaster Dippet to visit my family today once I told him there was an emergency. As I'd been told not to show myself, mother and father were not pleased with my sudden appearance, as expected. However, that soon changed once I told them of what I'd learned… It felt good to have their support again, even though they shocked me as well. Both of my parents apparently went to school with Voldemort, then still called Tom Riddle. Father did not have much to do with him back then as he was a few years younger, but Mother was a year older and saw the rise of how Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort at school. They'd always suspected something to be wrong with his blood, but as he was sorted into Slytherin and revealed to be the Heir of Slytherin, none could prove that he wasn't a Pure-blood. He'd claimed the name had been given to him by the people at the Muggle orphanage he had to stay at and had nothing to do with his actual parents… another lie. It was because of this that my parents never entered his ranks, not losing the suspicion over blood impurity over time as most others did._

_I can finally understand their reasoning now behind their unwillingness to accept my relationship with him. I only wish they'd told me sooner, before I would be overwhelmed by it myself. I am so glad to have gotten this off my chest now and receive approval from my family once more. The only decision I still haven't made, is how to continue forwards from now on. I have his Mark on my arm still, branded into my skin, a constant reminder. Can I stay a Death Eater whilst knowing all of this? With a leader who revealed himself to be the very enemy he claims we have to fight? I will meet him again for our weekly lessons tomorrow… Not going is not an option, I cannot deny that he is still an extremely powerful wizard whom I should not cross. I will have to keep up the pretence… _

Harry halted for a bit and rubbed his eyes, taking in what he had just read. What a rollercoaster of a week that must have been for the young Slytherin. Harry could understand the stings of betrayal Regulus must have felt, although he wasn't sure if he could feel** sorry** for the teen. Regulus had been obsessed with Voldemort, absolutely besotted, and received all the attention that he wanted. He was throwing all of that away only because Voldemort's dad had been a Muggle, despite all evidence that Voldemort was clearly a highly accomplished wizard, perhaps one of the most powerful mages to ever live. Yes, it was true that Regulus had been raised into these ideas, but that was no excuse. Sirius had been raised in the exact same environment and rejected it despite being the oldest son. Many other Pure-bloods had as well and been burned off the family tree. If he had truly wanted to, Regulus could have followed his heart once learning that there was something not adding up about the whole 'only pure blood has meaning' ideal.

_June 2, 1979,  
So much of my resolve crumbled the moment I laid eyes upon him again… I'm hopeless, and feel so lost. As soon as I felt his magic, I could not resist in the slightest. It's all so wrong and unfair that he was gifted with so much when clearly, he should not have been? Why can so many Pure-bloods ignore his heritage, or lack thereof? And I… I am not any better. It would be a lie to say that I did not still enjoy his kiss as much as before. My own body is a traitor to my blood._

_June 8, 1979  
He simply laughed when I finally asked him the burning question I have had for weeks now, why he vies for blood purity. He laughed and said 'I had thought you to be intelligent enough to figure out that the idea of blood purity is propaganda'. I… I have no words, a feel of emptiness overcame me at those words, only growing as he continued speaking, explaining how he elevated 'existing biases and prejudices' to gain a hold of the Wizarding World more easily. That he only hates Muggles and needed the support of the largest group of people who already agreed with him on that. I feel so tired. None of this was supposed to go like this._

Voldemort's lack of humanity was showing once again, Harry was disappointed to find out. He'd cared for Regulus on some level, but as a follower, someone who admired him. Someone whom Voldemort clearly found **should** admire him. Surely, he'd loved all the attention and devotion received during this relationship, but he never really got to know the real Regulus either. If he'd tried even at one point to** understand** his lover's issues instead of only thinking about himself, Voldemort would have known what he was doing to him.

_June 19, 1979  
I still love him with all my heart for reasons I do not understand. However, what he is doing cannot continue. We cannot be led into glory by a Mudblood, especially not one who lies about his roots. Whatever he says Magic wants, I cannot believe a word of it from someone born from and raised by Muggles. How could he ever connect to the issues of magical families? There is no future in following him, more powerful wizards or witches will come along in time. To make matters worse, there is still his immortality. A piece of magic so obscure and dark that it should only belong to true mages. And he, he shamefully used it. I will need to make him see that all of this is wrong, even if it costs me my life._

Harry shook his head at the words. ''It will,'' he whispered, wanting to scream at the long-dead-teenager. He only gave credit to Regulus for not instantly turning away completely, somehow deeply convinced that he could talk the Dark Lord into resigning or whatever he had in mind. Clearly, it would not work out.

The constant use of the word Mudblood peeved him as well. Even by the standards of most Pure-blood families, Voldemort was still a Half-blood as he at least descended from one long magical line, like Harry. Did the Blacks have different ideas about that?

_June 23, 1979  
That talk did not go as I wanted it to. Voldemort completely lacked any insight when I tried to suggest that he may not be suited to lead us. Of course, I did not say it so directly, but he seemed to think I was jesting and only answered with 'I will ask Magic next time I see Her'. His arrogance and flippant use of the name of Magic is so incredibly insulting… With each word of truth that leaves his lips, I grow angrier._

_June 30, 1979  
I said goodbye to Hogwarts today. It feels so strange to leave this place behind, where I have spent the last seven years of my life. Despite all of my troubles with Voldemort, I think my exams still went well. I'll know by the end of summer.  
On another note, my parents were so disappointed when I told them I still had no idea whom I wanted to marry. I did not tell them that I am still meeting up with Voldemort each week, they'll be rightfully disappointed in me if they ever find out… I cannot seem to stay away from him. What am I even doing?_

Harry couldn't even imagine going through the same, with family pressure from one side while fighting feelings oneself. Sure, his own situation wasn't easy either, but for once he was glad to not be bound to anyone by blood -a thought that sent a nagging feeling of guilt through him. He'd always longed to have parents before… Yet while alive, neither Lily nor James would ever have approved of his current feelings for the Dark lord either, be it for very different reasons. Although Harry was certain that he would have chosen love over duty, it would have been incredibly difficult to leave family behind. Even now, his relationship with Sirius had gotten far more strained, and the man didn't even know half of it…

_July 11, 1979  
I did not think much of it when he asked to borrow Kreacher for something that would aid with his immortality. Despite all of his flaws, I had at the very least expected him to respect a magical being tied to one of the oldest families in the country. And if not, that he would respect Kreacher because by now he should know that I am attached to my Elf. But no… Kreacher came back half-mad, crying and rambling about being left behind in a room filled with corpses. All of my love has turned to ash. He tried to sacrifice a pure magical being just to increase protection of his Horcrux, which by all rights he should not even be allowed to have. I was a fool to not stop him before. _

_Today, I shall officially break away from him, resign from his service, and do whatever is in my power to destroy this perversion of magic: a Mudblood Horcrux._

_July 13, 1979  
My letter to him is on its way, there is no turning back anymore. There had been so many things I wanted to say to him, so many thoughts to put on paper. In the end, I wrote none of it. He would not have understood, as he already did not when I tried to address it in person. Surely, I shall be branded a traitor and hunted down once my letter of resignation arrives. It does not matter, I do not expect my life to be long. Kreacher told me about a dreary, dark place with a potion that makes one see one horror after another. I am a dead man already, I won't force my Elf to drink it again. As long as I get my hands on that Horcrux, I am sure my crafty friend will find a way to destroy it for good, letting my soul pass on in peace. No matter the feelings I harboured for this man, he is not above the rest of us and should not pretend to be. Perhaps my letter really was a tad too short though… Kreacher described the locket to me, it should not be too hard to forge a fake one and put it in place of the real one, holding a last letter. _

Harry turned the page, and only found aged, blank parchment. For a few moments, he only stared at it, fiddling nervously with the page. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine as he realised he'd come to the end of Regulus' life, which had been left undocumented. It wasn't too hard to deduce what had happened, as the Locket had most definitely made it to Grimmauld Place. Regulus had gone to the place where Kreacher had apparated from before, probably with help from the Elf. Either he had perished that very day, or made it back and been hunted down not long afterwards. Harry wondered what exactly Regulus had written in either of the letters left for Voldemort on that day. He likely would never find out.

Closing the book, Harry stared at the old leather cover pensively. The end of Regulus' tale had been… intense to read and once more solidified Harry's belief that holding superiority over others because of whom you were born to was idiotic and downright destructive. Regulus had hung onto every word that came from the Dark Lord's lips for most of his life, spent a few months relishing in love, and lastly died in simmering hatred as love was devoured by his conviction. All of that only for blood.

It was an immense relief to Harry that Voldemort was more open now about the fact that he'd mainly used it as a tool for propaganda to rise up at the start. Was that because of Regulus? Or only because he was not as dependent on supporters with the new tactics he employed now? Or -and Harry did not really wish to ponder on that possibility too much- Voldemort was not open about that at all, only telling Harry because he had already been aware of the man's heritage. Maybe his Death Eaters still held onto that false belief.

Whatever the case, apart from anger, Harry also felt pity for Voldemort. On one hand, he had fuelled Regulus' beliefs that would lead to this, but on the other, it wasn't as if he had created those. If Voldemort would never have tried to gather dark families to his cause by pretending that he had the exact same goals in mind as they had back then, he might never even have met Regulus like this. It was a story that had been doomed to fail from the start with toxicity from both sides. Only if the Dark Lord would have kept up the lie for the rest of their lives, it may have worked out, which also wasn't a solid foundation for a relationship.

Speaking of failures, Kreacher had not been as crafty as his master had hoped for, the Locket surviving unscathed for decades and finally finding its way back to its owner, because of Harry. In the end, the Slytherin had died for nothing but warped beliefs of family lines. The Heir had faded from this world, leaving everything to his previously banished brother, who clearly wished for the Black line to finally die out and vanish from the face of the earth entirely. No, Harry couldn't see Sirius getting children, and certainly not giving them the Black name.

How much had Voldemort known about all of this? He'd spoken of Regulus' betrayal before, mostly in a delirious state, and Harry hadn't been able to gather much more than that from either Nagini or Barty. At Samhain, when Harry had told Voldemort about finding the Locket at the Black family house, the man had looked rather… pained, as if he hadn't expected that. All of this had been in 1979, only about a year before the Dark Lord would die and spend twelve years as a spirit. Had he even checked up on wherever he'd hidden the Locket before? If Harry remembered correctly, Barty had been sent out to gather all of them the moment Voldemort had realised that the diary had not been safe enough and been destroyed… Impulsively, Harry took the two-way mirror from his nightstand drawer, closed the bed hangings and drew up a silencing ward.

''Barty!'' he whispered to the mirror, clasping it. ''Barty!''

For over a minute, nothing happened, and Harry was about to put it away with disappointment when the surface rippled and a very familiar face appeared. _''Evan? Why are you calling me? Is there an emergency?'' _the other spoke with agitation in his voice. It sounded slightly metallic through the mirror, as if he was using an incredibly old phone. It was so good to see the man's face again, familiar worried eyes and scruffy beard that still wouldn't properly grow despite Barty being in his thirties. It was a shame that the Death Eater hadn't been there during Harry's last visit. Harry's face grew warm when remembering that last time they'd spoken, he had admitted his feelings for Voldemort.

''Erhm,'' he said sheepishly. ''Not an emergency really. Am I interrupting you with something?''

The other visibly relaxed. _''No, but I hadn't expected to hear from you. Our Lord said that you met him personally not too long ago.''_

''Is he there?'' Harry nervously asked. Questions about Regulus were unlikely to be received well when Voldemort himself was listening in.

''_No, he's at work.''_

''Good, good,'' he spoke in relief, which caused Barty's eyebrows to rise. 'I mean – not that I would not want to speak to him,'' he defensively added, stumbling over his own tongue. ''It's just… I wanted to ask you something and it might be a bit… sensitive.''

''_I'm listening.''_

Harry chewed on his tongue for a bit, wondering how to word this. Grabbing the mirror to call Barty so suddenly did not sound like such a good idea as it had done a minute ago. Well, backing down didn't suit him either. ''At Samhain, after you left the room, I told our Lord that I found the Locket in the Black family house.'' Barty hummed, clearly having been informed about that, which he took as a sign to continue. ''I wasn't exactly specific about it, but it was in Regulus Black's room.''

''_He figured that,''_ Barty replied, sounding a tad sad as the crow-feet in the corners of his eyes deepened.

''It wasn't all I found there. There was also some… some writing. It implied that Regulus had plans of stealing the Horcrux and leaving a fake one in its stead, with a letter to Volde- our Lord. He clearly did not succeed in destroying the real on as intended, but since you were the one to check all of the locations to bring the vessels back, I was wondering… did you find any notes? It didn't look like our Lord was aware of whom had stolen it until I brought it back.''

Barty heaved a deep sigh and ruffled his hair nervously. '_'I think he suspected already… Few knew of his method of immortality. __**I**__ didn't even know until last year, only that he'd managed somehow. However, I did not want to rub salt in wounds that should better stay closed, you know? After you told me that he'd called you Regulus and asked about it, I figured that he still hadn't completely… healed. When I did find a fake locket with a note in place from Regulus, I thought it better to not inform him about that.''_

''Was that really your decision to make?'' Harry asked, surprised that someone as loyal as Barty would hide such an important thing.

''_Maybe not, but I thought… what's the use? Black is dead, it's best to move forwards. Getting angry at a ghost isn't worth it. Why should I add to my Lord's misery by bringing such a message? Surely, it was already enough for him to suspect who had removed that vessel…''_

''I suppose you're right… and he has it back now anyways. Could I ask what the note said?''

Barty shrugged a bit uncomfortably. _''Something about knowing he'd die, planning to destroy the Horcrux and hoping that the Dark Lord would be mortal once more when finally meeting his match. I burned the thing. Our Lord has enough on his mind already.'_'

''Thanks, for telling me,'' Harry muttered.

''_Hey, Evan?''_

''Yeah?'' he answered, shifting to get a bit more comfortable, staring at the man he had come to consider as a mixture of a close friend and an older brother.

''_I don't know what happened back then between them, nor do I want to find out. But I just want you to know… if you ever hurt him like that… I won't be able to forgive you.''_ It sounded pained, as if Barty had to force the words out, but his hard stare was full of resolve.

Harry wished that he could instantly promise that he'd never betray the Dark Lord. With how unstable the man had proven to be though, that was a difficult promise to make. People could change, Voldemort might suddenly give into that hunger that always seemed to plague him and go onto a path where Harry could not follow anymore. ''I will stay by him through much,'' he said instead. ''That I can swear. I wish to see the goal that he has now fulfilled, and you know my current feelings towards him. I also realise that if war will break out at one point, I cannot protect everyone. That I might have to face my friends on the opposite side of a battlefield if I cannot convince them. However, anything can happen in the future. You told me about what happened last time. His plans derailed, the country was thrown into chaos and he started murdering and torturing people to keep them under control. If he is so far gone then to not back down again, if he suddenly goes crazy and decides to torture other people I care about, I won't stay passive.''

His answer did not please Barty, who frowned deeply. _''You should have more faith in him. And more loyalty.''_

''He is a man, a rather troubled man at that. Not a God.''

''_He is the voice and hand of a god.''_

The words sounded so convinced that Harry did not wish to speak against that. Truth be told, he did not know** what** exactly magic was, and was not going to argue religion with a fanatic. The force that gave him his powers was closer to any descriptions of a godly being than anything else he'd encountered though, so he did lean toward the same opinion as Barty there. ''Look, I do have faith in him. I don't think anything like last time will happen. You are there now, and he allows me to talk him out of his less sane episodes too. I'm just saying, just in case… In this crazy world anything can happen.''

''_That is not what you said before. Did you not claim that you'd do anything for him? That, as a wizard, it is only right to fulfill Magic's wishes?'' _Barty accused. _''There should be no room for 'what if's' in there, Evan.''_

''I do believe in magic's goals, the balance of all. But back then, I had not yet seen him break down the moment five muggle tourists walked up to us. In that same conversation, he claimed to have mastered his inhumanity and to stick by his own codex to not give into the need for hurting others unnecessarily, surely you can recall that too? He greatly overestimates his own abilities and is prone to lapses when it suits him. He is not** perfect**, Barty. He is** human**. As he should be. Putting him on such a pedestal is exactly what enables him.''

Barty simply shook his head. _''He is far more than human. You don't want to see that as you wish for an equal to share your feelings with. But for that, he should not be forced to step back,__** you**__ need to grow. Now, I'll go and try to forget all of your doubts, so I won't have to yell at you. I wish you good luck with school.''_

The mirror went blank and Harry groaned. That could have gone better.

Was it really such an offense to want to have a way out in case Voldemort went on a mindless killing spree all of a sudden? Sure, he'd come to trust the man to reign himself in, but Harry could feel the raging, murderous emotions at times and was pretty sure that** he** would have given in at some point when feeling the same constantly. He had made up his mind** generally**. It was just like with Ron and Hermione: they were his best friends and he'd never do anything to actively harm them… However, if Ron would, for example, decide one day that he had enough and slit the throats of every Hogwarts student, Harry wouldn't sit by idly and say 'oh, he's my friend so I can excuse this'. And while with Ron that was a very long stretch, it unfortunately **had** happened before with Voldemort already when the first war got so out of hand that people held it in memory as one of the worst tragedies that Wizarding Britain had ever seen. The man Harry had sworn loyalty to -and fallen for- wasn't the most stable individual around. He'd do everything in his power to support the man, of course, and would absolutely even stick by if things ever started going downhill again to see if he could fix it, but not everything could be predicted to be set right in the end.

It was unfortunate that out of all areas of magic, divination had to be the most unreliable one. If only he could be sure… yet he couldn't, and he refused to fault himself for making back-up plans like every other reasonable human being.

At least he'd gotten the answers he'd wanted to out of Barty, even if it hadn't been much. Harry placed the diary back under his bed first, then changed his mind and moved all of them to his trunk. He surely wouldn't be rereading them, so found it only fair to return them to Grimmauld place as soon as possible. Which wouldn't even be too far from now.

Sirius hadn't stayed in contact as much as Harry liked - although he himself was to blame too, often only replying quite late as he didn't know what to write, especially with Umbridge checking the post. They still did send occasional letters back and forth though, Harry giving Sirius brief overviews of the situation at Hogwarts and his godfather writing about his life. The topics were kept as neutral as possible and were highly coded, with 'your hawk' being used by Harry to ask after Buckbeak and 'get-togethers' referring to Order meetings. The Order may sweep Sirius being an official criminal under the rug a bit, Harry has not forgotten and neither would Umbridge have. Being linked to an escaped fugitive would be exactly the material she would dive down upon to get Harry expelled from Hogwarts. In either case, though the letters were scarce, they still did communicate and Harry was thankfully invited to Grimmauld again for the Christmas holidays.

Upon announcing that, Ron had looked rather disappointed as his family had offered to let Harry stay at the burrow as a surprise, but a promise was a promise. And Harry truly was excited to spend some alone time with Sirius again. Or as alone as it would get with Grimmauld still being used as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Luckily, Ron had accepted it easily once Harry said they could still floo towards each other and spend some time together.

What was more unfortunate, was that Hermione's parents apparently wished to go on a skiing holiday with their daughter, throwing soot into the plans for Christmas shopping a bit. In the end, Hermione had arranged it so that she and Harry would go for a quick shopping spree on the very first day of the holidays, as the Grangers had booked their flight to the Alps only on Sunday. Harry did not really look forward to pushing through crowds of Muggles on a Saturday in London the day before Christmas Eve, with everyone doing their emergency last-minute Christmas shopping, but it was the only chance they had. Voldemort's birthday would be soon after already and Harry didn't want to go alone either.

It was an odd thought that the end of the year was approaching so fast already. Merely two more weeks of school before the holidays would arrive. This weekend was the last one that Harry expected to spend relaxing, as the week before the holidays practically all of their teachers had scheduled tests. He'd always thought that tests throughout the year were rather redundant as only the end-of-year exams really mattered in deciding who would pass the year or not, and especially more so this year as they'd get the O.W.L.s. Still, failing to study would result in house points being taken away, which would be unnecessary attention on him that he really didn't want. They were good practice for the O.W.L.s in June too, as Hermione kept telling everyone who did or did not wish to hear.

Harry sometimes had a suspicion that Hermione must somehow have gotten her hands on a time-turner again too. She seemed to race through the castle to be everywhere and do everything at once: Prefect duties -which included having to decorate the entire castle this month-, studying at the library, attending all of her classes, helping Harry with teaching the D.A., beating back her massive amount of homework and spending time knitting hats and socks for House-Elves in case any of them would wish for freedom. She'd laughed when he mentioned his suspicion and said that unfortunately, she wasn't allowed a time-turner anymore after third year. His respect for her grew by the day, no regular human could deal with all of that at the same time.

He and Ron did what they could to help her in between their own workload, mostly helping her put up decorations and getting some other D.A. members involved too. Harry even asked Dobby for help to distribute the clothing items, which the elf did enthusiastically, even as he whispered sadly that he hadn't yet been able to convince any of the other elves to actually take part in gaining freedom. Instead, the little elf wore as many of Hermione's knitted items as he could by himself, making for a comical sight.

At the moment, he was sitting on his bed, nose deep into his Herbology textbook. Professor Sprout had asked all of them to choose one plant from a list she'd given them, to analyse and show practical handling skills on for the test next week. Harry still hadn't figured out which one to choose, none of the listed plants were any he particularly liked. In combative situations he'd certainly be able to handle all of them easily, but the point of Herbology was to make the plants feel better, not burn them like weeds.

''Hey Harry!'' he heard as the door was opened.

''Hi Neville,'' he replied absentmindedly, frowning at the page he was at, which described the effects of '_Puffapods'_.

''Uhm…'' the other said, clearing his throat a bit, making Harry look up in bewilderment.

Realising that Neville's greeting hadn't just been casual in passing by, he sheepishly said: ''Oh, sorry. Is there anything…''

''I wanted to ask you something about the next meeting tonight,'' the boy spoke, stumbling over the words a bit and nervously shuffling his feet. ''Or.. or are you very busy now?''

''Just looking up some plants to pick one for my Herbology project, don't worry about it,'' he answered, putting the book to the side and inviting Neville to sit down with him.

''Great,'' his friend spoke in relief. ''It's just that, I wanted to ask you if we could do a revision at one point again. You know how forgetful I am and… well. I know revisions aren't the favourite subject of most people, but I feel like my spells would slip otherwise. There's not really anyone who wants to practise separately with me in the Room of Requirement and I can't train most of these spells by myself.'' Neville had said all of it in one rush of breath and looked extremely guilty.

''That's a great idea,'' Harry spoke encouragingly. ''Were there any particular spells of our November sessions that you want to repeat?''

''The Inverted-Movement Hex was rather difficult to get down,'' Neville admitted. ''I even struggled at the end with it. I think it's incredibly useful though, to get out of a situation without actually harming anyone. Same thing with the Knee-Reversal Hex. I don't really feel ready to get started with such complicated things like elemental magic without even having immobilising hexes down. Of the fire spells that you showed us last week, we've only ever covered Incendio in class before, and I still find it very hard to control even after those hours of practice. I'm sorry, it's just… all going very fast,'' Neville finished, with a slightly desperate look on his face. ''I know we had many lessons in these two months, but we've already covered twelve spells, not even counting those of this month.''

''I could ask if anyone else wants to do some revision today,'' Harry promised. He hadn't realised that he might be going too fast. He'd learned most of these spells already for the Tournament, but of course he'd been under much more pressure then, than his students were now. Maybe he would have gone slower with a smaller group, but some of those in higher years got easily bored and started getting restless if he just let them practise the same spell all over again. With the help of two Headboys and a few Prefect who were teaching alongside him, it was easier to up the speed…''I do need to think of the group as a whole too,'' he decided. ''Those who want to stick with elemental spells can revise the fire spells of last week and the others can revise everything we practised in November, okay?''

''What if no-one wants to?'' the boy mumbled, grimacing.

''Then I'll practise it with you,'' Harry promised, making Neville smile hesitantly.

True to his word, Harry instantly announced his new plan for the evening once every member had trickled through the doors. No-one seemed to mind his compromise too much as he wasn't forcing anyone to do either, and a few of the younger students indeed did look relieved upon hearing that they could go back to practising some of the spells they'd already been taught a couple of times before instead of starting with a series of fire spells that became more complicated over time. Harry took note of that and instantly scribbled a reminder in his notebook about needing to still keep everything age-appropriate. Just because Hermione had already mastered some fifth-year spells in her first or second year did not mean that everyone could. Teaming up in groups after the holidays might be a good solution…

''Before we start, any questions still?'' he asked. Some shook their heads and already searched partners, although a few stayed behind.

''I still didn't really get the difference between the two fire spells we are at now,'' Michael spoke. ''I mean, both produce fire, right?''

Harry thought about it for a while before answering: ''While true, Incendio basically starts a medium-sized fire if pointed at something flammable and produces a medium-sized fireball when shot into the air. Inflamari on the other hand, can only be used on objects and adapts its size to the item you are trying to burn and the amount of power you feed into it. I'll put it like this: if I put together a pile of twigs and cast Incendio on it, it'll start a nice campfire. If I cast Inflamari, the one twig I am pointing at will start to burn and I'll have to hope that it jumps to the other twigs. If I need to burn the tip of a piece of rope, then Incendio is a very, very bad choice as there won't be any rope left, got it?''

''Yeah, thanks man,'' Michael said. ''What are the next steps on fire spells?''

Harry flipped through his notebook to look at everything he'd scribbled down about lessons plans. ''Fire breath, fire stream, a charm to fire-proof clothing, a flame shield and finally the lava spell Torrens Igneus. We should be able to manage all of those in January if we can meet up often enough. Most of them follow the same principle. Perhaps then we can make a start on different elements too, plus specific defensive spells against them. There's so much more to elemental magic than I ever thought once I started researching dragons and merfolk for the Tournament,'' he spoke, getting a few murmurs in agreement. Harry clapped his hands. ''Alright then, let's get started!''

Effortlessly, he fell into the role of teacher that had been appointed to him, helping people left and right, giving instructions and preventing disasters. Hermione and Cedric stood at the ready to extinguish any fires that got out of hand, such as when Padma's aim was off and her fireball shot a bit too high, the golden tinsel that Dobby had already placed all over the room in festive spirit lighting up like fireworks. Fred and George whistled simultaneously at the sight of the long string burning up and instantly put their heads together.

''No Weasley Wheezes experiments here,'' Hermione scolded them, whacking one of them with a twig of mistletoe that had fallen to the ground.

''Hermione!' one of them said, placing a hand over his heart in shock. ''We wouldn't dare to prank our friends here.''

''Or more than friends?'' the other threw in, wiggling his eyebrows at the piece of mistletoe in her hand. ''Usually you're just supposed to hold it above the head, but I admire how straightforward you are!''

''George Weasley, that was** not** an invitation!'' Hermione sputtered, hiding the leaves and berries behind her back. Harry found it mostly admirable that she apparently had correctly guessed whom she was speaking to. So far, only Angelina had been able to manage to keep the two apart -which **was** dead useful for Quidditch games-.

''Alright, get back to it guys, or I'll burn your bums off,'' Harry interjected to save Hermione from the Twins. She sent him a grateful look and joined up with Terry as he had some trouble aiming as well. Harry turned around to check on Neville and the younger students like Dennis and Astoria. Before he could reach them however, Draco blocked his path.

''Potter,'' he greeted coolly. Harry tensed up, the use of his last name was not a good sign. Truthfully, he'd avoided Draco and the other Slytherin D.A. members outside of their meetings after the whole Parkinson incident, for all their sake's. He was fully aware of how much flak Draco and the others had gotten from their housemates for not taking part in bullying Ron and not fully condemning Harry lashing back. Thankful though he was, Harry did not think it would have been appreciated if he'd made it worse by suddenly being all buddy with them… The Greengrass sisters seemed to have understood that, as well as Adrian. Daphne had told him once in private that, although she did not like the actions from the rest of her House now she'd gotten to know Ron, she thought Harry had overstepped unspoken boundaries by attacking a student in their own common room. Adrian as well had forbidden Harry from setting foot in there again and refused to give the new passwords out, but had not treated him differently. Draco however… well, Draco did not like being ignored, to put it lightly.

The Slytherin Prefect had gone out of his way to show how displeased he was with Harry – even though Harry wasn't sure which aspect the other was** most** angry about, him storming into the Slytherin common room, attacking Pansy or avoiding any and all Slytherins after. Maybe it was all three, he wouldn't put it past Draco to hold a grudge about everything on that list. Whatever the case, even during the D.A. meetings he deliberately had avoided speaking to Harry, going so far as to dictate messages to others and pretending Harry was air. It was annoyingly childish, even more so as Draco was supposed to be an example for the rest of his House mates as a Prefect. The Gryffindor hadn't wanted to give into the little temper tantrum, having much more important things to focus on during these meetings than one offended student. It wasn't as if Harry had ever become close friends with Draco or anything. At most, they'd had a tense alliance that depended on neither of them flying at each other's throats anymore. And Harry really got very close to doing so a few times upon realising that the other teen could still be a vicious bully – he just directed it at other people than Harry or his friends nowadays. Mostly first-years.

Harry was not Draco's personal conscience though, and while he tried to minimise the damage by talking to the boy about his behaviour or getting Adrian and other students to do so, he was ultimately not responsible for the boy's actions. It was still a shame, as it was the major factor that hindered Harry from ever seeing Draco as more than a former enemy that he still did not like being around much. After discovering a particularly nasty prank where the Slytherin had cursed some Ravenclaws who had apparently done nothing apart from not moving out of the way fast enough, Ron had asked why he wouldn't deny the prat from coming to the D.A., at which Harry had taken it into serious consideration. However, Draco didn't interrupt the lessons and Harry firmly believed that everyone who truly wanted to be taught, should be given that opportunity. Moreover, he still really did hope that at one point, the Slytherin would get over his arrogance and mellow out a bit. He'd seen enough examples now of former enemies turning out to be decent enough people. Even with** Snape**, he was having second thoughts about how much of his hatred against the man was still justifiable. Not giving Draco other chances would be unfair too.

Suddenly, the image came to mind of that first lesson on the Unforgivables, where Barty had cast the Imperius curse on Malfoy, who'd confessed all of his insecurities to Harry. Back then, it had looked like they might have been able to start a friendship… And then the other just had to ruin it by taunting Harry and going back to his old ways. To say the least, it was frustrating.

''Potter, stop gaping,'' Draco snapped, and Harry realised that he'd been just staring in stupid silence for a while.

''I thought I'd ignore you for once and see how you like it,'' he retorted instantly. ''Back to 'Potter', are we?''

The blond's mouth twitched into a scowl for a moment. ''You are the one who started pretending I didn't exist anymore, and that after I defended bloody weasel.''

''Yet now you're instantly back at insulting him yourself,'' Harry unhappily replied. ''You really wonder why I won't talk to you with that attitude?''

''That's not… I…'' Draco stuttered, his pale cheeks getting a pink tint. ''That was a bad start,'' he grudgingly admitted. Then, he subtly moved his head to indicate wanting to speak somewhere to the side of the room. Harry complied and sneakily drew up a silencing barrier so they would not be disturbed. As soon as he did so, the Slytherin slightly relaxed again and withdrew a small scroll of parchment from his pocket. With a frown, he said: ''During the Prefect meeting, I was given this. From the Headmaster.''

Harry recognised the scroll easily as another invitation for the 'lessons' that had been on hold for so long now. Dumbledore suddenly wishing to see him wasn't what threw him off most though. ''Why would he ask** you** to deliver this to me?'' he wondered aloud. ''I mean, Hermione was surely at that meeting too. And Dean…''

''I don't know,'' Draco spoke, looking uncomfortable. ''Surely it has to mean something? Do you think he knows anything of importance?''

''I can't even begin to guess…'' Harry answered with equal worry. Dumbledore asking his former school rival whom he barely spoke to, to deliver this invitation when one of Harry's friends could have, felt very off. Had Dumbledore found something out and was using this as a warning? He couldn't think of any other reasons. ''Thanks for the delivery though,'' he added.

Draco shrugged. ''It's not as if I could have kept it, surely the Headmaster would have been alerted if I hadn't handed it over to you. What is it, anyways? An invitation to receive the Order of Merlin?'' he sarcastically drawled, although Harry could hear genuine curiosity beneath the snide comment.

''He has this ridiculous idea that me talking with him about the Dark Lord's past will somehow help me defeat him,'' Harry sighed. ''Even **if** I'd still be out to off him, it's not teaching me anything.'' He didn't consider the lessons a complete waste of time though. Finding out more about Voldemort's past was always rather insightful. He had wondered when the next 'lesson' would take place… the last one had been when Dumbledore had arranged for Occlumency lessons with Snape. That had been months ago, the one and only time that Harry had entered Dumbledore's office this school year.

Draco tensed up and whispered: ''Does** he** know about this?''

''Of course. I wouldn't be so stupid as to neglect mentioning one of his worst enemies gathering information about his past. Anyways… Can I take this moment to talk to you about** our** issues? Because while I admit that I started with ignoring you, I in no means did that to insult you. I do appreciate you not participating in Parkinson's bullying to get Gryffindor to lose.''

''Then why be so cold afterwards?'' Draco asked, giving him a confused look that he probably would never admit to.

''I saw that the other Slytherins were already questioning you, Theodore, Daphne, Astoria and Adrian about not going along with it. One day, when you were already out of the classroom, I heard Parkinson and Bulstrode gossiping about how too many Slytherins of our year were starting to suck up to Gryffindors or some bull like that. She even suggested that you were leaving your family behind and would be found in Dumbledore's ranks in no time. I thought it better to cut off contact for a while altogether. I thought that was clear. I did the same with the rest of the Slytherin D.A. members and I'm still having normal conversations with them during meetings here.''

Draco looked rather dumbfounded. ''Here I thought that you were blaming me for the actions of the rest of my House even when I explicitly didn't do anything.''

''I don't like generalising. And I don't think that all Slytherins are evil anymore,'' Harry huffed.

''I'd still have liked to be notified.''

Deciding to be the better man, Harry sighed and spoke: ''Sorry, I guess I messed up. If you want to, I can start acting like before the whole incident again.'' Now he'd shown his reason, he didn't expect Draco to actually agree to that, but the blond surprised him.

''Please do. I've spoken in your defence several times now and would not like to be proven wrong in the eyes of my House-mates. I don't care if they think I am the one switching sides, I know they'll all be proven wrong soon.''

''Soon?'' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. ''Your statement implies that I'll be revealed as a follower of the dark soon. The Dark Lord isn't planning any grand revelations or outbreaks of war.''

Draco smiled mysteriously. ''Maybe you are not the one who knows everything, Potter. Now, it looks like your students are in need of instructing. Better not let them wait.''

As much as Harry wanted to keep questioning Draco, the other was right: many people had stopped their practise and glancing over to him, clearly waiting for new instructions. Filing this information away in his mind, Harry broke through the silencing barrier and returned to his usual position, even as a feel of worry gnawed on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Problems are finally being mended! And a few new ones coming up, maybe?  
Seriously considered splitting this chapter up so it would only have been about Regulus, but then figured it might have gotten a bit TOO short.  
Next up, finally another lesson with Dumbledore..
> 
> Please leave a comment to let me know your thought :)


	57. The Phoenix and the Basilisk

Tentatively, Harry opened the heavy oak doors at the top of the winding staircase to Dumbledore's office, stepping inside. A lyrical trill came from the side and he spotted a flash of movement in the corner of his eyes as Fawkes ruffled his feathers. Ignoring the bird, Harry's eyes were trained on the bearded man behind the desk, who was dressed in heavy, deep purple robes today. He didn't understand the people who claimed Dumbledore had a horrid sense of style. Sure, it was more than a bit eccentric even for wizards, but it wasn't as if the man walked through the school in bright pink like Umbridge or draped an eye-hurting cyan cloak like Lockhart across his shoulders. The embroidered star constellations on the dark fabric, done in fine thread, shimmered lightly with each movement, especially so when the Headmaster rose.

''Harry, precisely on time. Or even a tad early?'' he asked, looking at one of those odd, old-fashioned wizard pocket watches that Harry still could not make sense of. He was relieved that muggle-style clocks and watches had also been accepted into wizarding society, as he still didn't know how to read the typical magical clocks. He quickly glanced down at his own watch - which had broken down during the Second Task due to it not being waterproof and which Hermione had repaired for him with a series of nifty spells as a belated birthday present. He indeed was a single minute early.

''You wished to speak to me, Professor?'' he asked, not deeming it necessary to answer the Headmaster's question. His voice was tense, he realised too late, but Harry couldn't help himself. The closer he'd grown to Voldemort, the more uncomfortable he felt in the presence of the Dark Lord's greatest enemy - even if Harry did not exactly consider Dumbledore his** own** enemy. He had tried to, at the start, when all of his anger and disappointment had grown into deep resentment against the old man. But Harry was older now and had learned -from Voldemort no less- to have a more nuanced look on life and on people. Throughout all of last year, the Headmaster had given him no reason to feel personally attacked anymore, nor had he been tricked or used as feared. Dumbledore thought he was righteous and in a way that was true. The man tried his utmost to protect what he believed it, be it Hogwarts or more insubstantial goals.

It was a shame that Harry also tried to protect those he loved, and that Dumbledore was currently plotting to kill the one man Harry would absolutely not watch die, even if it cost him his own life.

Not that the Headmaster should be aware of that. Without that knowledge standing in between them, they were still mentor and student. At most, there had been suspicion of Harry dabbling in the Dark Arts by himself to survive the Triwizard Tournament. Over time, Harry had learned that when Dumbledore offered him tea, the fear of it being laced or poisoned was unfounded. So when the Headmaster smiled widely and gestured for him to sit down, he had no reason to believe it was anything but genuine. Nothing but the panicked voice of Draco Malfoy in the back of his head, reminding Harry that Dumbledore may have finally dug up some dirt. He'd wait and see, there was no need to instantly get defensive.

''I am glad to see that Mr Malfoy delivered my invitation to you,'' the man said, causing Harry to stiffen. So straight to the point?

He sucked in a breath and took a sip of offered tea to stall answering. His burned tongue thought that move to be a mistake. ''I was surprised when Malfoy was the one to give your invitation to me, Sir,'' he finally answered honestly. ''Especially as both Gryffindor Prefects were apparently available at the same time.'' He quickly withdrew his hands from the cup of tea and put them under the table, very aware of the slightly off length and weight of his new arm. His friends may have been too busy to notice, anything strange about it might catch Dumbledore's eye when sitting so close. The school robes hid most of it of course, and Voldemort had added a very local, precise illusion that made it look like the scars from Harry's detentions were still there, but that was all. The shape of the nails could still be an indicator that he did not want to draw attention to.

Dumbledore leaned back and stirred his cup with a tiny spoon, expression being one of complete relaxation, even friendliness. ''I was impressed last year by how much you, Ms Delacour and the other Champions took the true purpose of the Triwizard Tournament to heart. It was a delight to find that you were attempting to not only restore harmony between various wizarding schools, but also within Hogwarts itself. As the Sorting Hat warned us in his song at the start of the year, holding on together against forces of darkness is important. With one of our dear and respected members of staff reporting to the Minister himself, I found it a relief to see some of my students trying to build bridges across age-old rivalry. What a shame then, that this had to fall apart over a single game of Quidditch.'' Blue eyes glittered as Dumbledore peered through his half-moon spectacles. ''I hope this served as an opportunity to talk things out with Mr Malfoy?''

It was all Harry could do to not openly gape. Dumbledore had tried to orchestrate a **talk** between Harry and Draco? That was it? His evil manipulative scheme turned out to be wanting students to mend what he thought to be a friendship that was falling apart? ''It… it did,'' he stammered. ''We're... on speaking terms again.''

''How pleasing to hear,'' Dumbledore hummed, clearly satisfied.

Harry could not leave him in his happy illusion for long though. ''Professor, just because Draco and I get along now, doesn't mean that the inner house relationships aren't threatened still. I… I count quite a few people from other Houses among my friends now, including a few Slytherins, but that might not be enough. Parkinson and a few others have made it clear that any Slytherins who are close to me or other Gryffindors are dead to her, and she was very quick to tell on me to Umbridge.''

''**Professor** Umbridge,'' was Dumbledore's only commentary, annoying Harry.

''What I'm trying to say, is that** Professor** Umbridge,'' he said through clenched teeth. ''Is succeeding in her attempts to split us up. Several students, including Cedric Diggory, have pleaded with staff members to step up, and Professor McGonagall told me that she'd do all she could. We've yet to see any results. Professor Umbridge still does as she pleases.''

''Minerva indeed did all she could,'' Dumbledore muttered, all satisfaction gone from his face. ''As did I. But the times where a Headmaster or Deputy Headmistress could carry all the weight in Hogwarts are sadly over. The Board of school Governors continues to veto my decisions, as does Cornelius personally, who surely also has a hand in the former. Hogwarts is a school, unfortunately an institution regulated by the government. I must apologise, my boy. In this matter, my hands are tied.''

The answer baffled Harry for several reasons, not least as Dumbledore wasn't prone to admit his lack of power. He'd done so only a few times before in extreme situations, such as when Hogwarts had been on the verge of closing down, or right before Sirius' escape ''So what, you're admitting that… that you and the staff have no power? That you are puppets?''

He tensed up when Dumbledore's silver beard moved in a way that indicated the man had clenched his jaw. His eyes were harder than Harry had ever seen before, and he dared only quickly glance at them for fear of the man trying to cast Legilimency. Fully blocking any attempt was possible now, but Harry did not wish Dumbledore to realise just** how** good he'd gotten at it if he could prevent that.

''Not **officially**,'' the old man said in such a way that Harry shivered lightly. ''I can promise you that I will always be there for Hogwarts and its students, even when it looks like I have abandoned this castle. Not all magic is detectable.'' His grudging respect for Dumbledore slightly grew at those words. ''What we need, is for everyone to realise that there is no future in division. I thank you for your efforts in trying to live by this principle and hope that more students will follow your example. I only ask you to not be obvious in Dolores' presence. I have a hunch as to her true plans… all of them require support from within. More than she currently has. _**Finite**_.'' Dumbledore spoke, waving his hand at something behind Harry. The Gryffindor turned around in confusion and saw at that moment that the portraits of several Headmasters started to stir. Harry hadn't even realised that they'd apparently been frozen before. Were the portraits not loyal to the Headmaster? Or did some have a mind of their own? Harry had never thought about it before, but with portraits able to move everywhere through Hogwarts, it could very well be that Dumbledore had spies hanging on his own walls.

''Onto the matter at hand, my boy.'' The Headmaster finished his tea and set the cup down on its saucer. ''I have not been absent without good reason. My findings were… worth picking apart, and I thought we might best do so together.''

It was as he'd thought, then. The prolonged pause since the first visit of this year was because Dumbledore had needed to first find new information to share. That he'd found anything at all was worrying. With each memory of Voldemort, Dumbledore came closer to revealing the secret of Horcruxes. Well, the Dark Lord was convinced that the Headmaster already knew** of** them, just not their number or location. But with Dumbledore's search turning up nothing but memories as time passed, the chances increased of the man turning on Harry to gain full control of at least one Horcrux. It was terrifying to not know for sure how much Dumbledore suspected -or was certain of- regarding the piece of soul in Harry's head.

Maybe he should reconsider his earlier thought about Dumbledore not being his personal enemy… there was no known way of extracting a soul once planted inside an object. The same likely applied to living Horcruxes. If Dumbledore really was serious about destroying Voldemort's means of immortality before attempting to murder the Dark Lord, he would have to strike Harry down just the same as the other pieces. Was there already a plan in place to do so?

Patiently, Harry waited for Dumbledore to float the Pensieve over to the desk and retrieve two vials with shimmering silver threads in them. The fresh label of the first read _'MG on TR'_. Whose memory had the man been able to extract this time?

He found out soon enough, silently observing the scene of a young Voldemort confronting his uncle, Morfin Gaunt. Harry's opinion on Morfin already hadn't been very high after seeing the crazy man in the memory of Bob Ogden, and it plummeted further as Morfin slurred and spat. The memory went dark soon, as if the light had simply turned off, and Dumbledore led him back to the office. The purpose of being shown the memory was clear: Morfin had pushed the family ring that would later become a Horcrux in his nephew's face. Harry had held it over a year ago during one of the first rituals Voldemort had put him through, back when he didn't know the first thing about Horcruxes yet.

Instead of focusing on the object, Harry's mind was on a very different matter. Voldemort had resented his Muggle family for rejecting him, going so far as to murder them and cut all ties. He'd erased his name, changed his looks, all to be free from the people who had refused to acknowledge his existence.

Why then, was the reaction so different here? This short conversation with his half-crazed uncle was the singular conversation Voldemort had had with his magical family as far as Harry knew. Merope had died shortly after birth and Marvolo had apparently passed away in prison without ever meeting Voldemort himself. Although Morfin hadn't said it so directly, it was clear what he thought of Voldemort's parents... Both the Muggle his sister had taken a fancy to and, in his own words, 'the little slut' he considered Merope to be. So why was it that Morfin had been left alive? Why had Voldemort still taken up the cloak of the Heir of Slytherin when he had received just as much scorn from the Gaunts?

''A Knut for your thoughts,'' Dumbledore spoke, not unkindly.

Harry focused on the man in front of him. ''I was just wondering about why Voldemort didn't kill Morfin,'' he truthfully admitted. ''The conversation wasn't exactly a warm welcome home.'' As if it wasn't enough that Voldemort had been rejected by the Muggle side of his family, the Gaunts didn't want him either. If that had come as a shock, the young Dark Lord hadn't shown it.

''Ah, family can be a complicated thing,'' the Headmaster sighed. ''While related, why would Voldemort put expectations on an estranged uncle that had little to do with him?''

''He was the only living tie still to Slytherin, Voldemort used that title to gain power,'' Harry argued. ''If Morfin had said anything, to anyone…''

Dumbledore shook his head. ''Surely, you saw that the memory was incomplete? I was only able to extract this after a long, **long** search. I found Morfin in Azkaban, as he was the one who officially took the blame for the murder of Tom Riddle Senior, Mary Riddle and Thomas Riddle. Voldemort saw Morfin's hatred for them and used it to his own advantage. Framing others was a tactic he employed often. With Hagrid, with Morfin, and many others. One of that will be shown in the next memory as well. Are you ready?''

''Not yet,'' Harry spoke, filing away the questions that popped up in his head about this habit of framing people. ''Can you tell me more about this memory still? When you say that Morfin was considered the murderer, does this mean that…''

''Oh yes, this was the very same day that Voldemort confronted his Muggle family as well. Not a day of happy reunions, as you mentioned… Though that wasn't his only objective. Morfin confessed to his crime so proudly that the authorities took him instantly. There was no trial, and no suspicion of foul play being involved as he** seemed** sound of mind. The only detail that eluded the Aurors was why Morfin kept talking about a ring he lost… the very ring he showed Tom Riddle in the memory you just saw. It was one more trophy that Voldemort gathered throughout his life. As will also become more evident in the next memory, which is why I wished to show you these together. Come, let us move onto it.''

Not entirely satisfied with the short answer, Harry waited for Dumbledore to pour in the next silver thread, watching as it touched the rippling surface, which absorbed it. Not waiting for the Headmaster's sign, Harry already leaned forward and touched the liquid with the tip of his nose.

Harry was unfamiliar with the room they landed in, and even more unfamiliar with the woman who was doing her make-up while being complimented by her House-elf. Dumbledore joined him a moment later and quietly explained these to be Hepzibah Smith and her House-Elf Hokey, awaiting the arrival of one Tom Riddle Jr. The woman herself, who was bustling about, did not catch Harry's interest as much as the room around. It was stuffed full with glass cabinets, high-quality furniture and expensive treasures: shining orbs, ornated mirrors, boxes of a dozen different polished materials of which he could only guess the contents. Combined with the Headmaster's previous hints about Voldemort's urge of gathering priceless objects, he fully understood why this house in particular would be so attractive to the young Dark Lord. It reminded him a bit of Borgin and Burkes, if the prices there would be a thousand times more expensive.

Her guest arrived and Harry nearly did a double-take as he couldn't help but stare at the man who entered. He was about the same age as the Locket-Horcrux, perhaps a little bit younger and with a slightly healthier skin tone. What caught his attention most was that, unlike the Horcrux that had shared several with Harry, he wasn't wearing customary robes, instead dressed up in a black suit in Muggle-fashion. It completely threw him off that **Voldemort** of all people would ever wear something so remotely Muggle…

Bile rose in Harry throat as the woman gushed over Voldemort, the flowers he'd brought, his polite smile and smart looks. Great, so she was absolutely taken with him. Even as Voldemort tried to cut right down to business, she kept offering him iced cakes and calling him a 'naughty boy', at which Harry really could not repress his disgusted grimace. Part of him wished to deny this was a memory altogether, so he could rip her grabby hands off Voldemort. Because of how hard he was glaring daggers at her while trying to control the raging fire in his chest, he missed most of their actual conversation, up to the point where she leaned closer and whispered excitedly about a 'secret', which her House-Elf then brought in.

All of Harry's jealousy was forgotten as he gazed upon the treasures she handed over. A small, silver cup with a badger that Voldemort quickly identified as having belonged to Hufflepuff, and then there it was. Slytherin's Locket. The red gleam in Voldemort's eyes even caught Hepzibah's attention, who faltered for a bit before playing it off as a trick of the light as his eyes returned to normal.

Dumbledore grasped Harry's arm gently and drew them both back to the office.

''Ms Smith unfortunately passed away two days after,'' he spoke. ''As with Morfin before, Tom found an obvious culprit. This time in the form of the aged House-elf Hokey, who confessed to accidental poisoning by mixing up the wrong drink. Both a lethal powder and sugar supposedly were on the same shelf in the kitchen and the wrong one landed in her Mistress' cocoa. Or so Hokey was made to believe.''

''And just like last time, the Ministry did not feel the need to check for memory altering charms as she confessed?'' Harry asked wearily. ''This really does not give me much faith in the knowledge that Azkaban is pretty filled. If this happened so easily, it could have happened a dozen times more.'' He could already read the next scandal in the Daily Prophet. Maybe he should suggest it to Voldemort… ''What happened to Hokey?'' he asked in concern. ''Surely, House-Elves aren't sent to Azkaban?''

''Unfortunately, they are. Dementors have devastating effects on nearly all living creatures. Accident or not, in the eyes of the Ministry she was dangerous and not fit to serve anymore. The only other option that was spoken about was an execution, but it was** cleaner** for them to stow her away in prison.'' The revulsion in Dumbledores voice made it clear just what exactly he thought of either action.

''Don't House-elves have magic that can make them apparate through such wards?'' he asked, recalling the story of Kreacher, who had even reached his master after being left to die by Voldemort. The matter of House-elves was rapidly becoming a great source of unease for Harry when combined with Voldemort. Hokey was the second House-elf -that he'd heard of- being used and discarded by the Dark Lord in the quest for immortality. Harry's sympathy for Hermione's S.P.E.W. cause grew as much as his discomfort.

''They do, and Hokey could technically have escaped,'' Dumbledore mused. ''But Hokey was left without her Mistress, without credentials, and was old. Even if there would have been a family left who'd have taken her in, she was a wreck. In her mind, she had broken every single code of her kind by causing the death of the one in her care.''

''This all happened so long ago though. You said you were gone to retrieve these memories… surely, this one is much older?'' Harry questioned. He couldn't imagine a frail old House-Elf to last more than a year in Azkaban. Just when exactly had Dumbledore started his investigation on Tom Riddle?

Dumbledore inclined his head. ''True, but I only recently was granted access to visit Morfin, and as I already had suspicions of what it would show, I wished to leave this memory for the time when I had acquired that one. As you must see, a pattern emerges. Tom murders people, frames others, and walks out with a prize to add to his growing collection. Hepzibah Smith's family discovered not too long after her death that both the cup and locket we have seen, had disappeared without a trace. As had Tom, who'd quit his job and left without a single soul knowing where he was. At least, no soul who would have helped me discover his location. I later found out that some of his followers had been aware of his plans to travel Europe in search of deeper, darker magic. A cause he'd devote himself to for ten whole years.''

''The day of his return, that was when he applied for the Defence post once again,'' Harry realised.

''Another piece of the puzzle, yes. It's all starting to come together now, is it not?''

It had indeed, since Harry had already heard the rest from Voldemort himself without having to wait for months of carefully dropped hints and flashes of memories. Not that he betrayed any of those bitter thoughts. Harry stared at the desk for a while, wondering if he'd dare… Dumbledore held all the answers already. Dangled them right out of Harry's reach. He knew what the items had become, he knew of the Prophecy that told Harry would have to destroy Voldemort and in turn destroy the Horcruxes. It was infuriating that the other was so tight-lipped about something that was so obvious already to Harry. The Gryffindor might have focused on other things, smaller details pertaining these memories if he had been left in the dark, but the only question that burned in his mind right now was:

''Why is all of this so important for me to know?'' He wanted these games to be over with, to at long last receive a straight answer for once. ''I already knew that Voldemort killed people, that he blamed others, that he is prone to stealing.'' Stating it like this, he really wondered what was wrong with him to harbour feelings for such a person, especially since he knew that none of this would ever change. Even if he could limit Voldemort's future kill-count, he did not bear the illusion of turning the Dark Lord into a good, benevolent man. ''What is so special about these memories that you consider them vital enough to discuss with me?''

''Why do you think he stole these objects in particular?'' Dumbledore asked. Harry had to swallow his rage down at being asked a counter-question once again.

Harry shrugged helplessly. Other than picking them to be turned into Horcruxes, he actually did not know the reason why** these** and not other objects. He'd never thought much about it. ''I don't know,'' he admitted. ''My first guess would be that he wanted to have objects showing his status as a descendent from such old magical lines to gain more credibility. That would only count for Slytherin's locket and that family ring though. And as stated before, I'm not even sure why Voldemort would still want to be associated with them after receiving a rejection from that side of the family as well.''

''Appearances count for much in this world,'' Dumbledore spoke, his forehead creasing. ''Voldemort reclaimed his family heirlooms under the name of the Heir of Slytherin, not under the name of the Heir of Gaunt. Hardly anyone even knew the Gaunts at that time anymore as they were not exactly approachable, and Voldemort ensured that even the last living member spent the rest of his time in Azkaban, away from the public eye. He could boast the names of powerful ancestors to his followers like this without receiving questions about his closest relatives. Make no mistake, the Gaunts were just as much dead to him as the Riddles were. However, unlike with his Muggle family, he could use his mother's side to rise up in our society.''

''Yet he never grew to hate what they represented, unlike the Riddles,'' Harry said, still not fully understanding that part. ''Voldemort is strong in his belief against Muggles because of his father, isn't he? Why not turn against Pure-bloods either when receiving the same treatment from the other side? He was never good enough for them either.''

''Voldemort is at heart an opportunist. He only met either side after being a top student of Slytherin for so many years. Upon finding out that his father was a Muggle and his mother a witch who descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, he'd formed his opinions and plans already. As much as many people like to believe, Voldemort did not start the ideas of Pure-blood ideology. He himself was submitted to these beliefs for seven years here at Hogwarts before meeting both the Riddles and Morfin. Don't forget that a war was already going on revolving around exactly that while he was at school. He certainly picked up quite a bit from Grindelwald. Was he supposed to come back to his followers with his tail between his legs after facing Morfin's scorn? Of course not, he wasn't going to discredit himself. I don't doubt that he himself lost some faith in the idea of blood supremacy back then, but his followers never did.''

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Voldemort himself had admitted to only using it as a tool upon realising the belief held no credit. So this had been the moment when he'd found that out. ''I suppose it does make sense from his point of view,'' he thus told Dumbledore. ''No-one would have followed him if he'd suddenly switched his talks to giving Half-bloods and Muggleborns more rights instead. Those would not have believed him anymore, and he'd have lost all supporters he had then.''

''Correct. Keeping up the lie was easier.''

''But back to those items… Why take Hufflepuff's cup?'' Harry asked. ''It had nothing to do with his family, he couldn't flaunt them. It first of all wouldn't have brought him anything because he isn't related to Hufflepuff, and secondly, it was known that this item had been stolen. Maybe he could spin a story about reclaiming the locket from somewhere as the rightful owner, but both stolen objects appearing in his hands would have raised much suspicion, right?''

''I don't think he ever showed them to anyone. He'd felt closely connected to Hogwarts and was the heir of one of the Founders. After obtaining the locket and seeing Hufflepuffs cup, he may have decided that he wanted to start a collection.''

''What, in a trophy room?'' Harry scoffed. ''Letting them get dusty doesn't sound like him.''

''No… no, I suspect he had other plans for them. But it is getting late. We shall continue this conversation another time. I wish you good luck with your tests and wish you a merry Christmas already in case we do not cross paths again before that. Or are you staying at Hogwarts?''

''Sirius invited me,'' Harry stiffly replied, not really wishing to discuss any of his holiday plans with the Headmaster. Not after being blown off **again** before any mention about the actual use of the vessels in Voldemort's possession or the true purpose of these lessons. Surely, Dumbledore planned on revealing this information to him one day, otherwise there would be no point to these meetings at all… He considered pressing on about it, but Dumbledore was already busy putting the Pensieve back in its cabinet. No, he wasn't going to get anymore answers today.

Frustrated, he returned to Gryffindor tower and headed straight to bed, mulling over the memories he'd seen for a good while still. The revelations of today bothered him greatly. Seeing the trail of victims that the Dark Lord had left in his wake for selfish gain made him once again question his own feelings. Why could he not have fallen in love with someone easy? One of his friends at Hogwarts, or even one of the admirers he'd had last year? Harry buried his head in his pillow, trying to stifle a frustrated cry. It didn't help, whenever he tried to think of Voldemort, his mind only provided him with unhelpfully positive thoughts: grasping his hand while walking through the forest, lying next to him in bed, sharing discussions in dreams, teaching during those hot summer days…

How was it that one person could show so many different aspects? Most people he knew, himself included, could quite easily be categorised into characters. Not so much Voldemort. Maybe he should try to speak to the man himself… he probably shouldn't wait in the first place to tell the Dark Lord about the memories that Dumbledore had gathered. Harry evened out his breath and turned his attention inwards, opening up his mind. He still wasn't sure if calling out like this ever worked, he never received a direct response, but it made him feel better to announce his attempts to contact the other.

_Voldemort… Voldemort… He let his thoughts fly out as he tried to not think of anything else. Not even his own mindplace appeared, a weightless blackness spreading as he cast his mind out into a void._

''_Evan.'' _

_Harry's eyes flew open and he sat up, eyes instantly falling on a familiar figure. ''Voldemort,'' he breathlessly spoke. They were in a room he'd never seen before, with cream-coloured walls and soft rugs. Light streamed through the open window, two light curtains billowing on either side of it in the wind. The man himself was lounging in a large wicker armchair. It wasn't something he'd ever associate with Voldemort, and yet all signs were there that this was his dream. ''Where are we?''_

''_My mind, as usual.''_

''_I figured that,'' Harry said, standing up. Looking down, he realised he'd woken up in a bed, a rather small bed with fluffed up pillows and nondescript beige blankets. ''But sometimes you make these places up and in others, they are memories.''_

_Voldemort's brow furrowed while Harry calmly walked up to him. Another chair materialised, a simple one of wood that Harry sat down upon, facing the Dark Lord. ''A future I perhaps could have had,'' the man whispered quietly, gazing pensively at the bed. ''It matters not.''_

_As he was closer to the window now, Harry looked outside, surprised by a view he knew well: the backyard of Riddle house, the grass far more tamed than Harry had ever seen it, and much greener. Dropping the subject of their exact location, Harry spoke up: ''I always wanted to ask you… whenever I meet you at night, you always seem to be there already. Do I keep you waiting?''_

_The man chuckled. ''Oh no, you were bound to already have had a few hours of sleep before I joined you today to connect our minds. These visions are merely so intense that regular dreams pale in comparison… you forget them as soon as you enter this state. So, I trust you have been well since our last meeting? Any troubles arising?''_

''_The same as usual. Umbridge hasn't really made any progress or put out any major Decrees. I have been able to keep a low profile and avoid further punishment. Which reminds me, what__** does**__ happen if she would make me use the blood quill again, with my new arm?''_

''_The same as it did before. That your new arm was grafted from a centaur bone does not make the flesh or blood less human. Well, it did, yet insignificantly so when it comes to spellwork. The curse that rested previously on your arm is gone, so it would be as the very first time that you used the item. It would do as designed, draw blood to write with.''_

''_So technically, exactly the same could happen again?'' Harry worriedly asked._

''_I doubt that she would interfere with the healing process once again. She has larger things to focus on now and could not play another purposefully wrongful healing spell off as easily as the first one. Repetition would give you leverage to report it with more credibility. It is because of this, that I suspect your case to be an isolated one, caused by how much you aggravated her. You did humiliate her in front of the entire school last year. Not many students would be able to top that feat.''_

''_Careful, it almost sounds as if you're complimenting me,'' Harry grinned._

_Voldemort leaned over, coming closer to Harry. ''Perhaps I am.''_

_Harry hastily looked away from the penetrating gaze he was being challenged with. ''A…anyways. While the general state Hogwarts is in hasn't changed, I did have another trip to Dumbledore's office again. He showed me two more memories.'' Harry was quite happy that he could give this news through a dream. Had they been physically in the same room, he would surely have been submitted to another painful Legilimency intrusion. The Dark Lord did not look so relaxed anymore, his skeletal fingers gripping the armrests tightly._

_~Tell me_ _ ** everything** _ _,~ he hissed, slipping into Parseltongue._

_Harry recounted what he'd seen as well as he could, as well as some of Dumbledore's comments on it. Voldemort did not comment once as Harry ranted, only nervously tapped a single finger during the entirety of the monologue. ''He thinks you're showing patterns,'' Harry finished. ''He was rather clear about getting me to see that at least. Murder, framing, stealing, in that order.'' He hesitated, then spoke with as little accusation in his voice as he could muster: ''Why the House-elf? I can understand that you framed Hagrid once as you thought him to already be guilty of another crime punishable by expulsion, and your Uncle also wasn't the greatest person… but an old _ _ **House-Elf** _ _?''_

''_I need not explain myself to you,'' the man dispassionately said._

''_Need to? No, most certainly not. But communication is an important social skill that you seem to forget about,'' he heatedly spoke, thinking of Regulus. ''If you do have an explanation I can accept, then maybe my mind won't jump to the worst possible one.''_

''_And if you cannot accept it, you will resent me for it without the nagging doubt that you might be wrong in doing so,'' Voldemort countered. _

_Harry wouldn't have it. He was not going to play psychology games with Voldemort. ''I already know you were wrong in doing many things. I'm still here, aren't I?'' he harshly said, slightly satisfied when Voldemort's eyes widened. He wasn't going down the same road as Regulus had, talking only about what Voldemort wanted, staying quiet and taking everything in stride. ''You said you wanted my advice, that you enjoy my ability to talk openly to you,'' he pushed. ''So tell me. Why frame an Elf?''_

_The eyes that Voldemort usually had in these dreams were much harder to read than his regular ones, but the fury in them was undeniable. Harry straightened his spine and glared back just as hard. What was the worst the Dark Lord could do to him right here and now? Throw him out of the dream? He'd be back. Harry waited for the man to regain his composure without saying another word_

_When he continued speaking, it was with an even, tight voice. ''I couldn't stand my job at Borgin and Burkes,''' Voldemort admitted. ''It was low pay and Borgin was a horrid man even back then. The front I had to put up for the clients I had to visit was possibly even worse. I stayed in that job only because I had been searching for my last family heirloom, the Locket of Slytherin, and Borgin was the only person I knew who dealt in such artefacts. Of course, he lied to me about having had and sold it. When I saw that it was in Hepzibah's possession, I acted impulsively. Finding it meant that I would finally be able to get away from London and continue my journey in becoming worthy of the title of Dark Lord. My sudden disappearance was suspicious enough without leaving a murder scene behind that I could have been a suspect of. I needed someone to instantly step up as the clear culprit. The Elf was there, so I took my chance. The memory I implanted wasn't even incriminatory from my point of view. A simple mix-up in the kitchen, mostly caused by Smith herself as she really did keep potion materials and food in the same cabinets. I didn't think much of it afterwards, hearing now that the House-Elf got thrown into Azkaban for that... it sounds rather excessive. I refuse to take the blame for it.''_

''_And this is why it's always good to hear both sides of the story,'' Harry mused. ''I'm not sure if it is any consolidation, but Dumbledore's anger was also mostly directed at the Ministry for their poor handling.'' His own bitterness over Voldemort's actions faded a bit too. Although murdering someone to steal their possessions wasn't great either, Harry's anger at the way Mrs Smith had leered at Voldemort clouded his judgement. Knowing that the Elf's misery that followed afterwards hadn't been intended was at least something. ''Thank you for the explanation. To get back to the topic at hand, the Headmaster was once again very frustratingly tight-lipped. It's as if he wants me to take in all of this information without actually doing something with it. I really don't understand.''_

''_He's waiting for the perfect moment to reveal the grander scheme behind it,'' Voldemort spoke disdainfully. ''I suspect he has a number of reasons for not saying too much unless he has to. It is clear that he knows what I turned these objects into. As we have discussed before, he likely suspects by now that you are a Horcrux and wishes to observe whether you are in any way aware of this fact or not. You did not give him much to work with thankfully, keeping your visions of me to yourself even before we were acquaintances. However, your scar hurting when you came near me, as well as your ability to speak Parseltongue point into the obvious direction. Following this line of logic, his study of both you and the diary could give him valuable clues as to how Horcruxes act, as well as the differences in living and non-living ones. Considering that he has not yet told you of the Prophecy either, I conclude that he is hoping to have you destroy the Horcruxes without ever becoming aware of what they exactly are other than 'dangerous objects I enchanted'. As we already discussed at length before, the other memories you are being shown are further attempts to guide you away from even considering my viewpoint in all of this.''_

_The idea had some merit, though Harry thought it was a bit of a stretch to jump to such conclusions. Dumbledore had not mentioned anything about the purpose of the objects or the need to destroy them yet. Voldemort was always irate when it came to Dumbledore, so he did not mention those thoughts, determined to simply keep all possibilities in mind to judge by himself when things became clearer._

''_Speaking of moments to reveal information,'' Harry said, studying the Dark Lord. ''Draco Malfoy told me something rather interesting today. Something about students from Slytherin being proven wrong soon if they currently think Draco is switching sides by talking to me?''_

_From Voldemort's puzzled look, it became clear that the man didn't know what he was talking about. At least, for a moment. The expression morphed into understanding. ''As always, Lucius seems to be feeding his son both over-exaggerated and_ _ ** confidential** _ _ information,'' he hissed in displeasure. ''He's tried to claw his way back up to being my right hand, yet he'll never succeed as long as he is so loose-lipped towards his own family.''_

''_He'll have to pry that position from Barty's cold, dead hands, won't he?'' Harry spoke in amusement._

''_As if I'd let him.''_

''_Sooo… is this information also confidential to me?'' he curiously asked, getting a withered glare that told him 'yes'. Not giving up, Harry pretended not to understand and kept up an expectant look until Voldemort heaved a long sigh._

''_It did not concern you, but if you insist… Your Occlumency barriers should be sufficient now. I will have to come out of hiding sooner than anticipated, at least towards a select group. Most parents of the current Slytherin students are amongst that group. It became a necessity after last week's murder on Seraphine Delacour and-''_

''_**Murder**__? Fleur's grandmother?'' Harry blurted out in shock. Voldemort hissed lowly at the interruption._

''_I would__** appreciate**__ it if you'd let me speak.''_

''_Right. Sorry.''_

''_Yes, Delacour was found murdered, with a message to the Hand of Magic. More concerning than the murder itself was that I found out that the culprit was once part of my ranks… not very high tiered, but still part of it. I have not reached out to this follower since my resurrection. Their motives are yet unclear to me, as I was not quiet about mending creature rights back then too. It is strange that one who stood behind me back then would disagree to many of the same points I made then.''_

''_Apart from the fact that people do change, not all of your followers might have agreed with that part,'' Harry suggested. ''I mean, you had many goals, focusing on the whole blood purity for a long time. Some of your followers might have joined you for that and simply overlooked the fact that you also rallied for causes they didn't wholeheartedly agree with. From what I've seen, many people from dark families don't like creatures any more than light mages do.''_

''_That won't do,'' Voldemort resolutely spoke. ''I will have to unite our kind if we are going to separate ourselves from Muggles. Especially those who consider themselves my followers will have to accept every part of my plans. This is why I need to reveal myself, put them back in line by showing that it is I who runs this organisation and not a new nameless face. It is less than ideal considering my plans are long-term, but I have already achieved much since returning. Also, Draco is perhaps a bit over-eager, I wish to start with my campaign to reveal the atrocities done to muggle-born children first. Put the Hand of Magic more solidly on the map before showing myself… I expect to do so earliest around Ostara.''_

''_Won't you ostracise more people if your newfound group of vigilantes tries to include Muggle-borns?'' Harry asked._

''_No, I will be focusing on other aspects than pity. The incapability of Muggles to handle magical children and the necessity of separation to be specific.''_

_Harry grimaced, not liking that his words would be used for that. He hated that he hadn't found a different, better solution. Surely, there had to be one… Unfortunately, for now he had to admit that Voldemort's idea sounded better than what went on currently: Muggle-borns being isolated, left to their completely uninformed families and being dropped into the magical world suddenly. If they even survived till turning eleven. At times, Harry had come close to not making it himself. In retrospect, Petunia had been the most humane of his three family members, and only because she had likely been threatened by the magical community. She was the only one with ties to the wizarding world after all, as Snape had made him realise._

_He thought of commenting about his own views on the Muggle-born, then thought different. They'd already had thorough conversations about it which hadn't really gone anywhere. It was always walking on thin ice with Voldemort when it came to topics they fundamentally disagreed on. Unless Harry had a realistic solution to pitch, it would be like talking to a brick wall. If he never found a solution… well, Harry had come to the point of where he'd come to realise that not everything could go the way he wanted it to. Like Voldemort's other followers, who disliked creatures but took the increased rights for them in stride if it meant dark magic would be more accepted too. There was never one perfect leader, as much as Voldemort strived to present as such._

''_How is the current project developing?'' Harry asked instead. Better to focus on the here and now. ''With the slave rings, you had a clear goal and created the Hand of Magic to wipe those out before the governments lifted a finger. What will you do about lack of hospital funding though? It does not seem like a problem which can be solved through violence.''_

''_That also was not my intention. You have to think back to the first time I introduced these projects to you, Evan. I took charge of the press to spread information. I picked topics that had been hushed by the government, to uncover their misdeeds and incompetence. Fixing those problems instantly was never my primary focus. It was different with the Creature operation once we met Delacour. I had a select group of individuals who came forth with their stories in exchange for revenge. Working with them instead of only recording their stories benefited me. This is not the case now. For all Diggory knows, I am nothing but a news reporter, who does exactly as promised: bring forth the truth.''_

''_Wait, so you are not going to… fix anything?'' Harry asked, appalled. ''I thought you sent Barty to various hospitals around the world!''_

''_To gather information and find out who is in on this conspiracy, yes,'' Voldemort evenly replied. ''Sorting out the mess of our medical care right now would be highly ineffective as opposed to doing so later. First of all, all current solutions would most likely involve Muggle resources in some way, which we shall be separate form when I rule. Secondly, the revelation of information will disgruntle the public and shift their opinion towards the current system as this is a fault created by the way we run society as a whole right now. That leads me to my third point: I can use this as leverage to gain public support for separation if I can offer a solution then. I__** know**__ that neither our Ministry of Magic nor International Mage associations can do so now.''_

''_People are dying because of this!''_

''_That is currently not my responsibility. Barty has uncovered data on several diseases that are supposedly incurable, so I will use that to develop healing methods myself for private use on my followers. That will at least lower the amount of deaths of mages who already accepted dark magic. As for the rest… it will be interesting to see if it's something they are willing to convert for.''_

_Harry was at a loss for words. Voldemort held the power in his hands to help people and didn't because it would give him more political power in the long run? ''Magic chose you to protect our kind!'' he animatedly exclaimed. ''If you have the ability to save the lives of even a handful of ill people, it _ _ **is** _ _ your responsibility!''_

''_I was chosen to restore the balance of magic,'' the man replied, frowning. ''There is a difference. Directly taking the lives of my people affects me, but not this. I know that killing off light mages won't do much, but it won't harm my cause either. I save those who deserve it, those who swear themselves to me in the end. I cannot have saboteurs from the inside. Enough now about this. You are clearly getting emotional.''_

_Harry clenched his hands and stood. ''You are not emotional enough about this,'' he decided. ''Do not forget that it is _ _ **people** _ _ you will rule. There need to be actual people left to do so.''_

Perhaps it was because of his own anger, or perhaps Voldemort had thrown him out at that point, but Harry woke abruptly. It was still the middle of the night, and he stewed on the conversation. He** got** where Voldemort was coming from, but it was so frustrating that the man would rather sit by idly to let the government fail for a while longer than take matters into his own hands now. Harry would never be able to make such a decision. If he could save even a single life, he'd do so, long-term plans be damned. Maybe that was why he should not be in charge, Harry thought bitterly. He cared far more about individuals in need than the greater good.

His mood did not improve much over the next days. Harry could only imagine that Voldemort was displeased, as no more dreams followed. Instead, his nights were filled with regular odd dreams about homework, friends, flying and teachers. On the last Tuesday before the Christmas holidays, he had one very pleasant dream where he just ate chocolate cake for an entire hour, which finally lifted his mood somewhat when waking up.

On Wednesday, he hoped to see the cake again when he crashed in bed after an exhausting day. Umbridge had given them a theoretical test that had clearly been pulled out of some Ministry archives from a century ago, and it had taken all of Harry's energy to not protest at the poor quality of the 'exam'. His marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts had never been so low, not even when Lockhart had taught them. It greatly annoyed Harry, as he** had** read the textbook they'd had to buy, it just didn't look like any of the questions matched up to that book, being about Ministry regulations on dark magic instead. When he asked Hermione, who still good grades in the course, she admitted that she could only answer the questions because of many other books she'd read, which made him feel a little better about his poor performance. He was actually very happy that this was his OWL year, meaning that none of Umbridge's tests would influence whether he passed this year or not.

That night regretfully was not filled with another wonderful dream about chocolate. Instead, Harry found himself in a cold, narrow hallway with walls that looked incredibly tall as he slithered forwards over the dark stone floor.

_His body felt as if he'd been training for months: powerful and muscular. A reflection of green scales shimmered on the walls in the dim light of wall torches high above. He heaved himself up from the floor as a human-shaped figure came into view with red hair, which scrambled away from him. He lazily followed, doing as instructed to: scare the humans and make them think there was anything of interest in need of protecting here. The man was backed up against the wall now, and the fear smelled delicious. He had to resist, there should be no biting… Reluctantly, he stilled and was about to turn around again when the man made a mistake. The human drew forth a stick and pointed it. Instantly, Harry was on alert, the danger of these sticks having been drilled into him. They could hurt, they could_ _ ** kill** _ _. He had no choice. He shot forwards to be faster, sinking fangs deeply into skin so that it would let the stick go. The delicious blood that filled his mouth only slightly calmed the sudden fear._

_Tremors came from behind, and before he could release the first victim, a second human came into view, brandishing another stick. Not fast enough, he couldn't be fast enough…_

_A flash, and he blacked out._

''Nagini!'' Harry yelled as he sat up with a shock, wide awake. And then, as memories flooded in: ''Mr Weasley!'' He drew open the bed curtains, shattering the silencing spell, and stumbled out of bed and straight into the bathroom as the panic settled in. Sweat dripped down his forehead. That had not been a dream, he felt exactly as disoriented about the sudden excess of limbs as the other time that Nagini and he had been connected. The implications of that… **Why** had he seen through Nagini's eyes? And why now? The random joining with Voldemort's mind had stopped as the Dark Lord had seized control over the mind link they shared. He'd never before accidentally slipped into the mind of one of the other Horcruxes either. Not Nagini, not with the Locket, certainly not with the Diary back then…

A knock sounded on the door behind him, and Ron shouted through it: ''Harry? Are you okay?''

Not wanting to shut his friends out, Harry took a couple of deep breaths, then opened the door. ''I don't know,'' he truthfully admitted. ''I saw… I dreamt something strange.'' He felt a wave of nausea hit him at the taste of Mr Weasley's blood. ''Ron, your dad!'' he spoke, gripping his friend's arm. ''I can't explain it, but your dad is in danger somehow. He got attacked!''

''Whoa, Harry, calm down. It was just a dream,'' his friend said in concern, guiding him back inside. The other boys were all watching him a bit warily. Harry opened and closed his mouth, the reality of the situation catching up to him. Mr Weasley had been in a strange, dark place, perhaps guarding something from the way he'd been sitting before Nagini had approached him. The snake had wanted to show herself as a sort of sign before retreating, then attacked when a wand had been drawn and she'd been afraid. Lastly, a second person had appeared. He hadn't been able to identify that one. Was it someone who was friendly to Mr Weasley? An Order member? Or someone from the Ministry or even Voldemort's side? The latter was unlikely as the person had turned their wand on Nagini also.

His heart sank. What had that spell been? He'd only seen a flash, unable to identify the colour clearly. Nagini's vision was so strange that he couldn't make out much else than the man definitely having been Arthur Weasley.

The only facts that he knew now, was that his best friend's dad was hurt badly, in the company of another human whom Harry could not identify, and that something had happened to Nagini. Harry was in the very middle now between the loyalties he'd carefully tried to balance for over year. Both Nagini and Mr Weasley needed help. Whoever side the man had been on that had approached after the attack, it was a fact that Harry was possibly the only person around who had the best interest of** both** in mind. Contacting Voldemort right now was out. After this, his friends would not let him out of sight long enough to try calling Barty through the two-way mirror. That left turning to the one person he absolutely did not want to give any** more** clues about Horcruxes and their connections: Dumbledore.

But if he would just let this go to protect his own hide, if he'd let Mr Weasley bleed out or humans hurt Nagini, he wasn't any better than Voldemort. He could help… so he would. ''I had a vision,'' he tried explaining to Ron, who'd guided him to sit back down on his bed. ''Not a dream. Your dad was attack by… by a giant snake.'' He swallowed the name 'Nagini' just in time. Voldemort hadn't shown himself to anyone but a few trusted followers. Dumbledore** might** already have the information that Voldemort held Nagini as a pet from Snape, but Harry shouldn't even know the Dark Lord had a pet, and certainly not know her name.

Seamus and Dean started muttering to each other in hushed voices, while Neville looked concerned and slipped out of the door as soon as he'd thrown on some robes.

''Visions?'' Ron asked incredulously. ''Mate, since when do you have visions? And why do you look so calm?''

''I'm** not** calm,'' Harry exclaimed angrily. ''I'm just trying not to freak out because that won't help anybody! Look, can you-'' he broke off, another wave of nausea hitting. It looked like the vision's usual negative effects were catching up to him. He sprinted back to the bathroom just in time.

''You're ill. Harry, it was maybe a fever dream or something,'' his friend tried to rationalise.

''It's not the first time,'' Harry ground out, heaving now. ''Trust me, please. We need to tell Dumbledore. I saw the attack happen!''

Neville returned in that moment, with a pale McGonagall in tow. Harry took a second to rinse his mouth before facing his Head of House and repeating what he saw in an urgent tone, hoping she'd believe him. She curtly asked for a couple of details such as the surroundings, and as soon as Harry mentioned a long dark corridor, she said: ''We need to see the Headmaster. Now.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> hehe, things are starting to roll again... poor Nagini.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked the chapter :)  
xx GeMerope


	58. Serpentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support. It always gives me so much inspiration to read all of your thoughts on the story!
> 
> I apologise if parts of this chapter feels a bit rushed, but I really did not see any point in re-writing the exact same scenes that happen in the book already. Much of OotP Chapter 22 and 23 is used (not literally of course, I don't wish to plagiarise), in order to move on with the story.
> 
> Enjoy!

It did not take much convincing for Dumbledore to take the vision seriously. No wonder if the man had already had some suspicions. Most of Harry's stomach-churning worries were about giving the Headmaster too much information though. About Harry's connection to Voldemort, about the way Horcruxes worked, and most of all about their vessels and number. In all the memories he'd been shown before, Nagini had not shown up, leading him to believe that Dumbledore might not have been aware of the Dark Lord's familiar yet. If, through wanting to save Arthur Weasley, he was putting Nagini in unnecessary danger, Harry would not be able to forgive himself.

However, he also did not see any other viable option to ensure the safety of both victims other than being truthful about what he'd experienced. Indeed, by giving Dumbledore some reason to believe that there was more to Nagini than met the eye, perhaps they would not outright try to kill her in retribution for the attack on Mr Weasley. Of course, that only applied if that second man he'd seen hadn't already taken her life, and if he'd been an Order member in the first place instead of a Ministry Employee. But if that second person had belonged to the Order, they'd already captured her. Nagini was sure to have some protection that may have lasted until now, but she would be seen as nothing more than a vicious beast who killed one of their own, one who was in league with the Dark Lord. Harry had no illusions that they would not put her down if he didn't interfere somehow.

Dumbledore stayed rather calm, asking few, precise questions. Harry noted with interest that for once, Dumbledore was the one avoiding eye-contact when asking about the perspective from which Harry had seen the vision. He considered how to answer. Dumbledore knew… would it be suspicious if he lied about this?

Yes, he concluded. Even if he wished to hide how the interactions between Horcruxes worked, being caught in a clear lie might make the Headmaster draw the conclusion that Harry knew more about** being** a Horcrux himself than he'd let on till now. The old man consulted one of his strange instruments, which spit forth a puff of snake-shaped smoke that split in two. Harry's stomach dropped when seeing it. Whatever that instrument was, when Dumbledore muttered 'but in essence divided?' it became clear that the Headmaster had just received all information he needed regarding Nagini.

Dumbledore sent Fawkes away with a cryptic message, then turned his attention to a pale Ron, whom he looked at empathically. ''We have tracked Voldemort's movements for a while and stationed people at places he seemed interested in. Two members were active tonight, your father was not alone. With any luck, his partner has brought him to Grimmauld place already. Phineas? Phineas!''

An old grumpy wizard who'd pretended to sleep jerked awake in his portrait, not very convincingly. ''What is it, Albus?'' he grumbled with clear displeasure.

''I need you to go to your other portrait and contact the Order to see if they already know more.''

''There's no-one there apart from my good-for-nothing, Gryffindor-''

''**Phineas**.''

''I don't see why I should make a move, when the situation is clearly being resolved on its own already, it's not as if anyone-''

A shouting match ensued between several different portraits, which ended in a '**'Fine**, ruin my sleep!'' from Phineas, who jumped up at last, walking out of the frame with his nose in the air.

''Forgive him, he can be a tad difficult,'' Dumbledore cheerfully spoke, smiling fondly at the now empty portrait. ''The most unpopular Headmaster Hogwarts ever had, but his loyalty for this castle never wavered.'' Neither Harry nor Ron reacted to that, too caught up in their own thoughts. ''Fear not, my boys. We know where Arthur was, and will find him soon enough even if William did not bring him back yet.''

''My brother was with dad?'' Ron asked hopefully.

''He was. As I mentioned, we always operate in teams whenever possible,'' Dumbledore explained, sitting down at his desk again. ''There has been so little movement from Voldemort that we can spare the manpower whenever he does express his interest in certain locations or items… He has contacted very few people as far as we know, so there aren't too many of his former followers to keep track of either.'' Harry frowned, wondering about the thoughts he'd shared with Nagini in his vision. She'd been there as a ruse, to distract them from something going on elsewhere, likely Voldemort's influence in the Hand of Magic and the press. But **where** had the snake been? What had the Order thought Voldemort wanted?

At long last, Phineas returned, reluctantly talking to them. ''Due to my inconvenient location in my ancestral house – you know of course that I was moved to a** bedroom** of all places instead of being hung above the mantelpiece as should be appropriate for my status – it took a while for my voice to attract attention. Only the faithful House-Elf of the Black family still respects-''

''The details about Arthur please,'' Dumbledore interrupted with a tired sigh.

Phineas looked rather offended about his self-indulgent rant being broken off. ''Very well,'' he bristled. ''William and Arthur Weasley arrived, and the blood-traitor was instantly taken to St. Mungo's as none could stop the bleeding. He was half-dead within minutes of the attack.'' The portrait sounded rather gleeful at that news.

''Is the coast clear at Headquarters for the arrival of a few more people?''

''It should be. Not that I'd waste my time, snake venom is rather lethal.''

''**Thank** you, Phineas, that was all,'' Dumbledore said in a tone that held enough of a warning to make Phineas shut up. ''Minerva, please fetch Ronald's siblings. If Arthur made it to St Mungo's, they have a right to visit him.'' She disappeared out of the door without a word. An uncomfortable silence descended over the office.

''Professor, may I ask…'' Harry hesitantly said. ''May I ask where they were?''

''Hmm?''

''Mr Weasley and Bill,'' Harry continued. ''You said they were on Order business, guarding something?''

''This is not really the right time discuss that, Harry,'' the man answered. Harry pressed his lips together to not shout 'It's never the right time for you to discuss anything'. For once, he figured the Headmaster was right. Harry had never seen his best friend so quiet. Even when he'd been puking slugs, Ron had tried to speak still. The redhead just stood there, hands in his pockets and staring into nothingness.

''He'll be alright,'' Harry muttered, coming closer to Ron again. ''He was transported to the hospital as soon as possible.'' A shimmer of hope flickered in Ron's eyes as he looked up at Harry.

''Thanks to you,'' the boy croaked. ''If you hadn't… if you hadn't seen-''

''Bill was there,'' Harry spoke, shaking his head. ''It wasn't any feat of mine. I only watched… They brought him to the hospital even before I told anyone. I couldn't make a damn difference. Only spread panic, I'm afraid.''

''Not true,'' Ron mumbled. ''**I** wouldn't have known so fast if not for you. They probably wouldn't have told us for a long time...''

''Did you keep training your Occlumency shields?'' Dumbledore rather suddenly asked. He hadn't turned towards Harry, studying a tapestry at the wall. ''I find it curious that, despite Severus' words about you having mastered the subject, such a thing could happen.''

Harry shrugged. ''He taught me how to guard my mind against Legilimency attacks, professor. Not against dream visions. I didn't know I had to actively guard my mind while **asleep**.'' The Headmaster nodded, apparently accepting that explanation.

The door opened again, the rest of the Weasleys stumbling in at the same moment that Fawkes returned in a bright flash of fire, leaving a small golden feather on Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster's face darkened, and he instantly went over to a cabinet, pulling out a small black cauldron. ''Professor Umbridge has apparently been notified of missing students, we need to be quick,'' Dumbledore hastily spoke. ''Minerva, hold her off?''

''Of course, Albus. Children… Be safe.'' And off she went again.

''Gather round,'' Dumbledore instructed them. He tapped his wand at the cauldron and turned it into a Portkey. ''The Floo isn't safe. I want all of you to go to Grimmauld place with this. Sirius will surely be delighted to see you, despite the circumstances. Remember, you have a legal right to leave school for cases such as hospital visits, do not let anyone tell you differently. Are you ready?''

They all nodded, although Harry could see that the eyes of the others were full of questions.

Those questions burst out as soon as they landed in the hallway of Grimmauld place.

''McGonagall said that you** saw** dad?'' Fred asked in astonishment.

His twin instantly joined with a: ''What were they all talking about?''

''There was a** snake** involved?'' Ginny threw in.

''Leave him alone,'' Ron grumbled, trying to shield Harry a bit. ''He's had a rough night too. Dumbledore said that Bill was with dad and they brought him to the hospital right away. I'm sure mum has been informed already too.''

They turned around at the sound of footsteps, and a haggard Sirius opened the door at the end of the corridor. ''Dumbledore just sent a message about you lot arriving. Come on through,'' the man said, making way for the Weasleys to enter the back of the house. Harry didn't even try to follow, hugging his godfather tightly. Harry's adrenaline over the vision was slowly starting to fade, making way for doubts and insecurities about the situation. He still didn't know why he'd been in Nagini's head, nor had he been able to inform Voldemort. Sirius' presence was the only thing that kept him from going crazy right now. Strong arms returned the hug fiercely, and he felt a little less lost. ''Will you tell me what happened? What really happened?'' Sirius whispered in his ear. Having practically already told Dumbledore everything anyways, Harry nodded.

''Is Mr Weasley going to be alright?'' he asked in return once the hug was released and they followed the others.

''I don't know. We contacted Molly right after Bill brought the poor man to the hospital and she is already on her way.''

''Can we go to visit as well?'' Ginny hopefully asked.

To their clear disappointment, Sirius shook his head. ''Not yet. Though word travels fast, your father was only just admitted. It would be rather strange for a parent of any random Hogwarts student to contact the Headmaster on such short notice, before even arriving at the hospital herself. None of us want to cast suspicion on Arthur for having close ties to Dumbledore.''

''But he'd our dad! Dumbledore himself told us that we have every right to leave school to visit!''

Sirius frustratingly retorted: ''And you **do**, but you have to** wait**. Merlin, you can't go running into the emergency room while your father isn't stable yet! He has to be examined, diagnosed, get first aid! It's a miracle if they let Bill and Molly close to him! It's good that Dumbledore got you here as soon as possible before that High Inquisitor can forbid you from leaving the school at all, but we have to wait for a word from your mother before I can allow you to leave this house. Understood?''

The twins still tried to protest, although it was clear from the start that it'd be futile. On Sirius' recommendation, Ron and Ginny already went upstairs to get some sheets and blankets, as they'd surely wouldn't be hearing any further news in the next couple of hours. Not wanting to sleep in separate rooms and possibly miss out on the first news, they created makeshift beds on the couches standing in the back room. While the others made preparations, Sirius took Harry aside in the kitchen with the excuse of getting them all something to drink before heading to sleep again.

''I had a vision,'' Harry explained. ''Of Nagini.'' Upon Sirius' non-comprehensive look, he added: ''She's Voldemort's pet snake.''

''Bill already thought that it belonged to **him**,'' Sirius muttered darkly. ''I hadn't expected him to be the type to keep pets, although it makes sense that it would be such a lethal one.''

''Nagini did what she was trained to do,'' Harry spoke in her defence. ''She was only planning on scaring Mr Weasley off until he pointed a wand at her. I'm not blaming him of course for doing so, but Nagini knows that a pointed wand is usually meant to attack. So, she struck first.''

Sirius' face lost most of its colour. ''And you know this… why?''

''I told you, I had a vision. I… I was her. I looked through her eyes, could hear all of her thoughts. I suppose that one of those weird flukes of magic happened that seem to define my life. I told Dumbledore, in case you are wondering,'' Harry spoke. Then, he couldn't take it anymore and asked: ''Do you know what happened to her? She only saw the shape of a second man – I guess Bill – who fired a spell. Everything went black and I woke up. Is she safe? Did she get away?''

''That snake **attacked** Arthur,'' Sirius spoke with an incredulous, almost accusatory tone. He looked at Harry as if never having seen him before. ''And you're asking if it's** safe**?''

''She's only an animal,'' he once again defended her. ''Acting on orders and instinct. Nagini isn't evil and yes, I want to know if she is safe!''

Sirius didn't answer, turning to the counter to open a few butterbeers. His hands trembled slightly. ''What did you do after you had this vision?'' the man asked in a tight voice.

Harry bit his lip at seeing how angry his admission had made Sirius. ''I warned Ron,'' he said quietly. ''And then McGonagall, and Dumbledore. I had recognised Mr Weasley in the vision, but Nagini hadn't gotten a clear look at Bill. I didn't know if the second person was a member of the Order or not and didn't want to take the chance of Mr Weasley being left there, bleeding out.''

''So you chose the Order's side, then?'' Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

Now it was Harry's turn to get angry. ''Pick a…? I didn't pick anyone's** side**!'' he exclaimed heatedly. ''My best friend's dad was dying, and I possibly was the only one who knew! That other man could have been a Ministry worker, or a Death Eater! Mr Weasley has been nothing but kind to me throughout the years and always welcomed me when I visited. I had to help no matter what. To save his life. Not for the** Order**, or **Dumbledore**! For him!''

Sirius winced at the outburst, his previous anger fading. ''I'm sorry. I am… thinking too much in black and white again. You did well, kiddo. Putting the lives of people over your beliefs… I'm proud of you.'' Hearing the genuine pride in his godfather's voice made the breath rush from his lungs, and Harry once more accepted the - now far more hesitant – embrace. ''Get some rest as well, kiddo. Hopefully there will be some good news tomorrow.''

''Nagini…'' he spoke up, frowning.

Sirius grimaced and ran a hand through his long, black hair. ''She's alive, but any information about it is confidential. Sorry, we can't risk such a dangerous animal injuring more of us on Voldemort's orders. I can't tell you anything more.''

''Please **keep** her alive,'' Harry whispered, worried for the dear snake he'd come to regard as a friend. Fighting over seeing her wasn't going to bring him anywhere right now and causing a ruckus with so many other people in the house would only draw suspicion. It was a weight off his chest that they hadn't killed her at the very least, even if she was probably held captive somewhere. Harry could worry about finding a way to free Nagini later. Voldemort would surely go ballistic without her around. The teen had never fully understood the strange parent/child and master/pet dynamic that the two had, only knew that it was one of the strongest bonds with any living being that Voldemort had ever or would ever form.

Quiet hours passed, in which Harry drifted in and out of sleep. Unfortunately, he did not dream of Voldemort, and the two-way mirror was still at school. Perhaps it was better like this, Voldemort might start with unreasonable orders when figuring out that Harry had access to people who knew exactly what had happened to his companion.

While he still couldn't figure out why he'd had a vision of Nagini, it was certainly a relief to Harry that he knew it was likely because they were both Horcruxes and had connected before. The possibility of this having happened without any of his previous knowledge was a thousand times worse. He had the phantom taste of blood in his mouth still and the odd feeling of having too many limbs. What would he have thought otherwise? That** he** had attacked Mr Weasley? Or that he was going crazy?

Harry didn't know whether to bless or curse Bill's presence, to be honest. Having had the vision, Harry might have been able to warn everyone in time himself as well, without Nagini's life being endangered. The thought instantly caused a stinging guilt. He couldn't be certain that Mr Weasley would have made it even with the information he could have given. They would have had to get people in there to find the man first, losing precious time.

Very early in the morning, Mrs Weasley finally arrived, looking like she hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, hair a mess and robes completely wrinkled. Not that most of them were in any better shape. Ginny had lain curled up on a chair all night, staring at the lone candle they'd left burning. Each time Harry had woken up from his light sleep, he'd seen the flame reflected in her eyes. Mrs Weasley brought with her the good news of her husband being stable, which finally allowed the rest of them to move to real beds and continue resting. Not having anything else to do for now, Harry joined Ron, hoping that he'd be able to reach Voldemort at one point through dreams. Of course, he wasn't so lucky… Who knew, perhaps the Dark Lord was just as worried as the Weasleys were at the moment, trying everything in his might to find Nagini instead of sleeping.

In the morning, Tonks and Kingsley arrived to escort them to the hospital. Harry wasn't even sure why it was necessary to bring two Aurors, but both Sirius and Mrs Weasley insisted that it was important after this attack to have as much protection as possible. For some reason, they kept casting sneaky glances at Harry, who wasn't sure if they were wary or worried. Either option didn't sit well with him. Tonks' prodding questions about the vision didn't help erase the feel of unease that settled in his chest. He wasn't sure if she was truly fascinated by the phenomenon or if there was something more behind her words…

His attention was pulled towards the ugly red brick building with 'Purge and Dowse Ltd' on the side. There appeared to be no particular reason for stopping by, and a passing Muggle woman muttered to her friend that the place had been closed for ages. Only when Tonks stepped up to the window, did he realise they were standing right in front of the hospital. He'd never thought much about where St. Mungo's supposedly was. He'd expected something like Diagon Alley or perhaps Hogsmeade: a building far away from Muggle eyes, concealed with other dimensions or isolation. This disguise of an abandoned warehouse did nothing to ease his mind about Muggles discovering magical places. Clearly, Muggles were able to see the building, even finding it curious that it was always shut down, so there were no Muggle-repelling spells in place at all. What if a group of Muggles decided to break in at one point? Would they succeed to get through to the actual hospital? Again, Voldemort was proven right in his claims that the measures of current separation were far too lax.

The awful dummy with its once-white dress and eyelashes that hung loose moved to beckon them in, at which Harry looked around quickly to check if no Muggles were paying attention. Really, were they** trying** to get noticed? As the others stepped through the glass and none of the people on the street seemed to care though, he figured that there must be at least a local notice-me-not-charm on the glass.

Inside was a cacophony of colours and sounds. Healers in green robes tried to make sense of the chaos, flitting through rows of newly arrived patients to help where they could. Harry saw manners of illnesses, hexes and jinxes that he hadn't been able to imagine in his wildest dreams. Compared to the winged child, the man whose head rang like a bell each time he moved and the woman with an elephant trunk, any magical malady Harry had ever had, was rather normal. He studied more of the patients, the healers and finally the floor plan, before Mrs Weasley was finally able to reach the witch at the desk to announce their planned visit to Mr Weasley. They didn't need to go far, only to the first floor for Creature-induced injuries _(Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines_, etc according to the floor plan).

Harry wondered on which floor they would have potentially tried to undo the damage to his arm if he'd chosen to visit the hospital instead of the Dark Lord. Spell damage perhaps… Although the 'unliftable' in the description '_Unliftable jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly applied charms' _did not inspire much confidence in St. Mungo's Healers. Of course, neither did the knowledge that magical hospitals were so drastically underfunded that they held back finished research in the hope to gain donations. They marched in a long line, Mrs Weasley in front, and Harry tried to take in all the impressions of the hospital. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, nor if the place met those undefined expectations. Wails sounded in the distance, making him wince, and a strange odour filled the hallway as yellow fog seeped from under the crack of a room a few doors down. One thing was for certain: he was incredibly glad to have trusted Voldemort instead of some of the healers here. Ending up with a wooden arm would probably have been the very best-case scenario.

''I'll wait outside too,'' he said as the Weasleys went to enter Arthur's room, Tonks and Kingsley staying back to give some space. Mrs Weasley shook her head firmly and guided him inside too.

''I'm sure he'll want to thank you, dearie,'' she said with a smile.

Harry couldn't imagine why. As he'd explained to Ron before, he hadn't actually done anything that had helped. However, Mr Weasley's eyes lit up when seeing him shuffle closer and held out his good hand to shake it enthusiastically. Afterwards, Harry tried to keep back respectfully, giving Ron and the others time with their dad. Molly had a field day trying to get the Twins to stop asking questions about their father's mission, the snake and the Order. It was a shame, as Harry was also very much interested in all of those answers. He'd actually hoped that Bill would have been here still, but the oldest Weasley child had returned to work. Again one less person he could ask about Nagini's fate… Nothing in life could ever be easy, could it?

With interest, he tried to look at the other two occupants in the room, especially the werewolf. In that moment, the Twins apparently went too far with their questioning though, as Molly broke off their enquiry about the snake belonging to Voldemort and sent them all out, at which point Tonks and Kingsley entered instead. As soon as the door closed, one of the Twins held up a familiar flesh-coloured string that he hadn't seen in a couple of months. His heart jumped a bit at the thought of finally being able to get a scrap of useful information, and he accepted the extendable ear with a grateful nod, shoving it under the door.

''-said it's not a danger to anyone at the moment. Kept sedated and all that.''

''Why keep it around in the first place?'' Harry jumped a bit, as Kingsley's voice even boomed when he was whispering. ''Wouldn't it be better to erase the danger altogether? Look at what it did to you Arthur…''

''Albus surely has his reasons,'' Tonks answered. ''From what I gathered, he wishes to study it. Who knows, it might bring us closer. Give some clues as to… you know.''

''On another note, Albus appeared more than a bit worried about Harry,'' Molly whispered in concern. ''Understandable of course, but what worries** me** most is that Dumbledore did not sound surprised at all about this… this **vision**.'' At her words, the others who were listening in all looked at Harry, which he tried his best to ignore. ''It's odd, I very briefly spoke to him today to inform Albus about Arthur's situation and when he informed me about what Harry had seen, it almost seemed as if he'd been** waiting** for something like this to happen. I don't understand it. The boy is no Seer, is he?''

''I asked Harry the same on the way here,'' Tonks spoke softly. ''But there is no Seer blood in the Potter line, and his mother descended from Muggles… besides, he doesn't see the** future**, rather the present. And that through the eyes of an animal no less. I've never heard of such an ability.''

''Perhaps an affinity for snakes and other reptiles?'' Mr Weasley wondered out aloud. ''Wasn't there news years ago about him being a Parselmouth? And he calmed that dragon during the Triwizard Tournament too…''

A long silence stretched out, so long that Harry feared the extendable ears had stopped working. He barely noticed how tight he gripped the thing.

''He did kill a Basilisk though to rescue Ginny, surely he has no love for the creatures,'' Molly hesitated.

''There are many theories at the moment,'' Kingsley mentioned. ''Not the least of which is the possibility of You-Know-Who possessing the boy.''

Harry did pull the ear back now in shock. Possession? They thought that Voldemort was** possessing** him in his sleep? Was that even possible? He ignored the gasps from Ron and Ginny in favour of calming his own thudding heart. Well, he couldn't really find too many faults with that theory. Even if Dumbledore had concluded for certain that Harry was a Horcrux, the man only had had a few memories and one destroyed diary to work with in deducing how they worked. It wasn't unfeasible that the main soul would somehow be able to control the pieces, even if that wasn't how it worked practically as far as Harry was aware. Was this also why Dumbledore had suddenly avoided his gaze? Did he think he'd see Voldemort staring back?

Harry** wished** that the Dark Lord could possess him, that definitely would be practical in a great many situations. It certainly would solve the problem he faced now, surely Voldemort would instantly know how to find Nagini, free her and safely bring her home. Merlin, how he missed the man… the air of confidence, of security, of always having a solution. It almost physically hurt to be apart.

He clung to the thought of the Dark Lord during the way back, to not have to concentrate on the many stares on him. It made a lot more sense now that they'd insisted on bringing two Aurors. Not for their safety, but the safety of others. It was him they were watching, wondering when Voldemort would jump out. Once again, he was so incredibly glad for everything he'd been shown and told before already. He could barely imagine how scared he would have been otherwise. Anger flared up again at Dumbledore, who once again handled the situation awfully. Harry would have blamed himself for this attack if he hadn't known he'd merely been looking through Nagini's eyes, he'd have been terrified to death about the possibility of the most powerful dark wizard in history having access to his mind…

Of the lot, only Mrs Weasley tried to speak to him, commenting on how pale he looked. Harry brushed it off with an excuse and hurried upstairs as soon as they arrived back at Grimmauld place while Ron was still busy trying to awkwardly console his mother about Mr Weasley's current situation. He was glad that the Christmas holidays were starting in only one day and they were apparently allowed to stay here. The last thing he wanted to deal with now was Umbridge. Dumbledore could say all he wanted to about being allowed to leave the school for hospital visits, Harry doubted Umbridge would be lenient towards Harry, who was not actually family of the victim.

The trunks had arrived shortly before their hospital trip and he quickly dug out the mirror - before freezing when noticing a movement out of the corner of his eyes: on the wall near his bed, Phineas Nigellus walked into a picture frame that hadn't been there before and eyed him with disdain. The lid of the trunk had still covered the item in Harry's hands, so he quickly exchanged it for a schoolbook. He'd have to be extremely careful with that two-way-mirror in a house full of portraits loyal to either Dumbledore or Sirius… Even if Sirius let him make his own decisions, the man had made it clear that Harry was not to hamper Order business, and it looked like Nagini currently was considered such.

''Running away?'' the portrait finally said, which only served to confuse Harry. He withdrew his charms textbook and closed the trunk.

''No? I was invited to stay here by my godfather for Christmas, why would I run? Moreover, where would I go?''

The answer appeared to throw off the portrait, who'd surely had another snide comment ready. It grumbled a bit, then said: ''In either case, I have a message from Albus Dumbledore for you. Stay where you are.''

Harry almost laughed disbelievingly at that. Seriously? That was all?

''No tips on how to deal with being possessed in my sleep then? Stay here Harry, let more capable people sort it out?'' he venomously said, fed up with being treated of not being worthy of any information. He didn't care that he'd revealed knowing about Dumbledore's fears. Any Order member should know by now that nothing could be kept long from a bunch of determined teenagers, certainly not if two of those teenagers were the Weasley Twins. ''Thank him for his **valuable** advice!'' he still shouted, then marched out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

The rest of the house wasn't any better than the bedroom with the former Headmaster's scornful stare. Hardly anyone spoke, and he surely did not imagine the wary glances. At long last, he searched out Ginny, who was once more staring into flames, of the fireplace this time. ''Hey,'' he tiredly said, plopping down on the couch next to her. She didn't flinch, which was a good start. ''I want your honest opinion. Do you think that I could be possessed?'' Because even if he knew he wasn't, it would be good to make a few other people realise that, and Ginny was the only one to actually have any experience with possession.

She gave him a critical look and asked: ''Do you have memory gasps? Large periods where you don't know what you did? Do you suddenly feel like you wake up and wonder how you got wherever you are standing at that moment?''

Harry briefly thought of his time with the Locket-Horcrux. There had definitely been a lot of memory gaps there. Odd how after only a month, he'd gotten so used to being by himself again… He shook his head, and she smiled at him. ''Doubtful that you've ever been possessed then. Thanks for remembering that you can come to me. All that happened in my first year is not something I can talk about much. My family and friends usually are happier pretending it never happened.''

''Can't you talk with Luna about it?'' he asked, frowning. ''She doesn't seem the type of person to mind.''

Ginny chuckled and threw her hands up. ''I tried once. The first question she asked me, very seriously, was whether or not I thought Voldemort had been birthed by a serpent.''

Harry snorted. ''Considering he descends from Muggles on one side and crazed purebloods on the other, I think he'd consider that theory a compliment.'' At her questioning glance, he elaborated: ''Dumbledore showed me several memories about his past and family. It was… rather pitiful, actually.''

''A sad backstory doesn't justify evil deeds done to others,'' she harshly responded. As much as Harry wanted to stand up for Voldemort, he tended to agree with her on this point. Awful things had happened to him too, and many other people who'd turned out good, caring human beings. And some of Voldemort's deeds had indeed been evil, even Harry could not deny that. If he wouldn't have had the full picture, he'd also have shoved any feelings of pity aside. Was that Dumbledore's goal? To harden him against Voldemort by showing only one side of the story? He considered telling Ginny this, but by the way she was glaring at the fire, he decided it would be unwise. He wouldn't be able to explain his hesitance in judging Voldemort as he was not allowed to speak of knowing the Dark Lord's plans. The teen wished he could. Here, they only saw the bad sides. The murders committed by the Dark Lord's hand or those of his followers, the chaos the man had caused in the previous war… And for Ginny personally of course the damage done by the Horcrux.

It was hardly everything Voldemort strived for, and he almost wished to run up to every Order member to shake them by the shoulders. Tell them that Voldemort wanted to protect their kind, that he'd killed slavers to free creatures, that he was trying to balance out magic without another massacre, that he'd make sure in the end that no magical child should suffer by the hands of Muggles again… Harry had no doubt that things would run smoothly with the Dark Lord overseeing everything. Corruption would not be tolerated, if only because Barty would otherwise lose his faith. Magic would bloom in every nook and cranny of the world that would be created. All of this, they were unaware of. They only saw the monster that Voldemort had made himself out to be to inspire fear and hope to seize control quickly.

When would that stop, Harry wondered? When **would** he be able to proudly declare his loyalty to Voldemort's cause without being gazed upon in horror? Some had already seen a glimpse behind the mask… Fleur for example knew now that the Dark Lord strived for good causes too. Though would she resent him for the death of her grandmother, caused by retaliation against the Hand of Magic?

He'd never thought too much about this group yet, other than knowing they worked for Voldemort and acted as a cover-up for the Death Eaters. Who were all part of this? How many members actually knew whom they were fighting for? The Dark Lord had kept his return rather secret for a long time. Even after Rosier had gone to the Ministry and started the nagging rumour that Voldemort was back, hardly anyone believed it. Voldemort himself tried his utmost to make it out to be some ludicrous lie by having the press ignore the topic unless it was in a ridiculing matter. Still, the very name of the group practically announced to the world who was pulling the strings. Hand of Magic, those chosen by Magic… It was literally a description of Voldemort's role.

Harry seriously wondered how** other** Lords of Magic had dealt with their tasks, and why everything kept getting unbalanced over and over. Voldemort had said he'd have to relinquish his source magic and title if he ever succeeded after all, so Harry assumed that was common practice. It wasn't a very well-working system if Magic kept having to appoint new Lords… A memory flickered in his mind, one that had belonged to Voldemort and he'd seen through the man's eyes when their link hadn't been stable yet. Magic had been there, reaching out, conveying her intentions through an overwhelming rush of feelings and… well, magic. It was indescribable. How Harry wished that he could meet this being himself, to ask it all the questions he had. That was probably never going to happen…

The following evening around dinner time, the bell rang as he just wanted to go upstairs again, so he answered the door, finding Hermione at the doorstep, huddled together in a thick winter coat to protect herself from the falling snow. The tip of her nose was red and brown curls were dotted with white snowflakes, giving her an angelical appearance. That is, until she rushed in and the door fell close behind her. ''It's so** cold** outside!'' She shivered. ''Harry, great to see you! I sure hope tomorrow will bring better weather for our shopping trip.''

Shopping… he'd completely forgotten about that during the mess that had been the previous days. Hermione had promised to go to Muggle London with him so he could buy a birthday present for Voldemort. Not that she knew who the recipient would be exactly. ''I didn't expect you to already visit this evening,'' he blurted out.

Hermione shrugged. ''I'll have the whole rest of the holiday with mum and dad. They're so excited… To tell you the truth, I'm not very fond of skiing, but I haven't spent many holidays with them as I was invited by Viktor this summer. So, I'll get myself together and hope I can enjoy the mountain view with a good book while they have the time of their lives zigzagging off pistes.'' She took off her scarf and coat, hanging it up with the rest. ''Dumbledore personally filled me in on why you, Ron, and his siblings left Hogwarts early. Umbridge is livid of course, so I still had to wait until the end of term. Mr Weasley is fine now, yes?''

''Not sure if** fine** is the exact word I'd use, he's still in the hospital,'' Harry spoke with concern. ''He is awake and stable as far as I heard, but they haven't found a way to stop the bleeding yet other than constantly applying bandages with strengthened pressure charms on them to keep the blood in. I think they're working on an antidote. Mrs Weasley goes there every day and told us that we can all visit him on Wednesday again.''

They went to the living room, where Hermione was greeted by the Weasley family and she expressed her concerns about Mr Weasley. All of them sat together and talked, while Sirius was going around, already starting to whistle Christmas songs and putting up decorations. It was clear that he'd missed having company. His good mood didn't even waver when Harry informed him that he and Hermione had planned on visiting a couple of bookstores the following day. Mrs Weasley, on the other hand, instantly interjected with: ''But that is dangerous! Two children, all alone!''

''They're not alone if there's two of them, Molly,'' Sirius cheerfully spoke. ''Besides, Voldemort is hardly going to pop up in Diagon, is he?''

''Actually, we're not even visiting magical London, I want to show Harry my favourite Muggle bookshops and maybe have some tea after.''

''That is even a much large area,'' Mrs Weasley muttered in concern. ''Harry dear, you shouldn't go wandering off. Not now…'' The advice he had received from Dumbledore came to mind, which Harry squashed down instantly. 'Stay where you are' didn't mean he couldn't even set foot outside the door for shopping, could he? ''I insist that someone at least accompany you!'' she adamantly spoke, putting her hands in her sides.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. They'd really wanted to just spend the day on their own, and since Harry knew that any Aurors would mostly be there to keep an eye on** him** instead of watching out for potential dangers from outside, he wasn't very keen on bodyguards. Then, he had an idea. ''Only if it's Sirius,'' he stated calmly. Molly turned red, while Sirius perked up. Harry caught a surprised, questioning glance from Hermione, but wasn't sure why she gave him that look. Clearly, the fight about going alone was already lost, and at least Sirius wouldn't be breathing down their necks.

''Dumbledore said that Sirius is not-'' the woman started, but Harry interrupted her.

''I understand that you only have our best interests in mind, but not many wizards and witches successfully blend in, and there are no Muggle-borns in the Order, are there? A dog, on the other hand, would not be amiss in a big place like London, and would ward off mages and Muggles alike who might have evil intentions towards us. Sirius, what do you think?''

''I think it is** perfect**,'' the man predictably said. ''Molly, it is one afternoon, a few hours at most. I'll be on guard. Besides, most of Voldemort's followers are snobby pricks who'd never set foot in a place like a London Muggle shopping centre. And if he has anymore large snakes to send out, I'm sure they have animal control for that.'' That particular joke didn't go over well, as her lips started to tremble when reminded of what had happened to her husband. Harry threw Sirius a warning glance to indicate he'd gone too far, and his godfather instantly looked guilty. ''Apologies Molly, I didn't mean to…'' he said, but she'd already turned and stormed out of the room.

''Dick move,'' Fred dryly told Sirius. ''You can be glad that dad is doing fine.'' Sighing, the twins slipped out of the room to go after their mother.

''I'd better cook breakfast to make up for it tomorrow,'' Sirius commented, scratching his head. ''You're really okay with me coming along as a guard dog?''

''Dead Sirius,'' Harry smirked.

And so, despite Mrs Weasley still protesting about being irresponsible and some other Order members who visited being a bit wary of their plan, they went ahead and slipped out of the door. Having Sirius with them did save them most of the trip itself: none of them were sure if any buses would allow large dogs to enter, so the man side-apparated them from the doorstep of Grimmauld place to a small alley in London. ''Ah, this place never changes,'' he said, looking around fondly at a bunch of trashcans and bare brick walls. ''I once set up camp here after a fight with my parents,'' he explained. ''Alright, no-one is looking?''

''The coast is clear.''

The man cracked his neck, which started to sprout long, black fur that matched the colour of his hair. A few seconds later, a large dog stood in front of them, and snow flew everywhere when Sirius shook his body. ''Let's go then,'' Harry spoke, blowing on his fingers. Maybe he should have put on some gloves… ''Lead the way,'' he told Hermione.

''It would have been nice if Snuffles would first have told us where exactly he'd brought us,'' the girl sighed, stepping out of the alley, narrowing her eyes to peer through the thick falling flakes. ''Although I told him where I wanted to go first, I can't seem to recognise… Oh, there! We're only a few streets away, maybe a ten-minute walk,'' she excitedly told Harry.

They left the alley with Sirius in tow, the snow they were trudging through freezing Harry's feet through the old sneakers he wore. They weaved through masses of shoppers who were looking to dive into their favourite café's, restaurants or shops, and finally arrived on a rather large, open road that was bustling with activity. A sign told Harry that they were at Old Brompton Road, which they followed until arriving at a bookshop called 'Waterstones'.

Hermione said with a beaming smile: ''They opened two years after I was born, this was the first location they had. I started picking out books from here that I wanted my mum to read to me and bought my first own books here too. They have a great selection! Of course, I still want to show you many other bookstores as well, but if we're lucky, they have the one in stock that I had in mind.''

They did not have Hermione's mystery book, and after asking the staff, it appeared to be impossible to still get an order in now that would arrive before the end of December, with Christmas orders swamping them. Harry didn't mind too much, knowing that Hermione surely had many other possible locations in mind. Having the entire afternoon at their disposal still, he searched through a great number of books and asked Hermione a million questions to get recommendations. He cast Sirius a pitying glance at times, who sat in front of the store window like a good dog. To avoid the same problem as they'd had at King's cross, Sirius had even allowed a simple leash to be put on. None of them wanted Sirius to be taken away by animal control instead…

Hermione was shocked to hear that Harry had never been allowed to visit libraries or own books that weren't absolutely necessary for school. She told him all about her favourite series and genres, and filled him in on the differences between high and low fantasy. She picked up a newly-published book herself called _Sabriel_. As it was supposedly filled with magic, intrigue and even necromancy, Harry considered it for Voldemort, then decided otherwise when seeing it was the first of a series. He really did not know if Voldemort was the type to like cliff-hangers or starting a series before it was finished. Moreover, it turned out to be Australian, and with Voldemort's odd takes on supremacy, he did not know if the man would deem anything that did not originate from Britain to be worth a read. Most other books about magic he found were unfortunately in the children's section. He almost laughed out loud at the image of giving Voldemort a colourful picture book about a boy who finds out he is a wizard.

It took them a long time before exiting the store again and Sirius let out a low whine when being informed that they still weren't done. He glared at the dark clouds and the ever-falling snow above, biting back at the freezing air. They walked for a long time before stopping at a massive building. ''Chelsea Antiques Market at King's road,'' Hermione proudly said as if she had personally built the place. ''We're lucky it's not a Sunday, wouldn't have been able to enter the place otherwise. We're searching for the stall of Peter Harrington.''

Searching a single stall amongst dozens was rather difficult in Harry's opinion, but Hermione headed straight towards it. Maybe it was in the same place each time, who knew. A man was sitting at a table, overflowing chests around him. Hermione greeted the man, who clearly recognised her. ''Mr Harrington sells rare books, art and maps,'' Hermione explained to him. ''I do not think he has what you are searching for, but I wanted to introduce you to this stall nonetheless. They have works going back to the fifteenth century! I sometimes stop by here during holidays to compare events we learn about in our… school history books, with the other side of events,'' she gushed. Harry looked with interest at a couple of old maps, and Mr Harrington even had a special chest with incredibly old editions of several of Shakespeare's works. They looked to be much older than the ones in Voldemort's house. Hermione chatted a bit with Mr Harrington and found out that the man was hoping to open up a bookstore within the next few years, already having a property in mind at Fullham Road.

Their long search came to an end at _John Sandoe Books Ltd_., which had a wide selection of all sorts of genres, from fantasy to biographies. Only a few minutes after they had entered the store, Hermione ran up to him excitedly and pressed a blue book with a sort of flower-symbol on the front cover into his hands, titled '_The Silmarillion'_.

''If he loved the Lord of the Rings, he's sure to love this, it's the background story about it! It delves into the origin of Middle Earth, the creation of the races, the first wars and more. It's a treasure trove!''

With appreciation, Harry glanced down at the book. ''It's perfect,'' he smiled, his heart jumping a bit at the thought of giving this to Voldemort.

''Good thing Sirius is not allowed to come into the store, isn't it?'' she randomly said, at which he gave her a confused look.

''Not sure about that. It must be freezing out there even with his… fur coat. I'll go tell him about this book right after buying it!'' he excitedly said.

''But… don't you want it to be a surprise?'' she asked, looking slightly thrown off.

Harry blinked at her. ''Err… why?''

She flushed slightly and mumbled something about a misunderstanding, then dived into the next row of shelves. Puzzled, Harry went to pay and walked out, crouching down next to the black dog, patting Sirius' head. ''I got what I was looking for! Well, what Hermione told me I should be looking for.'' The man gave a happy yip and nuzzled his cold nose into Harry's hand.

''Hermione and I are still planning to visit a tearoom after. I'm sure she won't say anything to Molly if you decide to join us in your regular form,'' he said, knowing just how much Sirius missed not having to hide all the time. Harry absolutely did not think Mrs Weasley's fears were founded in this instance. Arthur had been attacked during a mission, and only because he'd tried to attack Nagini. There were no Death Eaters actively looking to take down Order members, certainly not in the middle of a Muggle city right before Christmas. They were sure to have different things on their mind, like organising Yule balls or so. Harry was glad that he hadn't received an invitation for any this year, perhaps because Sirius was still banned from the Malfoy's after last year…

Sirius managed to sneak into the back yard of someone through the bars of a half-broken fence, and emerged wearing his regular black leather jacket and ripped jeans. His body was racking with shivers, but that could not take away from the bright look in his eyes as he eagerly took in the other people on the street. ''I am** outside**,'' he whispered with a smile. ''Really outside. As a **human**.''

To minimalize the risk, Harry and Hermione flanked the man, entering a tearoom soon after, where Hermione treated them all to cake. Harry didn't have much Muggle money left anymore, and Sirius didn't own any in the first place. While the goblins didn't care - the reason why Sirius had been able to withdraw money from the vault to buy Harry a broom even on the run – Dumbledore had 'advised against' Sirius waltzing into Gringotts with a warrant still on his head. ''So, what did you get?'' Sirius asked, peeking at the bag that Harry had stowed under the table.

''A book, obviously,'' he joked, taking it out and handing it over to Sirius, who studied the cover. ''It's a fantasy book for a.. erhm… friend.''

''Huh. I don't know much about Muggle books, sorry,'' he said, giving it back. Then, Sirius suddenly stilled and narrowed his eyes. ''How many friends do you have who take a fancy to Muggle fantasy books?'' he asked with a sharp tone. Harry froze, having totally forgotten that in his rant about Voldemort being able to be a wonderful person, he'd revealed the titbit about the Dark Lord being interested in exactly such things. Rather specifically.

''It's the background story about Lord of the Rings, have you heard of that?'' Hermione said, which was rather unhelpful at the moment. Sirius' skin paled further.

''Once,'' he answered through gritted teeth. His fingers trembled slightly as he occupied himself with his piece of carrot cake.

During the very silent trip back to Grimmauld place later, Harry informed Hermione quietly that his godfather wasn't very fond of the person they'd been shopping for. Hermione quickly went inside to say goodbye to everyone before leaving for her parent's house, and Sirius took Harry aside in the tapestry room after.

''You're buying him** Christmas presents** now?'' he asked incredulously.

''No,'' Harry said, feeling like a small child having been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. ''He doesn't like Christmas. But his birthday is soon and… and he did give** me** birthday presents these past two years,'' he defensively said. ''So I want to return the favour.''

''He gave** you…**?'' Sirius sputtered, running a hand through his hair. He stared at his godson for a moment, then continued: ''You exchange birthday presents, you are friends with his creepy pet… Harry, I don't know how to say this but… it is one thing to objectively agree to his ideals for your personal reasons. It's a whole other to drink tea with… with James' murderer!'' Sirius was all but shouting now, tears of anger gathering in the corner of his eyes.

''You know I spent time with him,'' Harry tried to throw in. ''I told you where really I spent my summers.''

''And I told you that no matter whether you have seen him personally, you cannot** know** him!'' The man started pacing up and down in frustration. ''He's fooled so many… Look at what happened to Arthur! His murders just won't stop, no matter how much** control** you think he has. He kills people for fun, you only cannot see it because you speak so much to him, let him cloud your views...''

Harry was silent for a while, simply looking at his godfather. ''I didn't only have visions of Nagini,'' he spoke, fed up with not being able to counter his godfather's arguments. ''I know that he isn't manipulating me, that his thoughts and actions are genuine, because I've been in** his** head as well, at times he didn't know. It is **you** who hasn't got the faintest idea about Voldemort, so cannot belittle me on his character,'' Harry said in quiet fury. ''You've only ever seen him as this image of 'the enemy', catching maybe a faraway glimpse of him and hearing stories, tons of stories from different people whom you either did or didn't like, furthering your biases. I don't care what you say, or whether or not you'll give me information on where Nagini is, but I won't be stopped from visiting Voldemort on his fucking birthday at the very least. And if you tell Dumbledore, or anyone of the Order this, I** will** leave. For good.''

He tried his best not to look at Sirius' broken expression when marching out. He refused to get hurt again by another failed conversation that ended in nothing. Harry was so done with it all. Even his godfather, who had explicitly told Harry he'd give support as long as it didn't directly go against the Order's plans, just didn't understand. Didn't want to understand.

James' murderer… That was all Voldemort would ever be to Sirius. The killer of his best friend. No motive would have ever been good enough to justify that deed. Snape and Sirius were a lot more alike than they knew, Harry bitterly thought. Sirius hated Voldemort for killing James and loved Harry for looking so much like his father, whereas Snape hated Voldemort for killing Lily and hated Harry as well for not looking enough like his mother. The ironic difference was that Snape tried to protect Harry now by being on Voldemort's side, even as Sirius stubbornly fought for the same cause that Harry's dad had.

This wouldn't change anything; Harry was aware of that. The knowledge that Sirius would never switch sides no matter which arguments Harry brought up was still on the forefront of his mind. However, just maybe Sirius would finally lay off these warning talks now about Voldemort maliciously influencing Harry's judgement and ability to think straight.

It looked like he succeeded in that. No more words were exchanged about Voldemort, Sirius instead tried his best to get back in good spirits. The days passed eventless: everyone was preparing for Christmas, and Harry's search of the house for Nagini was fruitless. He really did try, even using magic in the hopes of tracking her down. Nothing worked. **If **she was being held somewhere at Grimmauld place number twelve, it was a heavily warded room he didn't have access to. Harry tried to at least trust that his godfather would inform him if the Order planned on killing her. On one night, he set his alarm clock for 3 am, and informed Ron that it had been a mistake when the boy woke up with a few panicked snores. Only it hadn't been a mistake, and as Harry had hoped, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus was empty. Most likely, he was dozing off in his other portrait at Hogwarts. Sneaking around to his trunk, Harry finally took the two-way mirror and snuck off to the bathroom to call for Barty.

To his crushing disappointment, no answer came. The mirror stayed as blank as the regular one on the bathroom wall. Knowing he would not be able to pull the same trick twice, Harry stuffed the mirror in the otherwise empty, filthy cupboard in the bathroom so he might try again from here another time. In the meantime, he hoped that Barty wouldn't try to return the call while Ron was using the bathroom. That might get awkward.

Awkward was also the perfect word to describe Christmas day. It started well enough, with everyone unwrapping their gifts and Harry receiving quite a number of useful items, although he side-eyed Sirius after receiving a book called _'Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts'_ from his godfather and Lupin. It would be dead useful for the D.A, that was true. However, the teen suspected that Sirius was starting to get so worried about Harry's prolonged exposure to Voldemort, that the man was trying to draw Harry away a bit from the Dark Arts after all instead of encouraging him to explore further as he'd done before.

During the next trip to Mr Weasley, Harry and the other Weasley children left the room rather hurriedly when Molly blew up about the failed application of stitches, and they were halted from their trip to the tearoom by stumbling upon Professor Lockhart of all people. The events that transpired after, Harry would rather forget. Upon returning from the hospital, Harry felt more shaken in his decisions than ever before since swearing fealty to the Dark Lord. The absent eyes of Frank and Alice Longbottom haunted him, making even Grimmauld place feel unsafe. Had he still been part of the Order, this surely would have strengthened his resolve. Now, it only left hollow emptiness and insecurity. Harry knew of course, the destructive nature of the Unforgivables. Barty had taught them all there was to know about them, or so he thought, yet Harry had never properly considered the long-term consequences before.

Even the few seconds he'd been subjected to the Cruciatus curse had made him wish to vanish. How long had the Lestranges tortured the Longbottoms for them to become mere shells forever? Had Barty truly tried to stop them… and if, **when**? After a minute? After five? After their voices had died?

These ponderings were clearly not shared by the rest of the house's guests. The Weasleys were all ecstatic about Mr Weasley's quick recovery - even despite the stitches, they'd been informed he was doing much better and should be home in a few days due to how quickly he'd made it to the hospital – which only added to today's Christmas cheer. The smell of food lightened the dark rooms and the house was full of noise and decorations. Harry tried to put his gloom aside for the sake of others, even if he kept mulling over all worries silently. He had no other opportunity to try the mirror, for Ron constantly sought Harry out to counter boredom, which Harry honestly wouldn't have minded if this would have been a normal holiday without added stress. Dinner passed without a hitch, and so did boxing day.

Then suddenly, on the 27th of December, Grimmauld place emptied out. Order members went back to work and the rest of the Weasleys returned to the Burrow to prepare the house for their father's arrival, which was scheduled for the 30th. Harry remained behind with only Sirius for company. Mrs Weasley had tried to convince Harry otherwise, but he'd kindly declined. At Hogwarts, he could see his friends every day still, but as soon as the holidays were over, he'd have to wait till Easter again to spend time with his godfather. Even if they could not work through their differences, Harry did not wish to leave Sirius behind with uncleared grudges. Molly only unwillingly accepted that decision. She was once again clearly concerned about Sirius' ability to take care of a teenager. Truly, Harry would have shared those concerns if not for his opinion that he could very well take care of himself.

Besides, he'd never be able to continue his investigation at the Burrow as it didn't seem like the Weasleys had received any further info on what had happened to Arthur's attacker, not even Bill. All Harry knew now, was that she'd been knocked unconscious before being transported to Grimmauld. Whatever happened after remained a mystery that apparently very few Order members knew about. Harry was aware that his godfather knew more, but the man was incredibly tight-lipped, especially after Harry's previous outburst.

When Harry went downstairs to search for his godfather the next day, he noticed that they weren't as alone as previously thought. He found Sirius in the Order's meeting room in the cellar, together with Dumbledore, Vance and Doge. The moment Harry pushed the door open, he felt a silencing ward shatter. Dumbledore still finished saying ''-research has been completed,'' before turning his attention to the teen, who stammered:

''I didn't know there would be meetings so soon. Sorry. I was trying to find Sirius…''

''Well, you found me,'' the man said with a hesitant smile, jumping up. ''We were just about done here anyways. Albus, do what you think is best. I'll concentrate on spoiling my godson rotten for the rest of the holidays.'' He shuffled Harry back upstairs towards the living room.

''I really didn't know about the meeting, had not expected anything so shortly after Christmas,'' he still said, finding it important that Sirius knew he wasn't trying to listen in.

The other waved it away. ''I know, I know. Oh Merlin, it's already ten? Everyone sure took their time. I bet Witherwings is growing grumpy and hungry. Last time I forgot to feed 'm, the old brute destroyed every single one of my pillows in retribution. Count yourself lucky for only having an owl.''

''An owl that might have some Hippogriff blood,'' Harry grinned. ''I once had to put her on a diet at the Dursley's, after she had been used to Hogwarts food for a whole year. She was less than pleased in the first few days. I was afraid that she'd rather starve than swallow her pride over only receiving some watery vegetables and soup.''

Sirius patted him on the shoulder and spoke: ''You can give her all her little owl heart desires here.''

They prepared Buckbeak's meal together in a part of the kitchen that had been reserved for that exact purpose, and Harry snatched a couple of pieces for Hedwig as well. He balanced a bowl of raw sausages and a plate with a large hunk of meat, while Sirius brought a couple of dead, whole ferrets. Possibly due to being late, the Hippogriff refused to return their bows until Sirius threw one of the ferrets towards the animal as a peace offering. Harry grimaced slightly as a sharp beak ripped it in two within a second. He much preferred animals that swallowed their prey whole.

''Dumbledore asked me to watch you,''' his godfather sombrely said out of the blue, still looking at Buckbeak.

Harry looked up in shock. ''He did? Watch** over** me or** watch** me?'' he asked for clarification, although he had the sinking feeling of already knowing the answer.

''Do you think Voldemort can possess you?'' Sirius asked in all seriousness, glancing over at his godson, who shook his head.

''I doubt it. It would have been a much easier way to communicate, but he's never given the slightest indication of being able to. I've seen into his head through these visions a couple of times but.. that was all involuntary. The experience wasn't pleasant for either of us. Besides, he noticed. I should notice too if he were to take control of me.'' What he didn't tell Sirius was that Voldemort knew more secrets of magic than Harry could possibly think of, including creating new laws of magic. So, he still could not be a hundred percent** sure** if Voldemort couldn't possess him at one point. Through the experience he had with the Locket, Harry could only say with certainty that the Dark Lord hadn't possessed him as of yet.

''I'm not sure what to make of Albus' instruction.'' Sirius sighed. ''I thought that you ought to know nonetheless. Obviously, I'm not going to spy on you for him.''

''Thanks,'' Harry muttered. ''I understand Dumbledore less and less… Gives me lessons to show me things about Voldemort's past, yet refuses to say what for. Watches me closely at Hogwarts, then gets concerned when seeing I'm not such good friends with Malfoy of all people as he thinks I should be. He hasn't done anything concrete to give me reason to doubt his good intentions, but following information I have from very reliable sources, the Headmaster has plans that could directly endanger my life.'' Sitting down on the bed, Harry started stroking the stormy grey feathers of the Hippogriff to have something to do with his hands.

''You aren't the first person who can't figure him out,'' Sirius spoke grimly. ''Don't confuse my conviction to stay with the Order as blind loyalty to Dumbledore. I know his flaws better than most. My sentence in Azkaban was partially because he deemed the cause more important than me.'' Harry was about to comment on that when Sirius raised a hand. ''I agree with his decision from back then, and he more than made up for it by supporting my escape and extended hiding. Anyone who knows of my location without informing the Ministry is aiding a fugitive and thus acting against the law. Dumbledore can lose everything if it becomes known.''

''So can every other Order member, it doesn't make him special,'' Harry replied aggressively.

''And I'm very thankful for that too.''

They fell into further silence. Harry really wished that this blockage between them was gone, that he could enjoy regular conversations. In an attempt to initiate lighter conversations, he informed his godfather about the progress on his Animagus form, which did indeed get Sirius excited.

''How did you and dad get enough of the potion by the way?'' Harry asked. ''We've added the juices of specific plants but did not want to risk diluting the thing too much. In the original recipe, it looks like it should only be a single sip to transform completely, or never again. We wished to go with your method, practising a couple of times to transform while drinking part of the potion. Still, there is so little of it…''

Sirius looked a bit sheepish. ''Err… we just poured more water in it. Before it was ready of course, not after anymore. We each had a decent vial, I think we had about twelve sips each? James and I both managed a full transformation after ten sessions. Peter needed sixteen, we gave him the leftover potion we had.''

Harry winced at that information. ''Ron and I both have eight tries max. Maybe seven, and we already used up two. I can transform both of my arms into bat wings of sorts, but that's it.''

''For two tries, that's amazing,'' Sirius encouraged him. ''Who knows, maybe our potion wasn't as strong since we watered it down.''

They chatted more about the process and Sirius told him elaborately how the stages of his own transformation had happened. The day passed in relative peace, with a pleasant dinner on top. Satisfied, Harry went to bed after telling Phineas to go bother people in his other painting while Harry changed into pyjamas. Soon, he drifted off to sleep.

_The humans were there again. More this time. He nervously fidgeted, barely able to move due to the cold metal bars all around. He eyed the humans distrustfully, tensing as they drew their wands. His head was finally clear again, not clouded by their sticks, and the old one had left. She hated the old one, he smelled of dust and light. Something about him made her shiver. She'd been unable to do anything as he'd taken her out of the cage they'd put her in, inspected her body and even milked her venom without permission. None of them could speak, unlike her master… Oh, why had Marvolo not come to get her yet? Could he not find her? _

_The sticks were pointed at her, and Nagini tried to rear her head, finding her jaws unfortunately bound together. A flash. Pain. She hissed wildly, bashing her heavy body against the metal bars. The flashes continued, and she tried to make as much noise as she could as impossible pain flared up. Never in her life had she felt this: her insides were on fire, her scales were being pulled from her body. Why? Was this revenge for biting the other one? She stared at them in fear, and past her she saw freedom… a larger room with tables and chairs…_

Harry screamed, waking with a shock. Unable to form coherent thoughts, he wiped the blood from his forehead and stumbled out of the door, going down the corridor. He heard a rustling sound and footsteps from upstairs now too. The screams must have woken Sirius. Harry did not care, storming downstairs and into the cellar as soon as he could, his scar pounding all the while. And there they were. As he threw open the cellar door and peered past the long meeting table, he saw another door that he'd never noticed before. It was open, and two figures were firing spells…

_**~No!~**_ he yelled, not noticing that only hissing came out. He drew his own wand as the people turned around, shock on their faces. Vaguely, he recognised them as Elphias Doge and Emmeline Vance, two members of the Order that he had had little to do with. The same ones who'd been in the meeting this morning…

''Harry!'' Doge spoke in warning. ''Wait, don't go close to that thing!''

Harry shoved Vance aside and knelt down at the cage, horrified at the sight. Blood was streaming over Nagini's beautiful scales, her snout was taped up and the bars pressed into her body. Uncaring about the audience, he stuck his hands through the bars without hesitation. _~Nagini… Nagini,~_ he whispered, trying to calm the panicking snake down. _~I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner. I'll get you out of here, I promise you,~_ he hissed, choking up. She leered at him with an unfocused eye. He sprang to his feet, red in the face. ''You monsters! What the hell do you think you're doing, abusing a trapped animal!''

''Harry, you don't understand,'' Vance spoke, trying to sound reasonable while Doge only gave him a fearful look. ''This is the snake that attacked Arthur. **You-Know-Who's** snake.''

''I-DON'T-CARE!'' he yelled back. ''She is an intelligent, sentient animal who is in pain for your sadistic need to harm her! **Get her out! NOW!**''

''Harry-'' said Sirius, who had just arrived in the room, looking at Nagini with a mixture of shock and disgust. ''They're not doing this to cause her suffering. Dumbledore found that she is doused in Voldemort's magic, they're trying to remove it by force as other methods haven't worked yet.''

Harry stood there silent in shock. They were trying to** separate** Nagini from Voldemort's** magic**? Horror dawned on him as he figured out what Dumbledore was trying to do. Horcruxes were extremely resistant to most anything, only several magical means such as basilisk venom were destructive enough to kill them. Although Voldemort had never wanted to risk testing those limits with his living Horcruxes, it was extremely unlikely that Dumbledore would have so quickly found a way to destroy Nagini and in turn, the Horcrux. The man only knew for certain that Basilisk venom could kill it, but the Chamber of Secrets had closed again. Without the ability to speak Parseltongue, the Headmaster wouldn't be able to go down there. So now he was trying to get his people to extract the soul from her by force? Perhaps damage the vessel so much that it would get out? It didn't work like that, Harry knew as much. He doubted that the piece of soul inside of his scar would otherwise have remained with him through all of those years at the Dursleys…

''She is scared, and in pain,'' he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to fight the pain in his scar. ''If you won't get her out, I will,'' he decided, pointing his wand at the bars of the cage, neatly slicing them through. The snake unfurled, then instantly curled herself around him. He gently stroked the patches of skin that were undamaged. _~It's okay girl, I'm here now. I'll get you away from here,~_ he softly spoke.

_~Harr-son?~_ she tiredly asked. Her head swayed a bit and the hisses slurred, barely audible because of the tape around her snout, which he worked to get off quickly.

_~Yes, it's me. Hold on there for me, okay?~ _

''He is** communicating** with her,'' he heard Doge whisper. ''Sirius, Albus might have been right, maybe thatis** him**, right now! Quick, before he gets away-'' A moment later, a wand was pressed against the back of the teen's neck.

''Oh no you don't!'' Two red flashes of light were fired in short succession, and as Harry turned around with difficulty, he saw Sirius stand over two stunned bodies. The man crouched down quickly, checked their vitals, then wiped their memories. His expression as he turned back to Harry however, was furious. ''Put it back,'' he snarled in a warning. ''Dumbledore has already decided what will happen to it. You have no idea how important this snake is. Do not jeopardise Order business.''

''She is my friend, it is just as much** my** business as that of her kidnappers,'' he coolly spoke. He nudged Nagini to get her to release him, then positioned himself between her and his godfather. ''I appreciate your help,'' he nodded to the unconscious, obliviated other people, ''But I can't do as you want me to. When it was only about information, I could very well agree to not tell Voldemort anything I heard here that shouldn't concern me. This, Nagini's very** life**, is a whole different matter. She may be a mere animal to you, but she is far more than that. She is sentient, magical.''

''Enchanted by** him**,'' Sirius spat.

''No,'' Harry denied, shaking his head. ''She was already like this before Voldemort found her. She doesn't have many memories of the time before, but she was always self-aware and unique.''

''I don't care. It belongs to him now, has attacked a friend of mine and may be the key to defeating Voldemort,'' Sirius spoke, frustrated. ''You cannot stop** me** either for protecting what I stand for. I will see the murderer of my best friends dead. If I have to harm his precious** pet** to do so, then so be it.''

Harry had only seen Sirius like this once before, when the man had been hell-bent on killing Peter until Harry had decided he should go to Azkaban. Now too, there was only irrational madness. ''You don't even know why she's important, do you? Or did Dumbledore reveal his grand scheme to any of you?'' he asked to try and distract his godfather.

''He didn't need to. It is enough that it will somehow harm that bastard.''

''Even if you'll have to go through me?'' Harry stubbornly said, raising his wand higher. ''I won't go down without a fight.''

''Don't forget that I used to be an Auror,'' Sirius answered grimly. With a movement that was faster than Harry could follow, he flicked his wand and yelled: '_**'Stupefy**_!'' It was only by trained reflexes that it missed Harry by a hair's breadth. A struggle ensued, shields being put up and broken down mid-air, ropes flying around and Harry trying to cast every movement-hindering hex on Sirius that he knew. The other man got more and more frustrated during the fight, not having expected such resistance. Well, Harry hadn't trained with Voldemort, Barty and then the entire D.A. for nothing.

''I won't let you defile James' memory!'' Sirius shouted, enraged. Harry slowed, shocked at the accusation. With a flash, he recognised the far-away look on Sirius' face, Harry's heart sinking to his stomach. In the last moment before an unidentifiable spell crossed the distance between them, his godfather shouted: ''You damned Death Eater, I'll make you eat your own creations! _**Sectumsempra**_!''

The spell had been meant to hurt. Voldemort's shields activated, black magic crackled as it caught the curse and flung it back at the caster. Invisible knives sliced Sirius up, cut him open right in front of Harry's shocked eyes. Sirius slumped to the floor in a pool of his own blood, coughing up even more. His eyes slowly cleared again. ''H-Harry? What… What did I- What did you-''

He couldn't freeze, not now. This couldn't be happening, but he would have time to be shocked** later**. Now, he needed to help Sirius, heal the man… Harry flung his outer robes off and tried to press it against the wounds while attempting to close the ones he could reach. ''Episkey, **Episkey**!'' he shouted in vain. Whatever this spell had been, it was immune to regular healing. Thoughts raced, dozens per second about what he could possibly do and mentally crossing them off even faster. Even if he would wake Vance and Doge, they'd still be dazed from either the Stunner, the Obliviate or both. He couldn't move Sirius all the way up to the fireplace to floo without risking him bleeding out before they reached there. Even if, he couldn't exactly drop an alleged criminal off at St Mungo's, that would be a death sentence. The only other thing that remained, the only other feasible option…

_~Nagini, come here,~_ he hissed urgently before he could change his mind about this stupid, stupid plan. In clear pain still, she did as told, completely trusting him. Praying to whatever beings were out there, he wrapped Nagini around him quickly, held onto Sirius and touches his own glasses.

''**Morsmordre**,'' he spoke clearly, activating the Portkey while hoping that Voldemort would not kill him on the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drum roll* I don't need to tell you that there will be drama incoming ;) Much of this story has been building up to what will happen the next chapter..
> 
> If you have too much time on your hands and want more to read, maybe check out my newest HPLV one-shot 'Sugar Demon' with -you guessed it- Demon!Voldemort. (might not remain a one-shot if enough people want an epilogue, but it is for now)
> 
> Some notes:  
\- Peter Harrington, owner of the bookstore 'Peter Harrington modern and contemporary prints' is a real person, who sadly passed away in 2003. The store itself is still open and run by his family at Fullham Road.  
\- Waterstones is of course still a popular bookstore, but you won't find it at the address used in this story, their first location closed.  
(Yes, i tried to stay as historically factual as I could with the muggle shopping trip. Who knew bookshops moved so often)  
\- Sabriel is a real book which came out in 1995 and is one of the earliest books that has been compared to LotR as far as I could find, although it never received as much attention in Europe. I haven't personally read it, but I sure will do so after reading the description.
> 
> Please Read and Comment if you liked the chapter :)  
xx GeMerope


	59. Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was so overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of reviews on last chapter! Thank you all so, so much! (Sorry again for the cliffhanger)  
I hope that everyone is safe and healthy.
> 
> Enjoy!

The past days had been absolute hell. Voldemort did not use that word lightly – a place threatened to him in his youth by the orphanage staff as a place for his wicked soul to never find rest. It brought forth a terrible fear that could only be instilled upon one in childhood. Yet it was the one word that could accurately describe the state he was in now. Nagini, his most precious companion, was gone. She had never returned from her mission, and he couldn't find her through any magical means. That could only mean two things. Either she was dead, or behind wards cast by the most powerful mages on this planet. Those on a power level that at least came near his own.

Dumbledore.

He hadn't shown up at work, not bothering to even offer an explanation, spending all time pouring over books and trying the darkest of rituals to find her. Everything failed, and with despair he concluded that he could not even connect to the piece of his own soul in her. Voldemort did not understand… he'd established a connection with his other living Horcrux, able to reach him through dreams. Was it only because of the additional rituals? That could not be…. Nagini kept his very** soul**, surely that tie hadn't been so severed that he would not be able to find her location!

Barty only occasionally dropped in to bring letters from staff and followers. Voldemort did not care, snarling at the Death Eater to get out. He spent every day and night restless, living off potions to keep himself awake to not lose precious time. Wherever Nagini had been brought, if she was in enemy hands, in** Dumbledore**'s hands, her life was in danger, each day a little bit more. He couldn't lose her. And not only because of what she was. As soon as they'd met in that Albanian forest, something had clicked. Even as a mere spirit, she'd kept him company, pulled him through it as he possessed other creatures and later Quirrel. In the rare moments that he'd been able to take over full control of the former Defence Professor, he'd checked on Nagini, who'd been hiding in the Forbidden Forest. Once he'd lost that body as well and his spirit broke free, Voldemort had instantly sought out his familiar. She'd kept him sane again, and together they had waited for the perfect moment. She'd even granted him the opportunity to possess her a few times when he'd been too weak… making her the guardian of his soul as soon as he'd received a body, rudimentary as it was, had been his way of honouring her for all of her faith in him.

The Christmas edition of the Daily Prophet came and went, but he hardly glanced at the paper that he should have had a say in. He barely took notice of that Barty had taken the reins, writing letters to the staff in Noctua's name, forging the handwriting and pretending to be ill enough that only long-distance editing was possible.

Voldemort was just about to try his next attempt: calling as many spirits as he could possibly muster in the hope of any of them seeing something. There would be a harsh price to pay: pulling spirits into one's mind required sacrificing strong memories, one reason why the Oracles of old usually turned crazy. Calling them for other people was less of a problem, as he could demand the person who'd requested the connection to supply a memory. Now however... he had no idea what exactly would be pulled from his mind. However, he was willing to risk it if it would give him even the slightest edge in his quest to find Nagini. He certainly was risking much already. He'd lost his companion right before Yule and had not had the time to pay Magic proper respects during his search. He could already feel the consequences of that but didn't care enough for it at the moment.

Blue flashed brightly and Voldemort looked up in shock, instantly pointing his wand at the whirling large mass that appeared. The double vision that resulted from forcing himself to remain awake for over a week made it difficult to discern exactly what the apparition was… until it fell apart in three figures. A bleeding man, a smaller person and…

_~Nagini!~_ he cried out in disbelief, watching as the snake uncurled. He dove towards her, gathering her in his arms, not taking any interest in the others who had appeared as he held her tightly. She winced in a strange way, and he realised that there was more blood, coming from strange patches of scaleless skin. _**NO!**_ he spit in rage, realising that she was badly hurt.

A hand grabbed his robes and a pleading tone reached his ears, but he was deaf to the exact words as he heaved Nagini up and moved her over to a more open space on the floor of the study. Only when he cast a scanning spell and concluded with a rush of relief that she was not lethally wounded, did he manage to direct his focus – with difficulty - on the person who was still pulling at his robes.

''Evan?'' he asked in confusion, recognising his other Horcrux. The only reason he did at all was because of the familiar emotions that filtered through the haze; panic and concern that weren't his own.

''Voldemort, **finally**,'' the boy spoke, stumbling over his words. There were tears streaming down his cheeks, a detail that he only saw now. ''Please, it's my godfather. He's dying, bleeding out!''

Disorientated, Voldemort looked over to the third person, who was clearly unconscious. ''Black?'' he asked in shock, rage rising. ''You brought** Black** here? Did he-'' he pointed at Nagini. ''DID **HE** DO THIS?'' he screamed.

''No! No! He enabled me to bring her back here!'' Voldemort stared at Harry's face, at the boy's panicked eyes and blood-stained cheeks. He wasn't being entirely truthful, Voldemort could smell that, but it was not an outright lie either. ''Please, you are the only one who could help him! The shield… it reflected… I don't know what spell hit him, but he's** dying**.''

Voldemort stood and shrugged the hand off. ''Good,'' he spat, venomously glaring at Black, glee rising in him. ''Black has been a thorn in my side for far too long! I need to heal Nagini.'' Brusquely, he turned back to his companion, stroking the length of her body to calm her down and determined the exact places where she needed healing most.

''What? But-'' Harry spoke in distress. ''No, I'll do anything!''

''You have promised me everything already,'' the Dark Lord replied dispassionately. ''There is nothing more you can offer me than that. Anyone else, Evan. I'd have even healed your little Mudblood friend you are so fond of. But do not ask me to save the life of Sirius Black.'' His voice trembled with pure hatred. This man he'd gladly see die.

''Why? You know what he means to me!'' the teen exclaimed in agitation.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the fact that Harry had just returned Nagini to him, he doubted he'd have answered when thinking straight. Now, the words flooded out of his mouth. He turned around, got to his feet and grabbed the boy's upper arms forcefully, shaking him, staring into scared, emerald eyes that were only an inch from his own. ''Because Sirius Black has taken** everything** from me! The one time in my life that I-'' he broke off the sentence, chest heaving rapidly. ''He ripped it away! **He** would have never left if not for his brother, whispering in his ear! He'd have stayed at my side instead of betraying-'' he gasped for breath, feeling his nails digging into skin even through Harry's robes. He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, trying to make sense of his own consuming rage and desperation. This wasn't him, he'd been awake for so long that he was struggling for control. It didn't help that Harry's panic was palpable.

All that the teen did was release a disbelieving noise, and Voldemort's anger was added to by the teen's own. ''You think.. you think that **Sirius** is at fault for Regulus leaving you? That, what, that he convinced Regulus to join the Order? Are you really so delusional that you're blaming others for that?'' Harry's voice was near hysterical.

Although shocked by the fact that the teen seemed to know anything about Regulus at all, he pressed on, growing even more furious at the mere suggestion that** he** had had anything to do with it. ''Of course!'' he bit back. ''Why else? Nothing I said, nothing I ever did could have-''

''YOU'RE A FUCKING HALF-BLOOD!'' Harry screamed in his face. ''AND YOU FILLED HIS HEAD WITH THE SAME NONSENSE HIS FAMILY DID BEFORE DROPPING THAT BOMB ON HIM! HOW IDIOTIC CAN YOU BE? SIRIUS HAD **NOTHING** TO DO WITH IT!'' He released the boy, staring at Harry as if never having seen him before. No… No, that couldn't be. Regulus had understood… Voldemort stumbled back, then took a breath and tried his utmost to compose himself. Blood dripped down as he pressed sharp nails into his own palm to ground himself. How Harry knew about Regulus, he would find out later… but for that-

Voldemort stalked over to Sirius Black, the subject of years of resentment and hatred. They'd screamed at each other for so long that the gashes were already emptying out, leaving only stained flesh. Voldemort had murdered many people in his lifetime and seen even more dying around him during his studies in dark magic or on battlefields. It was too late. With a trembling hand, he reached into the man's chest and gripped the heart, a rattling, pained sound leaving bleak lips. He stared straight into fearful grey eyes as he spoke: '_**'Mens et animus Sīrius Ōrīōn Nigrumi. Aequilibrium.**_'' His anger left him in the very same moment that those steel eyes dulled.

Sirius Black was dead.

He did not feel the joy that he thought he would. Rather forcefully, he withdrew his hand, a flicker of silver shining from within the heart he'd just held.

A dull thud sounded as Harry fell to his knees next to them, blankly staring at his godfather's face and the chest cavity. ''You killed him… I brought him here to heal and you…'' he choked out.

''He was dead already,'' Voldemort spoke without a single shred of compassion. ''Those wounds were caused by a curse I have not seen before. Without time to research the counter curse, healing him would not have been a possibility.'' He glanced over tiredly at the teen, who was clutching his godfather's hand. He'd stopped crying, only shock on his face. All the weight of last week was slowly disappearing now that Voldemort had Nagini back, and the revelations before about Regulus, that he still stubbornly refused to think about, had drained him. Whatever leftover energy he had, he'd put into this last spell. ''It does not mean that he is beyond saving,'' he added. That was probably important information to get out still.

Harry snapped his head up, giving him a disbelieving look, but he offered no further information as of yet, instead saying: ''Get me one of the potions on the desk. I need to think.'' While Harry mechanically followed the order, Voldemort dragged himself over to Nagini again. He accepted the potion with trembling hands, downed the contents and waited until it replenished his energy enough to lift the fog from his brain. The instant it did, he turned his attention to Nagini. Let Black rot for a moment longer, he spitefully thought.

''What did you mean?'' Harry finally asked in distress when Voldemort had carefully cleaned the blood off his familiar and healed the worst wounds, inflicted by a variation of damaging, yet common spells.

''How did you know about Regulus?'' he demanded to know first. He'd not give the teen an inch before dragging the whole story out.

''From you,'' the boy surprisingly spoke.

''I never-''

''When I first arrived here, you were feverish,'' Harry interrupted. Voldemort bristled, no-one dared to interrupt him! He was about to say so, when Harry continued speaking in a quiet voice. ''You mistook me for him, called out to Regulus and said you were so glad that 'I' had returned to you. Nagini gave me a better understanding of who Regulus had been to you, and when I asked Barty about it, he gave me a couple more details, although not much. And then…'' The boy swallowed and hesitantly glanced over, the stench of guilt all around. ''I was exploring Grimmauld place and came upon his room. I had only wanted to see if I could find out a bit more about him. There was an entire collage dedicated to you and your deeds, and from Sirius' stories he was painted as one of the most fanatic followers you'd ever had. I couldn't understand what could have happened to make him betray you in the end, especially as he did not join Dumbledore's side either. I was looking at some interesting books in his room when I stumbled across them… diaries, from when he'd started Hogwarts to his death.''

''You** dared**,'' Voldemort hissed, clenching his hands. Harry looked away and shrank a bit.

''I know I shouldn't have, but I… I somehow felt…'' he sighed. ''It doesn't matter why, but I read them. Everything was so perfect until those last few months. It was a twist of the irony of life that in the end, he cared more about the values you promoted than who you were. Ironic, but not surprising. He couldn't live with the knowledge that you'd deceived him about your blood for so long, and that someone of 'lesser blood' was unrightfully trying to achieve the highest piece of magic possible: immortality. Despite everything, he vowed to make you mortal, for what he thought to be the just cause of Pureblood supremacy.'' The bitter words reached Voldemort somehow, but he could not bring himself to react to it. The careful talks they'd had, the one time Regulus had asked him if he really was fit to lead them… He'd dismissed it then, believing the boy to have been smart enough to understand what was going on behind the scenes…

He stood, looked pensively at his wand, then turned it on Harry.

''_**Crucio**_.''

For once, Voldemort did not relish in the screams nor the pain he inflicted. And yet, he did not dull the spell as he had several other times when punishing Harry for small things, nor did he end it after only a few seconds. The boy needed to understand the severity of his actions. Voldemort tried to keep a tight grip on the link they shared, but could not hide from the sharp echo of pain and despair that Harry emitted through their bond. After half a minute, Harry crumpled on the floor, panting.

''You had no right to his privacy, and certainly not to mine. Your curiosity will be the death of you one day,'' he predicted, attempting to look unaffected even though he was anything but. It wasn't only the echo of pain he'd felt, that he probably could have brushed off easily. He'd experienced far worse when putting himself through numerous rituals throughout his life. No, the hurt came from something deeper. He felt… betrayed by Harry, whom he'd started to have not insignificant feelings for. Not only had the boy exposed his past relationship, he'd somehow found a way to make all of his feelings about Regulus' previous betrayal flare up worse than before. And beyond that… Harry now knew of his failures in detail. Would that affect the teen's own imagine of him? He needed to improve the situation somehow, slip back into the familiar role of a reliable Lord in order to erase any doubts Harry might have now.

He avoided looking at the other at Harry shakily got to his feet again and glanced over at Nagini instead, who appeared to be doing much better already, not releasing pained hisses anymore. ''I will reward you still, because you brought Nagini back to me.''

''That is what you call a reward?'' Harry spoke, a tad slurred. Blood dripped from his mouth, the teen had bitten on his tongue. Now that the just punishment was over, Voldemort allowed himself to feel a twinge of worry, and carefully grasped Harry's jaw. The teen winced as the Dark Lord pointed his wand again, though did not try to crawl away. With a swift movement, the wound was healed.

''Your reward is yet to come, although you will have to work for it,'' he said. ''You said anything, yes?'' he asked, gesturing over to Sirius. Harry started shivering again when looking over to the corpse. He nodded.

''Then you will allow me to teach you Necromancy at last, without a word of protest,'' he decided. Green eyes widened and stared at him in silent accusation. ''You cannot ask me one day to teach you how to breathe magic, then reject my offer to hone your natural ability for the Arts the next. You will become a Necromancer, and that is the last say about it. **That** will be the price for the life of your godfather.''

''I thought a full resurrection was impossible for more than a few minutes?'' Harry asked.

''That is usually the case. It is only his body that has died, however. In the moment before it gave out, I locked his soul and mind in a state of equilibrium, inside of his heart. The slight silver glow you see there is the concentration of his soul, his magic. As both were locked in this plane before and have not dispersed into the Black Cosmos, you will only need to heal and revive his body before re-connecting the soul and mind.'' This was much better, he found. Teaching. Performing magic and show his powers. The boy naturally gravitated towards him each time he released even a small amount of the tremendous power he possessed. Yes… that would make everything alright again.

''**Only**,'' Harry rasped out.

''Evan,'' Voldemort sternly said. ''I am offering you an opportunity to revive a man that I deeply despise for his every action in life. Even if… even if he played no part in that** betrayal**, he is still an ex-Auror, a fanatic fighter for Dumbledore's cause and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Someone who would actively wish to cause my fall and with that, the fall of Magic. Someone who was born in a dark family and turned his back on my type of magic. All because you pleaded me to. Do not throw my** mercy** back in my face.'' The boy did not answer, staring at him with a strange mixture of resentment and gratitude. Voldemort looked away, unable to face the teen for much longer. He was doing the right thing, he told himself. One day, Harry would see that too, when he could command armies of the undead with as much as a thought.

The teen moved, kneeling down at his godfather again, hesitantly touching the body. ''This was my fault,'' he muttered. ''So I have to put it right.''

Voldemort still had a hundred questions for Harry, predominantly about Nagini and the state she had arrived in. However, they had mere hours to work with this body. Rigor Mortis could set in within three hours, after which the body would empty its fluids on his expensive carpet. Preferably within that time span, they needed to find if the curse worked after death, possibly find or devise a counter-curse, patch the damage up enough for Black not to die again instantly after being resurrected, and still do the actual resurrection itself. The faster they worked, the less trouble they'd have that could be caused by autolysis. Voldemort doubted that Harry would like to resurrect his godfather with all brain cells damaged beyond repair.

If Harry's story would displease him after, he could simply kill Black again. Besides, touching any part of a person with death magic formed a link. Although Black would not be bound in the same way as an Inferius would be, Harry would have a certain amount of control. Perhaps this whole ordeal was not so useless after all.

''Tell me what to do,'' Harry said, feeling as if he'd gotten over the initial shock.

Voldemort paused for a moment still, trying to assess any information that he could understand from their link. As usual, the boy was filled with overlapping emotions that fought to be on the forefront, and it made him feel uneasy. The Dark Lord hoped that it would pass when Harry became more concentrated on the task at hand. ''First of all, we need to ensure that there will be oxygen in his body still. The longer it is not replenished, the more damaged all of his cells will become,'' he spoke, trying to explain it in a way that someone who'd never had any training in the medical field nor performed an autopsy would understand. ''I shall first analyse the corpse itself to see if the curse that was cast on it still remains in death. Afterwards, you shall attempt to mend the lungs first and get those working again. If it is too damaged or not connected enough to the rest of the body anymore, we shall magically have to feed oxygen into multiple places, the brain especially.''

Having had at least a rudimentary understanding of healing, Harry picked up surprisingly quickly. Whatever the curse was that had lacerated Black with a thousand gashes, it was gone now, leaving only the residue of dark magic behind, which he cleansed with ease. In the meantime, the teen worked on the lungs, carefully sealing each wound with a stroke of his wand with spells that Voldemort showed him. It was a great teaching opportunity with how high the stakes were for Harry, so he pushed his student to the limit. The ghastly sight of the lungs that started pumping air again in a destroyed rib cage at first made the boy jump, but soon Harry ignored it and worked around the organs to remove splinters of bone and mend the flesh around. It was especially a challenge as they could not replenish blood in this state, which Black had lost most of. Blood-replenishing potions would have to do the trick once the rest of the body was restored fully again. Another issue was that the curse had cut so deeply into one leg that it was only hanging on by the skin and a thin strip of flesh of the calf, the bone itself entirely being sawed through.

He directed the teen on how to mend the leg while he himself inspected the work on Black's chest, correcting a few mistakes where the flesh had formed too quickly and knotted together. They worked in near silence for the rest of the hour to ensure every single wound was sealed up and left no scars. If Voldemort was honest, it could have been far more difficult, he was rather pleased at how smoothly the process had gone. Naturally, there was still the actual resurrection to worry about.

His entire stock of blood-replenishing potions disappeared down Black's throat, and Voldemort was very glad that he had a habit of always having a significant amount at hand in case he needed to torture prisoners for information and they lost too much blood. Keeping the renewed blood flowing was a far more complicated task than getting it in, as he needed to encase the entire vascular system with magic to force it through. Simply trying to pump the heart wasn't going to cut it anymore without any life in the body.

''It's working!'' Harry whispered in awe, eyes glistening again.

''Time for the next step then.''

XxX

Harry's limbs felt like lead as he dragged them through the house in search of the book on Necromancy he'd need. Everything hurt still from the Cruciatus curse cast upon him shortly before. He couldn't lie and say that he hadn't seen it coming, but it had somehow felt so much longer and intense that he'd been disorientated when the curse had been lifted. His stomach churned at only the memory of that excruciating torment. On the bright side, he cynically thought, Voldemort hadn't killed him. And Sirius apparently 'only' temporary. He'd been very hesitant to leave his godfather's body alone with Voldemort. What if the man decided to abandon this idea and concluded that Harry shouldn't be rewarded at all? He still wasn't entirely certain that his godfather would live very long even if they'd manage to drag Sirius back to the land of the living. As long as the Dark Lord wouldn't ask, Harry wouldn't tell, but at one point he'd surely have to explain the entire situation with Nagini… Plus, who knew how Sirius would react to waking up here, being subjected to Necromancy of all things. Harry knew that all of this was as unnatural as it could be… and yet, he couldn't simply give up. If Muggles could start up a heartbeat again, why shouldn't he do this with the abilities he had? Was there really so much of a difference? In the end, he was saving a life… right?

He grabbed the book he'd spent time reading before the very first necromancy rituals and leafed through it until he got to the part which showed a myriad of different diagrams. It was odd to not need much else. Most rituals used various objects, yet all there was to Necromancy was symbols, magic and blood sacrifices. Technically, there was this 'veil' thing that Harry still did not entirely understand, but Voldemort hadn't breathed a word about it yet.

''The diagram we need should be on page one-hundred and seventy-three,'' Voldemort spoke. Harry looked at it, a complicated pattern of orderly lines that formed a very angular shape of the human body. Scribbled beneath it were the sentences:

_A diagram for the terrestrial body engraved in physical earth. Create negative space for the suspended Corpus with which it may become organic matter once more._

''Aren't corpses still organic too?'' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, thinking of all the packages of 'organic meat' on the supermarket shelves.

''Organic as in 'living' in this context,'' Voldemort explained, peering over the book. The teen wondered if the man could read text upside-down easily or if he'd memorised the book instead. As he was talking about Voldemort, both were a possibility. Harry was sure he himself could do neither.

''With negative space, I assume it means doing the same thing as we did in the previous two necromantic rituals? The first time you cut lines in the grass and the second time you carved it into the floor, right?''

If the situation wouldn't have been so dire and stressful, Harry might have paid more attention to the slightly proud smile that graced the Dark Lord's face. ''Exactly so. To add something, you first have to take something. When it is about life and death, that applies even more so. Simply giving a sacrifice is not enough. We take something away from this world in order to receive life, which can find its way through that lost space as easily as following a ley line. This is not so necessary when working only with the nonphysical mind or soul, which still have a will of their own and will let themselves be guided back. For life to return to the body however, it is essential.''

''Where does this life come from? Before learning about this, I always thought that it is the mind and soul that bring life to the body… The bodies of my parents too seemed to come to life the moment you put those back.''

Voldemort shook his head. ''If that was the case, Inferi could not exist. They are merely resurrected corpses without a mind or soul, oftentimes very damaged corpses to that. It is far more the other way around: without a functioning body, neither soul nor mind can remain for long as they aren't properly tied to the earth. They dissipate if not forcefully held back. The life you speak of is an energy, an essence that gathers between worlds and dimensions. It is what holds the universe together. This is why it can be accessed in the Black Cosmos. In short, we are siphoning off the gathered force of life to restore that which was lost when Black's body died.''

''Wait, so that means it might not be **his** life?'' Harry asked, disturbed by the explanation of there being even more forces or powers than magic that he hadn't known about. It sounded all very… abstract.

Voldemort chuckled as if he'd asked a very amusing question. ''Life** is**, it does not belong to anyone in particular. The way we developed, nature is tied to life and all 'life forces' have found multiple ways of gathering it, be that through binary fission or internal feeding of life. Pulling it from between worlds using magic is hardly any different than using 'natural' methods. The only disadvantage to this method is that you can** only** use it to pump life into a body. The actual body is not created alongside it, and neither do a soul or mind come into existence, as they are very refined forms of matter that are not necessarily 'alive' themselves.''

''Wait,'' Harry said, sure that his clueless look spoke volumes. ''To be clear, you are saying that you have the answer to the age-old question of when life begins?''

Voldemort raised one, incredulous eyebrow. ''Of course I do. As every apt Necromancer who studied the source material should. If you wish to witness the **return** of life however, we need to continue instead of harping on details.''

Harry winced and looked at the pale, cold face of his godfather. Even though some colour had returned due to the blood-replenishing potions, the man was still very much clearly dead, causing a flood of guilt to engulf Harry. It was still difficult to face the corpse, especially knowing that it was because of Harry that the man wasn't breathing anymore. He had provoked his godfather, who was still mentally unstable, then hadn't been able to find a way of regular healing quickly enough. Expecting Voldemort to heal one of his worst enemies obviously hadn't been a bright idea either. Harry was very aware of that the Dark Lord wasn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart now either, only as a way to force Harry down the path of death magic. Well, there were consequences for everything, he'd learned that lesson harshly over the course of his life.

He stared at his bloodied hands, hoping that he wouldn't turn insane from this. That Sirius would not resent him for this… Necromancers were feared and hated after all. Even the darkest of wizards oftentimes didn't dare touch the subject. On top of that all was the fact that Necromancers were actively being hunted down. One more secret to add again to his already heavy heart. But if it would bring Sirius back, it would be worth it.

''Do I carve this into the floor again?'' Harry asked, looking dubiously at the heavy wood beneath their feet. Any destructive spells he knew might not be accurate enough for precise lines…

''To avoid too much damage, **I** shall prepare this diagram. I shall have to teach you another time how to properly carve them, a skill which would take longer than I'd like to spend on this matter at hand. In the meantime, you will have to tie yourself to the earth. Unfortunately, the moon is in the first quarter and waxing, not an ideal night to do this. My soul in you** might** be enough to stabilise the three elements that make up your being, but I do not wish to take any chances of losing your mind into the void. Besides, I wish to keep a connection to you for as long as possible while you reach out to the Black Cosmos, in order to instruct you.''

Recalling what exactly the book had mentioned about ways to tie oneself, he grimaced. ''Do I need to eat dog meat?''

''Didn't I tell you to take certain aspects of this book lightly? The only canine cadaver that could help us further here would be of a Grimm. Or perhaps a Jackal, neither of which we have access to. No… In short, all dimensions are separated by walls. However, there are some dimensions, such as the Black Cosmos, that are so close to ours that it is less of a wall and more a thin piece of cloth. Because of this, that particular wall is called the Shroud or the Veil. Necromancers try to thin this shroud even further to force their way through. However, while certain energies can travel through rather easily, that is usually a one-way trip. Any Magus Mortem who steps through needs a guarantee back. Admittedly rather confusingly, protecting oneself against the consequences of stepping through the Shroud and into the Cosmos was coined 'cladding oneself in the veil'. This was afterwards shortened to the word 'veil' meaning not only the Shroud itself, but also the method of protection against being lost in the Cosmos.''

''No wonder I thought it was so incomprehensible,'' Harry muttered, glad to have that cleared up. Even after Barty's attempt of explaining the concept 'veil', he'd been left confused, as the Death Eater had only spoken of it being a piece of protective magic.

''To avoid confusion, I will refer to the barrier as 'Shroud', and the method you will use to keep your body, soul and mind linked 'Veil'.'' Harry nodded quickly in agreement, happy about anything that would keep him from possibly messing up. ''Now, there are several methods, and it is best to choose a permanent one, so you get comfortable with a specific technique. For me, I need nought but my Horcruxes. As for you…'' The man walked over to a small cabinet that Harry had always thought to be there for mere decoration. A quick scanning of the titles hadn't shown much that caught his interest. He was thus surprised when Voldemort withdrew a slim, black book and handed it to him. ''If you find anything that suits your tastes, inform me once I am done.''

Harry threw a last concerned look at his godfather as the corpse was levitated away from the bloodied spot it had been lying on all this time to make some more room. The study was cramped as it was, and he questioned the decision to not move this to a more spacious area. Nagini slithered away under the desk, staring at them all without her usually running commentary.

Upon opening the book, he recognised the fine slant instantly. One of Voldemort's own works. Like the last one he'd read, it was written in short, to the point paragraphs that read more like a summarised essay rather than an embellished novel. It was refreshing after the lyrical text written by Cadmus Peverell. He frowned as a thought flitted through his head. Peverell… he'd heard that name before…

A sharp stinging pain hit his side. ''Don't get distracted,'' the Dark Lord chided.

Harry's heart sank as he started reading, about each half of a page describing a different method, one more gruelling than the other. Splitting one's soul had been put rather at the start, on the same page as submitting oneself to funeral rites for several days. Consuming strange meat of various kinds and giving oneself tattoos were on the next. Hardly any of them did not seem to involve either time that he didn't have, or permanent changes to his person. The only feasible option he came across would be another mage casting protective spells to keep him tied. This of course brought the negative side effect of always needing that person present, and completely relying on them. Harry was about to give in and grovel to Voldemort in order to use this method, when his fingers stilled at an entry in the far back of the book called '_Hiding from the Black Cosmos'._

_Instead of facing or adapting to the Black Cosmos, a handful of Necromancers have tried to find ways to hide from it entirely instead. The underlying theory of this is that the Black Cosmos cannot touch what it cannot perceive. This is based on the assumption that the forces at work in the dimension of the dead can register the Necromancer's presence and intentionally try to lure them in. While unconfirmed whether being pulled into the Cosmos without protection is due to malicious forces or simply a fact of the nature of things, there are credible accounts of Necromancers who hid their presence and returned from beyond the Shroud. Nonetheless, these are scarce, and each mage guards their secret way to such an extent that hardly any concrete information on possible methods to hide from the Cosmos is available._

_According to legend, one way of hiding from death itself was the wearing of an invisibility cloak – a tale that recurs over the centuries throughout South-Asia and Europe in particular. It is unclear whether the item in question is a specific invisibility cloak such as in the fable of the Three Brothers, or if the material certain cloaks are made of is supposed to grant immunity. There may be truth to it, as more expensive Cloaks of Invisibility are manufactured from Demiguise hair as opposed to cloaks which have disillusionment spells woven into them. When this creature uses its fur to disappear from view, even magical locating spells are ineffective. Moreover, no Demiguise on record has ever been killed while invisible, leading to interesting speculations._

Harry kept his finger on the entry even as he skipped through the last few pages, where he found nothing thathe would have the power or stomach to try. Turning to Voldemort, he hesitantly spoke: ''I quite like the idea of hiding my body from the Black Cosmos… I have an invisibility cloak.''

The Dark Lord looked up, slightly disturbed. ''That is one of the few methods that I have never tested myself.''

''Part of this is about experimenting and taking risks, isn't it?'' Harry boldly replied. ''If you want me to jump into a new field of magic, I might as well try what I feel most comfortable with. **You** told me that is important.''

Voldemort looked at him for a few seconds, then inclined his head. ''As I assume that you do not have it with you, you can use the Portkey to go back and forth if you think that would be safe.''

Harry shifted a bit uncomfortably. They had been here for about two hours now, and he had no idea what had happened to Vance and Doge after their memory wipes. Had the stunning spells worn off by now? Were they even still in the house? What if other people had tried to visit Grimmauld place and noticed the scene of the battle and Nagini's disappearance? Not to mention the blood on the ground or Harry and Sirius' absence… He took a deep breath, calming his thoughts. No-one had planned on visiting them today, he rationalised. The Weasleys were still busy, as were most other Order members as it was in between Christmas and New Year. The meeting he had run into hadn't consisted of anyone else but the people who'd already gotten involved plus Dumbledore, who was surely doing other things as he rarely came over. Besides that, even if the Order members that Sirius had attacked in Harry's defence had managed to leave the house, they wouldn't remember much, if anything. Going back right now would be a good opportunity to clean up any evidence of the fight happening in the first place. Who knew how long they'd be gone otherwise…

With a last glance at Sirius, Harry activated his glasses again, steadying himself after landing, willing the unpleasant feeling behind his navel and the itching all over his skin to go away. It would have been much easier if Voldemort lived next door… That absurd thought made him smile even as he looked across the bloodied, empty room.

Well, first things first. With expert sneaking abilities that one could only learn as a hungry child trying not to get caught stealing from the fridge, Harry explored the house. Vance and Doge were indeed gone, something which surely would be cause for worry later, but which he could not do anything about right now. He creaked open the door to his bedroom, relieved when the portrait of Nigellus was empty. Not daring to tear his eyes away from the picture frame, the teen opened his trunk and withdrew the invisibility cloak silently, as well as another pair of clean robes as his own were soaked with blood. Even the most powerful cleaning spell in the world might have trouble getting the stains out…

Trying to hurry, Harry gathered anything else he thought he could need, packed it into a satchel and then started scrubbing the floor, alternating between Muggle methods and cleaning charms to get the floor spotless. Thankfully, the old cellar floor was made of dark grey stone, so any remaining stains blended in rather well. Lastly, Harry inspected the cage, wondering if he could somehow make it look like Nagini broke out instead of being freed. As he did not know how much exactly the others could recall about the situation they'd woken up in, he reluctantly left it as he'd found it. He tried searching the house one more time to tell Kreacher that Sirius and he were gone for a bit, but the elf wasn't anywhere to be found. Actually, Harry couldn't recall seeing the elf at all these past days. Sighing, Harry quickly fed both Hedwig and Buckbeak before activating the Portkey again.

He had to blink against the darkness once more, as Voldemort -per usual- had only created a bare minimum of light. Only when healing the corpse, the Dark Lord had cast floating balls of light so Harry could see what he was doing.

''I was starting to think you'd been captured,'' Voldemort hissed in displeasure. ''What took you so long?''

''Had to get some things,'' Harry evasively answered, holding up the satchel. ''I have no idea how long this will take still. In case you haven't noticed, my robes are soaked with blood.'' Ruby eyes pinned him down with a silent stare that told him Voldemort did not buy his excuse.

''Give me that cloak, I need to inspect the material to see if it is suitable. Unless you know what it is made of?''

Harry reluctantly shook his head. ''It's bound to be something durable,'' he provided. ''Been in my family for generations.''

Voldemort, who had taken the cloak, paused his movements and gave Harry another long look. ''Generations, you say?'' he asked in a tone which Harry couldn't really decipher. Trying to reach out through the bond to get a clearer idea, he was met with astonishment and disbelief. Was it such an uncommon thing? The silvery, almost liquid material slid silently through the Dark Lord's pale fingers as the man observed it. ''It is almost… non-existent itself,'' he muttered, then sniffed the material. ''It is not Demiguise hair either. At least, not entirely… and these spells woven through…'' After a minute or two, he withdrew and handed it back to Harry, who, despite everything, grew a bit warm at the thought of covering himself under the cloak now that Voldemort had held and sniffed it. ''I have never seen such a cloak,'' the man spoke thoughtfully. ''My theory is that this was manufactured by a Necromancer for this exact purpose.''

That news surprised Harry, who had usually just used the cloak to sneak away from other people, nothing else. ''It doesn't grant perfect invisibility though,'' he spoke doubtfully. ''Dementors can still sense me under it, as can animals who rely on smell instead of sight. And Barty could see through it somehow with Moody's magical eye.''

''If I am correct in that this Cloak of Invisibility was designed more to hide from death rather than the living, it is not surprising that it would have a few flaws like that. You may use this as your veil. If, by any chance, it goes awry, I shall concentrate on trying to resurrect you instead of Black.''

Harry was unsure whether that was honestly meant to reassure him or not. The whole reason he was doing this was to get his godfather back. Having to be saved himself instead without reaching his goal would be horrible. He didn't have much time to think about it however, as Voldemort went on to instruct him on what to do after being safely under the cloak. It seemed to involve much meditation and chanting. ''Didn't you use fire?'' Harry nervously asked, not really looking forward to that part.

''Yes, imitating the cremation of my own body is the ritualistic way in which I thin the Shroud to pass through. To use this without actually burning yourself however, you would need to completely master elemental magic first. I wish you to first try to force your way through as is by focusing on how you felt last time, while using the spell I just taught you. You seem to have an exceptional connection to the Black Cosmos already as you were dragged through with me merely by close proximity.''

It still made Harry rather uncomfortable to know that he apparently had such a close connection to the realm of the dead. Was it because of the Horcrux? Or the fact that he'd survived a Killing curse and would by all accounts have died fourteen years ago if it hadn't been for his mother's sacrifice?

Not willing to wait longer as each minute counted, Harry finally kneeled beside his godfather's head, made a thin slice across his palm with a Diffindo and placed the bloodied palm on the newly-healed corpse. Letting go of all troubles was a challenge considering everything that was on his mind right now, but he tried his best, focusing mostly on the feel of the Dark Lord's magic. It was a soothing, heavy cloud that wrapped itself around him in much the same way as the invisibility cloak he'd now draped over himself. The little remaining light in the room was extinguished, leaving Harry in pitch-black darkness. From the side, he heard Voldemort's light breathing, and with all sight cut off, the magic in the room felt much more intense than before. Bringing his other hand to his own chest, feeling the pulsing heartbeat beneath, Harry concentrated on bringing his own magic to the surface. It felt as if he got lost in time itself as he concentrated on nothing but darkness, breathing, magic and the feel of the contrast between Sirius' cold chest and his own heartbeat. '_**'Brandeum**_,'' he whispered. ''_**Brandeum, dona mihi initus''**_ He kept repeating the request to be granted entry through the Shroud, then grabbed his wand and raised it as well as he could beneath the invisibility cloak once being tuned into the feel of cold chills running across his skin.

Harry had expected having to wait, having to try over and over again before getting results. As soon as he lifted his holly wand into the air though, the sound of waves rushed into his ears, filling his head. Without being able to recall opening his eyes, Harry noticed a familiar glow. Shivering in fear and excitement, now floating in vast space, he turned to face the giant moons in the sky. It felt more real than when he'd seen it through Voldemort's eyes, not having had control over any of the man's actions. This time, he not only saw and heard the Black Cosmos, he** felt** it as well, an ominous **something** pulling at his floating body from all sides. It was as if each moon held a strong gravitational field, trying to pull him towards them.

_You only have one chance, Evan_ he heard Voldemort say from somewhere he could not pinpoint. So they were still connected for the moment… _Your first steps into the Cosmos will decide all of your future attempts. Keep a level head. You know the right decision_.

Harry knew indeed what Voldemort wanted him to do. Three moons hung close to him, present and demanding his attention. Technically, he mused, he could completely screw over the Dark Lord's plans for him right this moment. He only needed to revive Sirius' body… he could succumb to the moon Ruin, which would grant him power over Corpus, then draw back enough life to fill Sirius' body with. After all, he did not need to guide the man's soul or mind back. He stared into the red moon with fascination, watching its surface move as if it were a sun rather than a moon. How could Voldemort be sure that this was not his fate? The Centaurs had spoken multiple times about Harry's fate being connected to another red object in space: Mars. He felt Ruin calling to him and subconsciously drifted closer, fascinated by the thrumming that appeared to originate from it, a thrumming that filled his entire being.

Voldemort would never forgive him, Harry realised with a shock. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away before getting too close. The man would be livid if Harry returned, having purposefully tried to become a lesser Necromancer. With difficulty, he willed his form to float through the endless space, which felt much like dreaming. There, half-hidden behind thin green ribbons of light emitted by Fear, was the moon he'd been searching for. Glory. As soon as he came closer, it also felt** right**, a triumphant feeling of victory filling his chest pleasantly. The small, seemingly weak moon did not look like much compared to the others, but Harry could feel its power as he approached it.

''_I call upon you, Glory''_ he spoke, reaching out mentally and physically. Voldemort had not prepared him for this moment, merely having said 'you will know what to do'. Infuriatingly, the man had been right as he so often was. Harry basked in the light that grew stronger and embraced him. Beams of light shot through him painfully, filling him with a strange power and knowledge that Harry knew he would no longer be able to access in the physical realm. With a wave of excruciating agony, his mind disconnected from his soul, pulled from it by the strange forces at work here. For one perfect moment after, he simply existed, holding all knowledge of life and death without the urge to do anything with that.

He cried out when he fell back into himself, holding on tightly to the strings of light so his newfound power would not leave just yet. _'__'Life__,'' _he choked, filled with a sudden fear of being flung back into the physical realm without fulfilling his actual goal._ ''__I call upon you, Glory, to gift me life to restore the destruction I unwittingly left in my wake,'' _he pleaded. He stumbled over the words, unable to recall if this was what he'd been supposed to say or not. His hands sizzled painfully, and Harry started falling, the moons quickly becoming smaller until they were out of sight…

Harry's eyes flew open and he scrambled to his feet, panting hard. The invisibility cloak slid off, pooling at his feet. The teen looked down in astonishment at his hands, which held what looked like drops of pure light.

''Stop standing there,'' Voldemort sharply said, ''connect it to the body!''

Falling to his knees again, Harry carefully placed one of his glowing hands on Sirius' chest and one on the forehead, mentally praying that this would work and that he hadn't messed up healing the corpse previously. Sirius spasmed in much the same way as Lily and James had done when Voldemort had resurrected them. It gave him hope.

''You reached Glory, yes?'' Voldemort asked, sizzling magic revealing the agitation underneath the neutral tone of voice.

Harry nodded, still concentrating on Sirius' face. The Dark Lord knelt down at the side and placed his cold hands over Harry's. No incantation was uttered, but Harry had a hard time staying still as he was swept away once again in a delirious rush of magic that made it hard to breathe. He felt something shatter beneath his palm, then warmth spread. The corpse moved again, although this time, it was no longer a corpse.

Sirius coughed, and Voldemort rose and took a step back to allow the previously dead man to sit up. Harry could not move, simply too overwhelmed to do anything apart from staring at his godfather, who was frantically touching his own body where the wounds had been. Harry could feel rather than see the movements, as all light had vanished again as soon as the life he'd held in his hands had been transferred into Sirius.

''I... what… how…'' the man muttered. Harry couldn't help himself anymore, hugging his godfather from behind and burying his face into the man's torn and bloodied robes to let out a good cry. Completely bewildered, Sirius turned around and gathered Harry in his arms. ''James?'' he asked, sounding small. Harry raised his head and shook it, wiping away his tears with a patch of robes that wasn't entirely soaked through. He cast a quick Lumos to pierce through the darkness. ''Harry,'' the man muttered, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as the light hit Harry's face. The hug strengthened.

''As** touching** as this is,'' Voldemort cut in, ''I will need to run some medical checks to see if anything was damaged in the process.''

Before even finishing, Sirius was on his feet and spread his arms out to shield Harry, while at the same time trying to put as much distance between them and Voldemort. Harry placed a hand on his godfather's right arm in an attempt to calm him down. He was practically squashed against the wall now with his godfather protectively in front. ''It's okay,'' he said. ''Really.'' The man silently shook his head and did not move an inch, glaring at Voldemort, who continued speaking after a moment of silence as if nothing was wrong.

''Do you have any pains in your body? Are you feeling light-headed or dissociated?''

Harry ducked under his godfather's arm and placed himself between the two men, trying to get Sirius to focus on him. ''It's really important that we know you're doing alright,'' Harry insisted. ''I know that you might be confused right now, but I'll tell you everything once you've been checked.''

He received no answer apart from a terrified stare. Great handling, Harry thought sarcastically to himself. He'd let Sirius wake up in a room with the person present he'd spent a full life fighting, who had been a large part of the reason why the man had been put in Azkaban and who'd killed his best friend. Of course he couldn't expect Sirius to just be** fine**. He met wild and stormy grey eyes, much like the first time Harry had faced him in the Shrieking Shack.

''What happened to me?'' the man whispered desperately. ''It was so cold. So strange.'' He clawed at his chest, looking down in horror at the torn robes. ''My heart- it was… it was-''

The Dark Lord clearly was not impressed by the stuttering and hissed impatiently. ''Your status, Black. Headaches? Joint pain? I wish to get this over with as soon as possible as well, I can assure you.''

But Sirius either did not want to or couldn't reply. There was nothing left of the confident Auror he once must have been. His knees were trembling so much that Harry feared they would give out, and he quickly summoned the only chair in the room with a flick of his wand so the traumatised man could sit down. Even though he was still as far away from Voldemort as possible, he clearly couldn't tear his eyes away and kept flexing his fingers as if to grab a wand that wasn't there. Harry wasn't entirely sure what had happened to it, presumably Voldemort had removed it for safety measures.

''Maybe he'll talk if it's just us?'' Harry suggested.

The Dark Lord hissed in displeasure. ''If you think that I will let the both of you alone, you are gravely mistaken. I aided you in bringing him back before getting answers out of practicality. Before you tell me every little detail about what brought him and Nagini here in this state, I shall not leave this room.'' Having heard her name, Nagini finally came slithering out from under the desk again and curled herself around Voldemort's feet. Sirius released a strangled sound as the light of Harry's wand reflected on her scales.

''Can we at least make it a bit more… hospitable here?'' the teen now pleaded. ''He's clearly in shock!''

''Black's feelings are none of my concern.''

_~And mine?~_ Harry hissed. Next to him, Sirius winced, and Harry reminded himself to speak as little Parsel as possible. His words received an angry glare, ruby eyes boring into his until Harry relented and looked away.

To his immense surprise, soft balls of light started glowing everywhere around the room, illuminating the space more. With a few spells that Voldemort did not even bother pulling his wand for, the mess of blood disappeared entirely, a trill of magic going around the room at the same time. ''Thank you,'' Harry muttered, feeling so very exhausted at the moment. After everything he'd been through today, from finding Nagini to watching his godfather die and then being thrown into what was basically the realm of the dead, it was the little things that counted. For all of Voldemort's faults and cranky attitude, Harry was glad that the Dark Lord was still showing he could be reasonable.

''Everything was true then…'' Sirius whispered, hugging himself while staring. Finally, he dared a quick glance at Harry instead of the Dark Lord. ''What was the price for healing me, Harry? And don't tell me there wasn't any.''

The teen looked back and forth between his godfather and Voldemort. The Dark Lord did not look willing to help Harry at the moment. Figured. Reaching out hesitantly towards Voldemort's emotions, he was only met with pride. The man seemed to be ecstatic about Harry's success even if it did not show on his face. No, he was definitely not going to present Harry with an excuse to give Sirius.

Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to own up to what he'd done. He'd wished to break it gently to his godfather that he'd been brought back from the dead, but if asked like this… The teen didn't want to let his already suspicious and terrified godfather get the idea that Harry was lying to him now. ''I did not only heal you,'' he thus stated, tensing up in preparation for the rejection he would surely face. ''We got into a fight, you thought I was a Death Eater out to attack you and you… I don't know what spell you used, but it was a lethal one. Thankfully for me, I have good protection in place that fired it back at you instead. Before you could be healed you were already gone. You died Sirius. I became a Necromancer to get you back. That was the price.''

Sirius stared at him, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then buried his head in his hands, plucking at strands of hair. ''I need a drink,'' he rasped.

''I'm not wasting my alcohol on you,'' Voldemort snapped.

Harry gave his godfather a half-shrug. ''I would ignore that and skip down to the kitchen to get you something, but then I'd have to leave you alone with him so…''

''**Evan,**'' Voldemort hissed, unmistakably displeased by the tone in which he'd spoken.

Tiredly, the teen turned to face the Dark Lord and stepped closer to him, ignoring Sirius' warning grunt. ''I've just travelled to the realm of the dead and back,'' Harry spoke between clenched teeth. ''I've been thrown in a lot of emotional distress today and finally managed to fix my mistake after performing magic that you **know** I would **never** have been willing to perform in any other situation. I'm sorry if I am not the perfect picture of an obedient follower right now. I do…** thank** you for all of your help. I know it must not have been easy, given your words before. But I-''

He was cut off as a pair of cold arms embraced him and Harry's heart sped up tenfold as he was pressed into Voldemort's chest. _~I am proud of your accomplishment,~ _the Dark Lord hissed softly. _~And I can feel what you do, don't forget that this link goes both ways. Right now, however, I have too little information, and one of my worst enemies sitting in my office chair.~_

_~You won't like what I'm going to say,~_ Harry hesitantly admitted, practically trembling with nerves. Voldemort released him and their eyes met. He wasn't the only person who was absolutely drained, Harry noticed.

''Yes, I figured that would be the case,'' the other replied with a sarcastic chuckle. ''As Black does not seem to cooperate…_**Petrificus Totalus**_.'' Sirius froze and clattered to the ground, stiff as a board, fearfully looking up as Voldemort swooped down on him and started casting what looked like healing scans. ''Start talking,'' the man ordered. ''I'll decide what to do after that.'' He cast a critical look at his 'patient', then spoke '_**'Exsurdo**_.'' It was a spell intended to deafen a person temporarily, which Harry had come across during his search for interesting study material for the D.A., yet hadn't gotten around to practising yet.

Having no other choice, Harry recounted the past days as well as he could, leaving out no more details. Voldemort had a right to know. And after everything, Harry absolutely did trust the man. He spoke of the vision he'd had, of Mr Weasley and Bill and of Dumbledore's likely conclusion about Nagini being a Horcrux. Finally, it ended with Sirius' and Harry's fight over Nagini's release. Only here did the teen try to downplay Sirius' role in keeping Nagini captive to harm her. There was no proof that Sirius himself had cast spells on her, and he said as much in hopes to ease an inkling of the Dark Lord's wrath.

Oddly enough, no wrath came. As soon as Voldemort was done checking up on Sirius, he reclaimed his chair and listened attentively to Harry's tale, leaving the other man on the floor. Harry wrestled with his wish to get Sirius to a more comfortable position and not pissing off Voldemort. When he cast a glance at the Dark Lord though, the man looked far more contemplative than angry.

''So to summarise,'' he spoke when Harry fell silent. ''Nagini attacked Arthur Weasley in self-defence and was captured by Bill Weasley, who brought her to the Order. You witnessed this event through a mental connection and informed Dumbledore. The old fool in turn found out about Nagini being a Horcrux. It made him keep Nagini alive, but harmed her in order to 'remove my magic'?''

''Basically. Oh, I forgot to mention that Dumbledore apparently told the other Order members that you might have possessed me. I'm not sure if that was only his excuse to not tell them I am a Horcrux or if he truly believes that you can control your Horcruxes through possession. In either case, he now refuses to lookme in the eye and tries to find an excuse to have Aurors accompany me whenever I go out, presumably to ensure you do not take over and cause havoc.''

''He would have found out regardless in this situation, wouldn't he have?'' Voldemort muttered quietly.

''Found out what? Who?''

''Dumbledore would have found out that Nagini is a Horcrux. Your decision to inform him about the vision did not influence her capture. Even though she has added protection - not in the least** because** of the piece of soul she holds – it would only have served to bring him closer to the truth if conventional methods would not have killed her. Moreover, he has had the opportunity to study the diary and knows very well of some methods that** would** have been lethal to her.''

''So…'' Harry said, wondering where the other was going with this. Every now and then during the conversation, he checked on Sirius' stiff form, hoping he was allowed to move his godfather soon.

''I am merely trying to sort my thoughts to see how much you have to repay me,'' Voldemort spoke. ''You paid the price for your godfather's life, I gave you your punishment for involving yourself with my past affair, and I conclude that you do not owe me for Nagini. You saving her and returning her to me make up plenty for Dumbledore finding this information a few days earlier than he otherwise would have.''

Harry perked up, having expected much worse. ''Are you saying that we're quit?''

Voldemort's ironic laugh in answer to that did not bode well. ''I recall you mentioning leaving behind a mess, with two stunned and obliviated members vanishing from the Order's Headquarters. Even if they cannot recall the fight or Nagini's escape, they woke up in a room with bloodstains on the floor and a cage that was sliced open by magic with neither Black nor you present even in the middle of the night. Your failure to mention this to me sooner so I could have disposed of them is frankly a blunder that I cannot overlook. Two enemies Evan, you knew where two of my enemies were, harmless and stunned. Now, they might have informed Dumbledore about their confused state and Nagini's escape. He might have sent people to the Order's headquarters already and found you and Black missing. I cannot exactly send Black back there either to suss them before I have drafted up a magically binding contract to ensure his silence. Which will be difficult, he is a person known for creativity and a tendency to find loopholes in any rule or law laid out. You may be able to command him to a certain degree now you have resurrected him, but before we can test the limitations of that, I cannot simply send him back home.''

''My ability to do** what**?'' Harry sharply asked.

''Naturally, Necromancers would not practice the Art if we could not control the resurrected in some form. Called spirits are bound to share information, Inferi are directly linked to their creator and obey every wish of their master. The extent of that control differs quite a bit across various forms of the Art and also depends on the strength of the caster. With Black, it is a tad more complicated as **only** his body was resurrected, with neither his mind nor soul leaving. Still, the life you brought back from the Black Cosmos went through you and is tied to your magic. That should give you a certain amount of liberty. I suspect that he will not be able to withstand direct commands, and it is questionable whether he can cause you harm anymore. For lack of a better comparison, it is similar to the magical ties with House-Elves, even if to a much lesser extent. In short, it is too unreliable a method to** not** also bind Black in different ways.''

''Can I get him off the floor now?'' Harry suddenly asked, still concerned about the uncomfortable position that Sirius was in.

''In a moment, I'm not done talking yet.''

_Of course you aren't_, Harry thought in annoyance. Usually he loved listening to Voldemort's monologues as the man's voice was so pleasant, but his patience was running thin right now.

''Side-effects of the resurrection aside, there is both the matter of what you owe me for potentially alerting the Order that something is amiss and the fact that I need to decide on what to do further. Purely by what you have told me of the current situation, it is very tempting to order you to quit Hogwarts for now so you can remain here, safely out of reach. It would get you out of Dumbledore's grasp, and your disappearance would cause a chaos that I could use. However, it has the possibility of being a backfiring wand in case Dumbledore would somehow manage to use a vanishing act on your behalf to convince Fudge or members of the Wizengamot that I truly have returned and have captured you.'' Harry released a short, relieved sigh at that. He loved the summers at Riddle House, but suddenly disappearing in the middle of a school year, worrying his friends, abandoning the D.A. and other running projects, would completely throw his own plans in disarray. ''That leaves the alternative of damage-control. Return to Headquarters with Black while I try to find out as much information as possible about how much those other members… - Vance and Doge, correct? – how much they can recall. If you are extremely lucky, Black had the sense to either modify their memories or make the Obliviate so strong that their own mind will try to combat cognitive dissonance by filling in any gaps with logical conclusions that explain the blanks away.''

''Confirmation bias,'' Harry muttered, recalling Barty's explanation. ''I thought that needs to be reinforced by spells?''

''If you obliviate someone over large periods of time, yes. With a singular event it can happen by itself. People do not deal well with suddenly having memory gaps. As they attacked Nagini late evening, they might instead convince themselves that they just stayed home and fell asleep instead of instantly carrying out Dumbledore's orders. With enough luck, their minds were still so hazy by the time they woke up that they tried to return home without recognising what was going on around them.''

''Wouldn't that solve our problems?''

''Only until Nagini's absence is discovered and they start questioning themselves. And that is only in the best-case scenario. I don't like to rely on luck, Evan, neither should you. With that, we come to your payment… you shall leave Black behind here with me and return to the Order's Headquarters. While I create a contract, you shall clean up, keep watch and try to come up with convincing excuses as to why both Nagini and Black are missing in case anyone asks. In the meantime, I shall have some people track down Vance and Doge in hopes that they were not in contact with anyone else yet…''

His tone did not encourage protesting, but Harry did it anyways. ''I didn't come here for more people to die-'' he started, then gulped as Voldemort instantly raised his wand to Harry's throat.

_~They hurt Nagini,~ _the man hissed._ ~They are dead. You had better leave before Black will die for a second time this evening as well. I will contact you when you can collect him.~_

The clear threat did not leave any room for more objections. Harry sincerely wished that he didn't need to go, he did not want to part like this, before giving Sirius any answers. Voldemort was still in a foul mood, Harry hadn't been able to calm Sirius down and he himself was feeling very shaky too. He knew how much was at stake though, and that time was running out. ''Can I come back in between?'' he asked hesitantly. ''There is still… so much that I want to talk to you about. The vision I had, the Order's reaction to me…'' he felt hopelessly lost still and he was not going to lie to himself by pretending that being sent back to face the Order's questions without even Sirius being there wasn't scary.

''During the evenings,'' Voldemort agreed. ''I will most likely sleep during the morning and early afternoon in the coming days as dawn is nearing already now. When you are certain that there will be no more guests letting themselves into the house, you can use your Portkey to come here. Should anything happen before that, contact me through the mirror, I will keep it close. If all luck is against you and Dumbledore or the rest of the Order does not believe whatever fabrication you will come up with to explain Nagini's or Black's absence in case it is discovered, Portkey straight here. I'd rather risk the chance of Dumbledore trying to uncover my presence than you being captured, brainwashed or worse. If that scenario happens, I fully expect you to stay in this house for the unforeseeable future, understand?''

Harry nodded, hoping that it wouldn't come to that, although he could not get the distrustful glances and whispers of many order members out of his head that he'd noticed after hearing about the possession theory.

A few seconds before leaving, he still dared to approach Sirius and looked at the man's scared expression. He knew that his godfather couldn't hear anything right now, but he still whispered ''I'm sorry,'' and hoped that the man would be able to lip read it. ''I'll see you soon.'' He spoke, both to Sirius and to Voldemort, before activating the Portkey again that would whisk him back to Grimmauld Place Number twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welll that could have gone worse. Also could have gone better. Congrats on those of you who figured that Harry would have to become a Necromancer.  
I apparently managed to make my beta wish these two would not get together anymore because of this chapter woops. They'll definitely have to work on the manipulations / punishment / mutual respect a bit..  
Next chapter involves... lots of necessary talks.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked the chapter :)  
xx GeMerope


	60. Damage Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, thank you so much again for all of your kind comments. 
> 
> I'm uploading this chapter a few days early as I have my final exams coming week and won't have time for it. I hope that the weekends after, I can write enough to upload the next chapter on my regular schedule. if not, I hope that this extra long chapter makes up for it!
> 
> Enjoy

Shadows crept through the old, icy house. As soon as Harry had disappeared, Voldemort clearly had not felt it necessary anymore to keep up the spell that had scattered orbs of light throughout the room. Not that it helped. Both Sirius' Animagus form and his prolonged existence in a dark Azkaban cell had greatly enhanced his nocturnal vision. For once, he cursed that ability, for it enabled him to see far more of his enemy than he had ever wished to. The strangely serpentine man hadn't left, sitting at the desk with that monstrous snake on his lap, which appeared to be fully healed now. To think that Sirius had battled all of his life against the Dark Lord, only to sit absolutely motionless in the same room… For as much as his instincts willed him to move, for the first time since breaking out of prison, Sirius Black did not know how to cope with the situation he was in.

It had perhaps been half an hour since Voldemort had released the Body-Bind curse, yet Sirius had not moved an inch after sitting up and putting as much distance between him and the other occupant of the room as possible. Each couple of seconds, his fingers would twitch in search for a wand that wasn't there anymore. The helplessness of being unable to defend himself was horrible. In his younger years, he might have simply tried to overpower Voldemort by force. However, between the fact that Sirius' body had never fully recovered from his time in prison and on the run, and that Voldemort had a twelve-foot-long venomous snake curled up around him, he doubted that would be very successful.

As he stared at the other person who occupied the room, it truly hit him. This was Lord Voldemort. The murderer of his best friends, the murderer of so many others. The man who'd steeped the country in war, torn families apart with his visions of 'greatness' and who was said to have delved deeper into the dark arts than any other before him. He certainly looked the part. It was doubtful that much of Voldemort was human still, looking like that. Oddly, Sirius was not feeling as afraid as he'd imagined when ever having to face Voldemort from this close. Unlike most people, he'd never felt the awed fright that caused most to refuse to say his name still. Sirius' parents had spoken too often in praise of this man for Sirius to feel true fear. Instead, there was a mixture of resentment, intrigue and a healthy dose of suspicion.

Not too long ago, Sirius would have not hesitated and thrown himself at the man in order to kill him, consequences be damned. But each time that he actually thought about doing so, the image of his godson came to mind, trying to reason with him. Speaking of this monster's** humanity** of all things… Although Sirius didn't buy into that, he could not simply ignore those words either. For Voldemort did not act as he'd imagined.

Somehow, he'd expected his enemy to be more talkative. Gloating perhaps, or asking questions again. Even torture had been on Sirius' list of possibilities. Instead, he was being completely ignored. In fact, not for a single second had Voldemort appeared anything else but mildly peeved over Sirius' presence. There had been much shouting between Harry and Voldemort upon arriving, but he'd been too preoccupied with the overwhelming pain of having been hit by a Sectumsempra to form any coherent thoughts back then, so he had no idea what that had been about.

Silence filled the room apart from sparse moments in which soft hisses were exchanged with the serpent. It put him more on edge than a direct confrontation or interrogation would have. Voldemort had started trying to ask questions right after Sirius had woken, he vaguely recalled. He'd been in too much shock to answer back then, and been cursed soon after… Had Harry tried to stop it? If only his memories weren't so hazy at the moment. It was hard to focus: the sound of hissing in combination with the darkness and the creeping cold reminded him far too much of his cell. His eyes flickered to the half-opened door. Had he seen movement there? A shadow slightly darker than the rest? Was that really hissing still or rather the rattling breath of his jailors?

He was shocked out of his thoughts as Voldemort abruptly rose, the snake sliding to the floor. ''Your godson certainly brought us both into quite a mess, did he not?'' the man spoke cynically. Sirius refused to answer, still not even quite sure what had happened. Harry had said something about Necromancy, but that was impossible. As powerful as the Dark Arts were, bringing a dead person back to the living was far too ludicrous to be true. Death was permanent. The only exceptions were abominations like Inferi… which arguably weren't alive either.

So what **had** happened instead then? He'd argued with Harry, and then Snivellus had entered and gotten in the way… So much agonising pain had followed, his hands sticky with his own blood. Harry had held him, tried to heal him… The demonic red eyes of Voldemort had been the last thing he'd seen before entering what he thought to be a strange state of shock. He'd floated in a grey space that had been even colder than this room was for who knew how long. Had that been a sort of coma? Was that why Harry insisted he'd died?

''Where is Snape?'' he muttered, trying to focus on something concrete. The bastard had interfered and tried to attack, hadn't he? ''Where did he go?'' Sirius finally scrambled to his feet. Better to stand instead of cowering at the feet of his enemy like some damned Slytherin.

The other scoffed. ''Yes, surely Severus would have nothing better to do than hang out at the Order's headquarters late evening in an attempt to ambush you. Physically, your condition is as good as it can be after rotting in Azkaban for thirteen years, but mentally you're not all there, are you? It was** Harry** you were fighting. Your mind simply showed you a different image as you couldn't handle the truth. It is a good thing that** I** provided your godson with the protection that saved him from your attempt to murder him.''

The scornful words cut deeper than Sirius had expected. He knew it obviously had to be a fabricated story to confuse him, never in his life would he hurt Harry. He pushed away that Harry had tried to tell him the same thing before. His godson may have been under a spell or threatened. Vehemently, he shook his head. ''You're lying. That is all you ever do. Get under people's skin, try to make them think things that aren't real-'' he was cut off as a wand was prodded in the hollow of his throat.

''The Dementors clearly got under your skin long before I did,'' Voldemort whispered dangerously. ''Let me make one thing clear, Black. The sole reason why you are alive again is your godson. And if I did not know that you will never be able to harm a single hair on his head anymore, I would kill you a second time right here and now. If you do not even have the decency to accept your own responsibility, I will** force** you to recognise your actions. _**Legilimens**_.''

Sirius tried to resist as soon as he saw the spell coming, jamming up his mental barriers. It was enough to keep many people out, even Severus couldn't simply access his mind without being noticed despite claiming to be a Legilimency master. It was one of the few abilities that one could train without a wand, so he'd tried to reinforce his Occlumency shields quite a bit over the years in which he'd had nothing else to do.

Voldemort tore through his thick barriers with raw force as if they were no more than paper shields. Needles were rammer into his skull as Sirius was sucked into his own mind, held in an iron grip by the red-eyed monster. _''I will make you see,'' it said._

_See he did. No sooner had they entered the deepest depths of his mind, did Voldemort throw them through a door, pushing him into the memory of that night. Harry, kneeling at the cage to help the snake. Vance and Doge, getting stunned and obliviated because they were about to attack Harry. The fight that ensued… Sirius stood rooted to the spot as he watched from the side-lines. Any moment now, he thought desperately, looking at the door. Any moment now, Snivellus would appear._

_''I won't let you defile James' memory!'' memory-Sirius yelled, raising a wand at Harry again._

''_No, no…'' Sirius muttered, a feel of horror settling in as he took in the scene. Where was Snape? _

''**_Sectumsempra_**_!''_

''NO!'' Sirius yelled, throwing Voldemort out of his mind, who staggered back. He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead and temples. ''Memories can be manipulated,'' he muttered in a desperate attempt to deny what he'd witnessed, burying his head in his hands again. ''I was out for hours…'' he tried to reason.

''Correction, you were dead for hours. Your mind was in stasis and inaccessible for me to change. But I see my words are wasted on you for now… Well then, I'll concentrate on actions instead. _**Legilimens**_!''

_Sirius screamed out in agony as Voldemort dove back into his mind, digging invisible claws into his brain. The first time, he'd been able to surprise the other with a sudden burst in strength, but he wasn't going to win this time. Memories whirled past in no particular order: meetings, Dumbledore, Harry, cleaning up Grimmauld, taking care of Buckbeak, Dementors, Hogwarts, Regulus… It appeared as if his entire life flashed by in front of his eyes, halting at the faces of James, Remus and Lily._

He slumped to the floor when Voldemort finally let him go, having found all information he wanted. With all the hatred he could muster, Sirius spit at the oddly clawed feet. Voldemort did not acknowledge the gesture, a shadow falling over his white face as he turned away and started pacing. Only after a few tense minutes, he stopped and faced Sirius again. ''We are in quite the predicament. You wish not to betray the Order, which conflicts with your interests in keeping your godson out of trouble. Regarding Harry, we are in agreement, yet the Order of the Phoenix are enemies of mine. Tell me, Black. Which is more important to you?''

''Couldn't fish that answer out of my head?'' Sirius spoke, baring his teeth.

''I have no time for your questions,'' the Dark Lord hissed back, eyes narrowing into slits. ''The rest of the Order may consist mainly of incompetent idiots, Dumbledore is a great danger to Harry. I realise that you do not recognise my authority, but you **will** help me to keep your godson **safe**, or I'll put you under the Imperius curse for the rest of your life!''

Sirius, who had finally gotten enough feeling back in his limbs, pushed himself up from the floor and considered it. Voldemort was making no idle threat, and at the moment he had nothing to defend himself with. As much as he despised the man in front of him, he had to consider it, for Harry.

''Dumbledore will be able to recognise and counter an Imperius curse if he has even the slightest suspicion of that I am not myself,'' he warned. ''With that said, I offer the following: I'll help you for Harry sake if, and only if, you will tell me what danger Dumbledore poses to Harry.'' Voldemort was a mastermind in controlling other people and not trustworthy in the slightest, but there was something that told him that the Dark Lord really did seem to fear for Harry's safety. With Dumbledore's own theories about Harry being possessed and his opinion on dark magic and its supporters, Sirius could not entirely reject the notion that the Headmaster would never harm a hair on Harry's head. If only for his own good, he might try to limit the teen's freedom, or try to influence him with spells.

''Dumbledore wants him dead.''

Sirius blinked, for a moment unsure if he'd heard that correctly. ''Dead,'' he repeated, then scoffed and burst into laughter. ''You have to give me something more realistic than that. Kill a student? Never!''

''Not even if a single sacrifice of a teenager would lead to my demise and 'eternal peace' as he imagines it would?'' Voldemort enquired. The question hung in the air for a while as Sirius' laugh slipped from his face. Harry had admitted to being connected to Voldemort somehow… Dumbledore himself thought that the tyrant could possibly possess the boy. Harry had survived this man's killing curse and reduced him to ash, then aided in his resurrection. Of course there had to be more to it.

''It doesn't make sense,'' he countered, confused. ''If your life is dependent on Harry's, why try to kill him as a baby? Or when he was eleven?''

''I didn't know what I do now,'' the other mysteriously said. It didn't look like Sirius would get more than that. Then, he realised something.

''Dumbledore wanted to experiment on your… your pet, to see if your magic could be extracted from it…'' he whispered, more to himself than to the other. Now it was him who was pacing. ''Don't tell me that Harry… **what did you do to my godson?**'' he suddenly shouted, getting angry.

''Nothing intentional. At least, what Dumbledore wishes to kill him for was not intentional. After that, he participated in many a ritual that solidified the unusual connection fate bestowed upon us. The details matter not, Black. His life and sanity is in danger if Dumbledore gets enough information and the means to put his plans into actions. If you wish to protect Harry, you will need to work with me. The first part of that is to tell me some details that were difficult to distract from your chaotic brain. Starting with the wards on your family home. Dumbledore has many skills other mages are unaware of, one of which is to read the magical history of places. Most dark families of course took care of such magic being cast on their homes without permission, but I am unaware of how accurate you kept your wards.'' Although the question was reasonable, Sirius contemplated his answer. It could be a ploy to unravel the wards and attack the Headquarters from within…

Harry's safety won out in the end. ''I have been living there for quite some time now and reinforced the wards to the best of my ability, including those placed with dark magic,'' he admitted. It had been a necessary evil. As much as he despised using that kind of magic now due to his parents, it would have been impossible to tear them down and build stronger ones with light magic without risking interference. He hadn't told Dumbledore or anyone about it for that matter, pretending instead that the family wards had never waned, as a servant had still lived there. Sirius wasn't sure how many people believed it, but none had asked for clarification, so he'd left it at that. ''To protect from unwanted check-ups on dark magic from the Ministry, they naturally also put in spells as you described. Tracking the history of magic cast in my house needs my permission, and even then I could change the results.''

''I thought so, but having it confirmed is reassuring. Secondly, what kind of memory charm did you use on Vance and Doge? If they report anything back, anything unusual at all... this whole ordeal will get very thorny, very fast.''

''The usual Auror-standard memory wipe for taking in criminals,'' he unhappily commented. It was a spell he'd spent so long training to get right that a standard Obliviate was rather difficult to pull off by now. Aurors did not want their targets to recall anything, including possible rooms they might wake up in during transportation until arriving at the holding cell. Even after the stunning spell would wear off, Emmeline and Elphias would most likely be so dazed that they'd go home and not recall a thing about waking up on a bloodied floor. While that was probably good in this situation for all parties involved, he did not like admitting his ability to cast it in front of Voldemort, as it would serve as a reminder that he'd been an Auror once.

''It seems that when Harry is involved, luck does seem to be on my side,'' Voldemort spoke, lipless mouth stretching into the most awful grin that Sirius had ever seen. ''As for my last question for now, will you sign a contract of silence willingly, or do you need to be forced?''

Sirius backed away at the clear threat. ''Good luck trying to force me.''

''Stubbornness is the very core of your character, isn't it, Black?'' Voldemort softly spoke, sounding slightly disappointed. ''I hope you change your mind until I have completed writing the contract. Until then, I will need to keep you contained. There is a room on the right side near the end of the corridor. You will sleep there for now.'' Sirius did not move, bewildered by the words. Voldemort wanted him to go into another room and** sleep**? ''**Now**, Black!'' the other hissed, giving no further explanation. The door swung open completely, revealing the swallowing darkness behind it.

Taking his chance, Sirius gathered all of his remaining strength and bolted past Voldemort and out of the door. It led to a narrow corridor with more doors on each side and a staircase to the ground floor nearby. Was Voldemort really so gullible to believe that someone who'd escaped from **Azkaban** would just do as ordered and stay here? He had a godson in danger that he needed to look out for as soon as possible! As he didn't have a wand to use now anyways, Sirius quickly changed into a dog in order to run faster, then sprinted down the stairs.

He whined in pain mid-step before reaching even the bottom of the staircase, invisible rope choking his throat. Missing the next step, he tumbled down the remaining way, only causing it to tighten up further. While choking, he willed his limbs to move and with difficulty climbed the stairs back up again, gasping for air as the hold was released and oxygen flowed in his lungs again. Okay, bad idea. He should have thought about the other having cast more spells on him, either before waking up again or without Sirius noticing it during the time he'd been spelled deaf.

As he lay there and changed back into his human form again, the door opened and Voldemort walked past, looking down on him disdainfully.

''Come now, you did not think I would make it possible for you to get away, did you? I'd thought you slightly more intelligent than that. What would I tell Harry when he visits in the evening and I let you slip away?''

''Harry is coming over again today?'' Sirius asked hopefully despite himself. It was not deemed worthy of a response, and he shied away as Voldemort walked on and his pet snake followed, slithering past Sirius with far too little distance between them. A door on the left slammed close after Voldemort went through, and Sirius was determined to not ever enter there. The question now was what he** should** do. Sleeping was out, that was for certain. As if he could lay down and close his eyes while in the same house as** him**. His throat started hurting again and he rubbed it, grimacing. So that was how it was then? An invisible leash to steer him where he was supposed to go? Without a way to counter it and not looking forward to dying just yet, he sauntered down the corridor, going in the only room that had a bed. Right next to it was a bathroom, he saw, which was quite handy. Hopefully he'd at least be allowed to take a piss without having to hold his breath.

Disturbingly, the room looked… nice. It was clean, and the sparse furniture looked comfortable. It held a single, old window through which the light of dawn flooded. The first thing he did was approach it and take in the surroundings. There wasn't much to be seen. The house was free-standing and surrounded by a small magical garden and quite a few grassy fields beyond that. In the distance, he saw a large manor. Sirius moved the handles, getting rust on his hands. Cold wind tousled his hair as soon as the glass panes swung open, and he leaned out of the window frame. To the left, there was only an endless stretch of fields. To the right however, he could see a valley with lines of red-roofed houses. It appeared to be a rather small village. As he did not recognise it, he assumed it to be Muggle.

Tasting the fresh air was great, a whiff of salt drifting on the wind that betrayed the vicinity to the sea, even if it might be quite a way off still. He got the idea to move the only chair in the room so it would stand next to the opened window. Just as he was about to take the thing though, he faltered. What he thought to have been a pillow turned out to be a crumpled-up shirt and a pair of old jeans. Holding the shirt up, it clearly did not belong to an adult. Additionally, it was full of holes and even a few bloodstains. Sirius shuddered and flung it away, not daring to touch the chair further. Had Voldemort imprisoned Muggle children here? What had happened to them?

Now he was even more reluctant to touch anything and sat down on the floor instead, staring up at the sky, the moon still faintly visible in the rising light of the sun. It was in the first quarter, and Sirius wondered if he would get out of here in time for the next full moon to help Remus like usual. His best friend oftentimes came over to Grimmauld place to sit out the transformation with Sirius as company. Right now, Remus was probably trying to talk some sense in other estranged werewolves who didn't belong to a pack… he smiled at the thought of his friend. After everything in his life that had happened, it was a relief to have Remus back. If he made it out of this house in one piece, he'd definitely invite Moony over for dinner again.

He thought of much that morning, especially Harry. It was odd that he'd only known his godson for less than two years, not counting the time as a baby. The boy had grown on him from the moment their eyes had met in Little Whinging, and even more so when they actually got to talk. To say the least, he hadn't expected the angry outburst in summer last year where he'd finally met Harry again and had received a rant against Dumbledore. In hindsight, that should have been a major red flag already. However, he'd wanted to let his godson form own opinions about the world around him. If he'd be anything like James and Lily after all, he would make the right decisions in the end. Stray along the way, sure. Prank people and even dabble in some dark arts, okay. But at the end of the day, Sirius had been convinced that Harry would lose that streak and join his place among the Order of the Phoenix. Those hopes had been dashed with each new conversation ever since finding out that Harry actively followed Voldemort. And now, after his previous conversation with the Dark Lord about Dumbledore, he was even more unsure about whether or not Harry would ever have gotten the **chance** to be like his parents. Something tied Harry to Voldemort, something that others would want to kill him for…

It still hurt that Harry had so easily joined Voldemort, he was not going to lie about that. To see his godson go down the same path that his younger brother had was painful. It was Regulus all over again… A person Sirius deeply cared about eventually gaining different beliefs and pulling away from him. Leaving him as they grew closer to the source of evil. Sirius swallowed heavily, reminded of all the insane talks he'd heard in Azkaban. So many of Voldemort's followers had been there, one even more nuts than the other, even from the moment they arrived. Talks of purifying the world and the might of magic. It had boggled his mind before, that the same Harry Potter who ran head-first into danger every time someone needed saving, would ever run with this crowd. Now, he thought he started to finally get a better idea as to why. If Voldemort hadn't made this all up and truly tried to protect Harry's life for reasons unknown to Sirius, it was no wonder that Harry would rather stick with the man who tried to **save** his life instead of end it. He was left little choice…

Was it really too late now to extract Harry from Voldemort's influence? There had to be better options, like getting out of the country and disappearing off the radar until Harry would not be stuck in the middle between two sides who both wanted something from him. Should Sirius have interfered earlier? Would Harry have confided more in him then so he could have found a better solution? He'd covered his godson against the Order, even taught him some dark magic in the hopes of Harry growing closer to James in a way by enabling him the same experiences his father had had. Had he, Sirius Black, pushed the boy even further away by doing so? That thought was unendurable.

A flash of the memory he'd been forced to see went through his mind suddenly, and he curled up. No, what was **really** unforgivable was the way that he'd acted yesterday. Before, he'd denied it, tried to blame Voldemort. But now that he was alone with all the time to think and analyse his own mind, Sirius was forced to realise that it had happened. He knew that he wasn't entirely stable. He'd confused Harry more often with other people, mostly James. And it indeed would not have made any sense for Snape to suddenly show up as a Death Eater and disappear instantly after. Sirius desperately clung to the thought of that he hadn't** meant to** do it. But he had. For one of Dumbledore's plans, he'd attacked his godson with the intent to kill. And it was** Voldemort** of all people who had pushed his nose on that fact with resenting words.

A whine escaped his throat as the thought was realised in his head, silently unspoken. It was as if it had eyes that silently judged him from within his head. He'd tried to kill Harry. The boy hadn't done anything apart from being his compassionate self, not even able to see an animal hurt without a reason that he could comprehend. It hadn't mattered to Harry that it had attacked people, only that it was hurt now. In a twisted way, it painfully reminded him of James, laughing away the injuries they'd sustained from Remus' claws during bad nights. A dangerous animal…

''I'm a horrible godfather,'' he whispered to where the moon had been, which had faded completely. ''And a horrible soldier.'' His only answer was the carefree sound of whistling birds that had no idea what was going on in his head.

He couldn't be both anymore. It was an impossible road to walk, Harry on one side and his friends on the other. Sirius had to choose between one or the other to not make such fatal mistakes again. Trying to balance that fine line had almost landed Harry in an early grave. Anger rose in him against Dumbledore, although it was a careful anger as he was still reluctant to trust the word of the likes of Voldemort. If it was true, then he'd been horribly deceived all this time.

That inevitably led to more questions. Sirius knew that Voldemort's side was so very, very rotten. The Dark Lord himself had slaughtered hundreds of civilians. His rise to power had spread hatred and terror like nothing else before. Neighbours hadn't dared to speak to each other, friends had stabbed each other in the back like Wormtail had done. He did not want to return to those times. And yet, Harry had painted an entirely different picture that Sirius would have never imagined when talking about Voldemort's plans. Segregation, peace, creature rights… all of those things that he had chalked up to optimistic beliefs, now came back with seeds of doubt. If it wasn't for Harry, he wouldn't even be thinking about this. But he had to think about what was best for his godson, which included at least considering that maybe, there was something more to it. His heart dropped as he realised that he might have to step on the path he'd ran away from when leaving his parental home behind. At the moment, it looked like Voldemort was Harry's best shot of staying alive. And Harry came first.

In the midst of his whirling thoughts, Sirius ended up drifting to sleep from pure exhaustion despite his determination not to. When he at long last awoke, the sky was already dark again. Unsurprising, as it was winter, plus he hadn't been able to get more than thirty minutes of sleep yesterday before being woken up by his godson's screams. The memory made him shiver, and everything from the past day rushed back. Sirius didn't move, unable to get enough will together to do so. He was still trapped and would be until Voldemort decided what to do with him. His bladder unfortunately had different plans, and he groaned in annoyance. Resigning to it, Sirius snuck out of the room and tried to grasp in the dark for the handle of the bathroom door. After he'd done his business in the old, oddly Muggle bathroom and exited it, he saw a streak of light from under a door further down the corridor. It wasn't the study that he'd been in before, rather a room adjacent to it. His heart skipped as he heard the very familiar voice of his godson.

He snuck closer silently in order to listen in on the conversation and hoped that his currently rumbling stomach wasn't so loud that it would give him away. A third voice could be heard, one that he was unfamiliar with.

''-wasn't a problem, my Lord. We were incredibly lucky. Both simply went home, recalling hardly anything. Whatever your opinion on Black, he's excellent with memory charms, it even erased their memory of waking up and going home. They apparently also did not have specific orders to start that night, nor did they have contact with Dumbledore. The Order is incredibly unorganised.''

''Black told me much the same,'' Voldemort answered. ''We were lucky for once. Evan, no troubles on your end either?''

Sirius was a bit confused when it was Harry who spoke up, and quickly made the connection with Lily. Why was Harry using an alias? Did that third person not know who he was?

''None. I was nervous that someone would show up and thought of a hundred different excuses, but not a single member checked in. Maybe I should have expected that, it's between Christmas and New Year after all. I showed myself to Nigellus' portrait so Dumbledore would see I was home and that was pretty much it. Took care of the pets, cleaned up a bit, tried to pass the time. In case you're wondering, in the end I decided that I would simply try to pretend that I would have no idea what anyone was talking about if they found out Nagini escaped. I mean, I wasn't supposed to know that she was there in the first place. Of course, who knows what tomorrow will bring as I don't actually have a clue about the meeting schedules. If Dumbledore decides to visit personally, he might be able to see through that. Knowing that the others don't remember, I can maybe try to make the cage look like she escaped by some miraculous magic. Now, could you **please** tell me how Sirius is? You didn't hurt him, did you?'' The concern in Harry's voice was touching, and Sirius held his breath.

''Physically, he is fine. He **should** be in your room at the moment.''

_**Harry**__'s room?_ Sirius thought. Wait, so those clothes… had Voldemort not taken some random Muggle children here then?

''Although just like you,'' Voldemort continued, ''Black seems to have a tendency to ignore orders.'' The door that Sirius had been pressing his ear towards flew open, and he fell forward, cringing as he looked up and met three stares. ''If you didn't have your mother's eyes, I'd have thought Black might be your second biological parent,'' Voldemort sneered.

''Don't you mention Lily!'' Sirius growled, jumping to his feet, instantly seeing red. How dare her murderer even take Lily's name into his mouth!

''Sirius,'' Harry said, jumping up and crossing the distance between them quickly to diffuse any argument before it started. ''Glad to see you're alright, I was afraid all day that you might be tearing at each other's throats,'' he grinned sheepishly.

''The thought did occur,'' he stiffly spoke, glaring at Voldemort. ''However, I'm starting to choke if I so much step into an area I'm not supposed to.'' Instead of the look of horror that he'd expected to receive from his godson, Harry only let out a startled chuckle.

''Oh, you too huh?'' Harry asked. ''That brings back some memories.'' Those words did nothing to calm Sirius down, which Harry seemed to pick up quickly. ''Don't worry, that was still during the time that I was actively trying to kill him.'' Harry turned around to Voldemort and - to Sirius' disbelief - casually asked: ''When did you release that spell on me? I never could pinpoint the exact time.''

''After the ritual in which I gave you those shields. Actually, you tried to save my life during that, so I figured that meant you wouldn't try to run anymore. Your amusing attempts to murder me happened a while before.''

Sirius could barely believe what he was hearing. Harry had tried to save this man's life even while still a prisoner? There was definitely something wrong with that.

''Right, I forgot about that,'' Harry frowned. ''That was pretty scary. You never did tell me what went wrong back then.''

Red eyes flickered over Sirius' face, as if he was debating whether to speak about it with Sirius in the room. He answered however, so Sirius apparently wasn't enough of a threat. ''The ritual took more energy and magic than the rudimentary body I had back then was able to handle. I overestimated my own power. It is not something that can happen again now I have access to all of my magic again.''

''Good,'' Harry replied with a relieved sigh. ''That was something that I'd rather never repeat. Seeing you like that…'' he faltered. ''A-Anyway. Since I'm here now, I thought I'd offer to cook. From Sirius' rumbling stomach that I can hear from where I'm standing, I get the impression that you didn't give him any food?'' If Sirius wouldn't know better, he'd have labelled Harry's tone as scolding.

Before Voldemort could answer, the third man spoke up enthusiastically, looking genuinely excited: ''Nice! I haven't been able to eat more than a tiny sandwich the entire day either! Can I help?''

''Oh, err…'' Harry spoke. ''I was kind of hoping to talk to Sirius? I mean, he signed the contract already, right?''

True, there had been that matter of a silencing contract. With how much time had apparently passed, Sirius had half expected to have been woken up in the middle of his sleep to sign it. He may have refused his cooperation before, but a contract was a rather tame method, considering every other available option. He'd expected unbreakable vows at the very least.

''No,'' Voldemort spoke sourly. ''It is taking longer than I hoped. A few things came in between, I will have it finished by tomorrow afternoon. I'll grant him permission to access the kitchen and the dining room for the next two hours so you can talk some sense into him. As much as you can talk sense into anyone. And Bartemius **will** check on you now and then,'' Voldemort added

''I regularly talk some sense into you,'' Harry answered with a brilliant smile. ''Come on Sirius, let's go!'' Before Sirius knew what was happening, he was being dragged down the same stairs that he hadn't been able to get past by himself before. ''He's taking your presence a lot better than I had imagined after yesterday's shouting match,'' the teen cheerfully spoke as they entered the kitchen and Harry started digging through cupboards as if he'd done so a hundred times before. ''Urgh, **of course** there are barely any fresh vegetables left again. Bloody hell, do I need to take care of everything here? Hmm… I suppose I can salvage these onions for onion soup… what do you say to onion soup?''

Sirius sank down at a simple wooden chair and stared at his godson, trying to process every little piece of new information he had received in the short span of a few minutes. Going by the name, the third man must be Bartemius Crouch, which made sense as that was the Death Eater who had impersonated Moody before and pretended to attack Harry. Not only did his godson consider Crouch to be a friend of sorts, the teen was also entirely relaxed around Voldemort. He'd heard tales of how cruel the man was even to followers, so it didn't make much sense for Harry to act so easy-going. Maybe it **was** just that, an act to make Sirius drop his guard? The entire situation felt so unreal… He had so many burning questions and considered telling Harry about the Legilimency he'd had to endure and the talk he had about Dumbledore, then decided that they should get some other things out of the way first. The first memory he'd relived when Voldemort had dug through his brain was still heavy on his mind.

''I really tried to kill you,'' he rasped after a moment of silence in which Harry stared at him expectantly. ''I tried to kill you and died, didn't I?''

Harry's forced smile faded quickly, and he sombrely stared at the other. ''Are you sure you are ready to talk about that?''

''I have to. My head feels like it's going to implode otherwise.''

''With you, I think it is more likely to** explode**,'' Harry retorted. ''You're not going without causing a ruckus.'' Then, he sighed and absentmindedly ruffled his hair in a way that was all too familiar. ''Alright, we can talk, as soon as you tell me whether or not I can start making soup.''

''Soup's fine,'' he mumbled. Critically, he watched as Harry opened a different cabinet that seemed to have been spelled to act as a refrigerator. ''You look like you've been in here more often,'' he commented.

Harry simply shrugged and procured a chopping block from a drawer. ''I've been here two summers. At the start, I was alone and tried to get Voldemort back on his feet, as I've told you before. Of course I needed to cook then. And afterwards… let's just say that both Barty and Voldemort are horrid cooks. Voldemort's a bit better to be honest, but his strength is definitely baking instead of cooking.''

''Baking,'' he repeated in disbelief. ''Voldemort **bakes**.''

''Mostly for feasts, but yes he does,'' Harry chuckled. ''About cooking though, it was a relief to find out that he's bad at** something**. I'm surprised he's a decent potioneer. Then again, I'm horrible at potions so I suppose that potions and cooking do not have too much in common besides throwing ingredients in water,'' he rambled. Clearly, the teen was incredibly nervous and just trying to find anything to say. He continued working as Sirius tried to sort out his thoughts.

''So… Necromancy,'' he spoke. By not directly asking about either their fight or his death, he hoped that Harry would somehow find a good point to start talking. ''You… you mentioned that it was not magic you would have been willing to practise otherwise?''

''Right,'' the teen spoke glumly. ''It's complicated. A couple of months ago, Voldemort and I had a conversation about magic. He asked me, if I could choose any spell in the world, to do anything… what I would like to learn. Having lost my parents, I asked him for a way to bring the dead back to life. It wasn't that I didn't think it through, but it was a wish that I voiced in the assumption of that it wasn't possible. I'd been told often enough that nothing on earth could bring back the dead. Dumbledore himself had said that to me. Still, I couldn't help but wish to see my parents, even for a brief moment. Voldemort once told me that he could show me my parents again, and I wanted to know if that had been a lie. No matter the extent of it, or how real it would be, I wanted to have **something** more than the few photos I had of them. ''

He stopped chopping the onions and stared at the wall, seemingly lost in thoughts. ''And I got that. In a display of magic that I will never forget, Voldemort resurrected my parents for a few minutes. He admitted afterwards that it had been a unique phenomenon, only made possible by extraordinary circumstances. Their corpses were still intact as they were buried like typical mages, their souls were to be found in the Cosmos, using my offered blood which was tied to them, and a portion of their mind could be restored by a connection that my wand has with Voldemort's, the wand that killed them. It was only right after they left again that I fully realised that I had truly spoken to my parents.''

Sirius was speechless, not having expected his question to cause such a weight to be dropped on him. ''They were here?'' he whispered. ''How can you know that it was them? What if Voldemort merely pretended-''

''My mum performed magic, something which the dead aren't supposed to be able to do. Voldemort actually said that he did not wish to give me any illusions about them having been my real parents until I told him about that. Her connection to her magical core being restored was proof that she was absolutely alive again, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. They… they held me Siri. They hugged me and I-'' Harry broke off, leaning heavily on the counter, his tears having nothing to do with onions anymore. Silently, Sirius rose and hugged his crying godson. ''I could only watch them die again,'' he sniffled. ''I couldn't part from their bodies anymore either and buried them here in the garden.'' Angrily, Harry wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. ''Something happened during the ritual, I was sucked into the realm of the dead somehow and witnessed part of what Voldemort did there. After that whole experience, I felt so torn that I did not want to explore Necromancy further, but Voldemort kept insisting that he thought I could be a natural at it. That made me even less keen on trying it again, for I didn't want yet another weird skill that would make me stand out. However, he was quite… persistent. I thought he'd dropped the subject, but recently he performed Necromancy on me and-''

''He** what**?'' Sirius exclaimed in shock. ''You died?''

''No, not like that. I've told you about Umbridge's punishments right? She purposefully healed my hand incorrectly. I don't know if she meant to or not, but it caused the bloodquill curse to fester under my skin. My arm was slowly dying and when I finally got it checked out, it was far too late to save it. Madame Pomfrey thought it might still last a couple of years before I would need to have it amputated and replaced by a wooden part like some mages get. Not knowing what else to do, I let Voldemort have a look at it too. He concluded that it was dying much faster than anticipated and that it would stop functioning within mere months. However…'' Harry spoke, pushing back his right sleeve to show a healthy arm. ''He used Necromancy on a centaur bone we'd been given in order to replace my arm with a fully functioning one.''

Now that he looked closer, Sirius saw that it didn't entirely match the left one. It was hard to notice, but when pointed out, he saw that the nails on Harry's right hand were shaped strangely. It also might be longer if that wasn't a trick of the light. ''I didn't even know that was possible,'' he spoke in slight awe, wondering where the hell Harry had been able to find a centaur bone.

''Voldemort can do a lot of impossible things, I've found,'' Harry spoke, smiling again. ''It's why I went to him in the first place. During that ritual, I ended up seeing the Cosmos again. And the centaur that gave us the bones also mentioned something that could have referred to my fate being tied to Necromancy. That doesn't mean that I suddenly **wanted** more to do with it, and Voldemort knew that very well. He could have resurrected you himself and instead made me do it.'' The tone was full of bitterness. ''Not that I can put too much blame on him. In my panic I did promise him everything again,'' he sighed. ''I never think these things through. Of course he'd grasp that opportunity, he's been dying to teach me the Arts ever since that first ritual.''

''That doesn't mean it was right,'' Sirius frowned.

''No… I suppose not,'' Harry muttered, crestfallen. ''In moments like these, I really wonder why I'd follow that self-absorbed arse to the end of the world.''

Sirius looked at his godson in shock before letting out a barking laugh. ''Did you just… did you really just call him that? I'm not dreaming, am I?''

Harry joined his laughter for a wonderful, light moment. ''He really can be impossible and very narcissistic.'' Then, Harry's grin died down again. ''Don't ever tell him I said that. Talking to him sometimes feels like walking across a field with buried landmines. It's so odd… some days he'll answer each and every question I have, but when he's in a foul mood… and I suspect he'll not be very happy to talk to me for quite a while still after I messed up so badly…''

''Because of me?''

''Partially,'' Harry shrugged. ''But not only that. I revealed some info to Dumbledore that I shouldn't have, and I also pried into parts of Voldemort's personal life that really weren't my business in hindsight. I can't really get myself to regret it since I learned so much about him, but that probably just makes it worse. Also, I kind of screamed in his face.''

''And he didn't punish you for that?''

Harry snorted in a way that didn't bode well. ''I always thought that he'd used the Cruciatus curse on me before. Now, I am not so sure anymore. Nothing compared to what I felt yesterday,'' Harry spoke, shivering. ''But that's the way it is, right?''

Sirius stared at his godson's back, wondering where to even begin. ''No-one has a right to torture anyone over something like that!'' he spoke in disbelief. ''Maybe if you'd murdered someone he was close to, or committed other gruesome sins… but Harry, you just told me that he cast the worst pain-inflicting curse on you known to man because you yelled at him and knew a bit too much? That is… that is so** wrong**!''

''His other followers seem to take it in stride too…''

''Because they're terrified that he'll kill them otherwise! Harry, look at me, **please**.'' Reluctantly, Harry turned around. ''This is not** normal**. Lord of Magic or whatever you believe him to be aside, no-one has the power to dole out punishment on their personal whims. You don't have to take that!''

''But I finally found a place where I feel that I truly belong,'' Harry whispered, turning to give him a desperate look. ''If that means that I have to do things that I normally wouldn't want to, then-''

''No,'' Sirius firmly said. ''It is exactly this attitude that drags great people down. You need to set borders for yourself Harry, and if anyone does not respect those, you don't have to shrug it off.''

''What if the alternative is worse? If I don't behave at least slightly like he wishes me to, he could just as easily decide to not want anything to do with me anymore.''

The conversation he had with Voldemort came to mind, and Sirius muttered: ''I doubt that.'' Harry raised his eyebrows. ''I had a… talk, with him. About you and about… Dumbledore. I'm not sure how much to believe of what he claimed, but it looks like he is adamant about protecting you.''

''Well, I wasn't talking about him killing me or anything,'' Harry clarified. ''I know that with the information he has, nothing on earth would make him do that. What I meant was that he would not allow me back here. Leave me at the Dursleys' next summer again, cut contact, those sort of things. It's not about protection.''

Loud footsteps came running down the hall and a brightly smiling Crouch popped his head around the doorframe. ''All good here? Ohhh, is that onion and cheese?'' Sirius tensed up as the Death Eater came in and gave Harry a quick hug, which did not seem to be unwelcome. ''Long time no see by the way. One quick mirror conversation since Samhain didn't really cut it. You should be in contact more often.''

''Our last talk didn't end very well,'' Harry spoke neutrally, throwing the diced onions in a pot of boiling water. ''I wasn't sure where to start. Or if you even wanted to chat again. I haven't changed my opinion.''

Crouch grimaced and pulled back, summoning a chair from the other room to sit on, looking completely unperturbed by Sirius' presence. ''I thought about what you said. I don't agree but.. I do understand, I suppose. Even so, I wouldn't forgive you.''

''Figured that. Let's hope it doesn't come to it.''

''You're the most stubborn kid I know,'' Crouch sighed dramatically.

''Gryffindor and proud of it, remember?'' Harry answered, chuckling lightly.

Lost as to what they were talking about, Sirius tried to make his presence known. ''Didn't think I'd ever see you again,'' he told Crouch.

''You mean since your visit at Hogwarts?'' Crouch asked. It took a while before Sirius realised that he meant the time where Crouch had still impersonated Moody and caught Sirius.

''I was referring to Azkaban, actually. I wasn't aware of who you really were at Hogwarts. Played your part well,'' he grimly responded.

The blond frowned in confusion. ''We weren't even on the same floor. I never saw you there.''

''I saw you, once. More than a decade ago, when they brought you in, all pale as you were flanked by Dementors. Hardly recognised you now.'' Crouch visibly flinched at the word 'Dementor'. He must not have had the luxuries Sirius had had to withdraw from the creatures' influence. No Animagus form, Occlumency, or even the knowledge of innocence. ''Good thing that the Ministry doesn't fully believe that you breaking out isn't simply a fabrication of Dumbledore's mind. I would lose my title of being the first to escape Azkaban.''

Crouch laughed at that. ''Surely more people were able to flee over the years. It was simply hushed up after the poor bastards got caught again.''

''Shouldn't have become criminals then,'' Sirius insisted.

It was Harry who replied with: ''You yourself are proof enough that not only criminals go to Azkaban. I recently learnt that an old house-elf who was tricked into believing that she had **accidentally** poisoned her Mistress, landed behind the same bars as the worst of serial killers. The system is flawed, incredibly so.''

Crouch chimed in with: ''Also, even if you are innocent of what you were framed for, prison break itself is a crime no matter the circumstances. By your logic, that alone should be enough to rightfully lock you up again. Don't see you walking into the Auror office with your hands in the air.''

Sirius growled lowly and fell silent. Those were arguments he'd heard before, and which he couldn't bring any arguments that would not further fuel those he was discussing with. Instead, he watched Crouch with suspicion, who turned his attention to Harry again.

''So, how has my favourite Gryffindor been otherwise?''

Harry only threw Crouch a withered glare. Rightfully so, in Sirius' opinion. His godson had been to hell and back between visions, trying to save people and being dragged into darker magic than ever before by the murderer of Harry's parents. ''Shite. How much do you know of what happened in the past days?''

The other shrugged. ''I've been busy running His job as He went mad in a search for Nagini. I only heard you turned up with her and a bloodied Black in tow. That's as much info as I got before I was ordered to take care of Vance and Doge.''

Unable to stay quiet, Sirius accused: ''Killed them, didn't you?''

He was answered by raised eyebrows. ''Although they will suffer for what they've done, it would be incredibly suspicious if two Order members suddenly didn't show up anymore. Especially Vance, who works in the Ministry. Dumbledore would surely start an investigation. No, they're under the Imperius curse for now. We'll see for how long until they can be disposed of.''

Sirius balled his fists, getting ready to punch Crouch in the face. ''They're good people.''

''The Dark Lord sees that differently.''

''Oh yes, his judgement in who is **good** or not surely is incredibly accurate.'' Sirius spat.

''Better than Dumbledore's,'' Crouch snapped back.

''If you're just going to argue like three-year-olds, could you get out of my kitchen?'' Harry tiredly said. Sirius and Crouch glared at each other, neither of them moving to get up. ''Where did my therapist go?'' Harry jokingly asked Crouch.

The man blew a lock of hair out of his face and grimaced. ''He died from the work pressure you put on him with teenage drama. Kidding, kidding,'' he hastily added as Harry looked over his shoulder and gave a very-well acted sad look. ''What do you need advice on? Love life again?''

''Barty!'' Harry hissed, turning back to the stove. Curiosity piqued, Sirius leaned in closer. Harry, who constantly got in trouble and had people left and right out for his life, still had time left for a love life? ''It's about our Lord'' the teen added quietly. It was unsettling to hear Harry call Voldemort 'my Lord' so casually, and Sirius hoped that it was only for show in front of Crouch. His godson had called the man simply Voldemort before… and an arse. Harry stirred a bit in the pot and then left it alone, sitting down on the floor. He threw an uncomfortable look at Sirius. ''As I never know how good **his** hearing is, this might not be the best place and time for a discussion though.''

''Easily fixed,'' Crouch answered, drawing his wand and putting a silencing barrier around them. The Death Eater too, threw a look at Sirius then, at which he glared back. ''We won't have much time otherwise, I am out of the country starting tomorrow, probably for the next couple of weeks. I'll have to leave the mirror here too in case you need to contact the Dark Lord.''

''Damn,'' Harry sighed, rubbing his face wearily. ''I'd hoped we'd have more time than that. I also really don't want to leave Sirius alone when our Lord is still pissed off.''

Crouch hummed at that. ''We don't have to go into specifics. Simply tell what's bothering you. You already know my opinion on certain matters aren't going to change.''

''No, but I thought mine had.'' Crouch made an unhappy sound that Sirius couldn't completely understand. He felt rather out of place. ''And now I'm not so sure anymore. I feel conflicted,'' the teen continued.

Crouch got off his chair and sat on the floor too, taking Harry's hands in his. ''What happened?''

''Sirius wasn't wounded, he died. I was given the choice between leaving him dead or becoming a Necromancer myself to bring him back.''

''Ah… you said you didn't want to become a Necromancer… he took it as a challenge, didn't he?''

''Yeah…'' Harry said, clearly distraught. ''I feel that Voldemort manipulated me into it, given the circumstances.''

''What do I keep telling you about his **name**,'' Crouch growled in obvious annoyance. Sirius silently cheered.

''That you'll hex me if I continue to use it. So, do it then. Respect is deserved.''

''You could handle it. You **did**. Black's alive, isn't he?'' the other replied, throwing another wary look at Sirius, who suddenly felt uncomfortable as the attention was pulled towards him. It was rare for him to shun attention, but he really did not want to focus on his own… resurrection. He kept wondering if there were side-effects to it, on either his or Harry's side. He'd hoped to still carefully ask Harry about that, but it looked like Crouch was planning on staying and he really did not want to discuss dark magic with a fanatic follower. Thus, he stood and made a motion to the doorway.

''If you don't mind, kiddo, I'll lay down for a bit again,'' he said with a painfully forced smile. ''Tell me when food is ready?'' Harry didn't seem to hear what he'd said, giving Crouch an upset look. Sirius cleared his throat and offered: ''Unless of course, you want me to throw this guy out instead?''

Harry gave a short chuckle and finally looked at him. ''I'll be okay, Siri. Go rest, I'm sure you had a hell of a day.''

Slightly disappointed by the inability to kick Crouch out of the kitchen, but also really feeling as if he needed some more alone time, Sirius snuck back upstairs, careful to be as silent as possible so that Voldemort wouldn't notice. If he could avoid a run-in with the Dark Lord, that was just fine by him.

XxX

''So, where were we,'' Harry sighed. Starting another argument with Barty was not exactly how he'd imagined his evening to go. Sirius and he hadn't even addressed their fight that had the man killed… Harry had wanted to assure his godfather that he didn't hold a grudge for the attack, and had hoped that they could at least start building up something now that Sirius had the opportunity to meet Voldemort personally. Yet now something else had come up again..

''Your love life,'' Barty grinned, at which Harry shot him a **look**.

''This isn't funny.''

''Listen kid, I'm going to tell you how I see things from my perspective, okay? You asked our Lord to show you magic to bring back the dead. As he is wont to do, our Lord wishes to share more of that after that first ritual when you show potential. Then, although you vocally say that you don't wish to continue with it, you aren't refusing Necromancy either when it is convenient. Whether to not risk losing a limb or to save a loved one, you ask Him to aid you.''

''He only said blood magic would be involved when replacing my arm,'' Harry disagreed. ''He very purposefully avoided the word Necromancy until we were in the middle of the ritual.''

''Be that as it may, you could have still broken it off or talked about it afterwards. Did you?'' Harry clamped his mouth shut as he had not, in fact, done so. He didn't want to give Barty ammunition by trying to argue that point. ''Right,'' the Death Eater spoke with a slight bit of triumph. ''So you thank him and leave, not giving any indication that you had an aversion to it, then show up only a few months later with one of his worst enemies in your arms and plead for Black's life. Now, I don't know what he died from, but I can imagine it didn't matter. You asked him to use Necromancy again, did you not?''

''He mentioned the option after Sirius was already dead. I didn't ask, he simply said that my godfather could still be brought back, but that the price was that I had to do it.''

''And was that unfair? He didn't want to see Black live again. If you desire a result, why would you **not** be the one to get your hands dirty to achieve it?''

Harry sighed deeply, knowing that he'd created this mess as well. Yesterday – or technically today as it had been past midnight - he'd been so focused on getting Sirius back that he hadn't protested at all, simply taking it in stride that there would be a price to pay. The more time he'd spent alone today however, the more time he'd had to think about it. Voldemort had been all high and mighty about never asking more than he knew Harry could give, then turned around and completely used Harry's distress and grief to cross boundaries that he'd voiced clearly before.

At his silence, Barty still added: ''That he was willing to teach you is an opportunity that many would give some of their fingers for!'' The Death Eater wiggled his own silver fingers, which he'd received after sacrificing his own at the resurrection ritual.

Harry didn't see the humour in it at the moment. ''I was a **mess**! Someone I loved just died in front of my eyes, because of me. Voldemort knew very well that I was in shock. A minute prior, he had me under the Cruciatus curse. Had I been in a sane state of mind, I don't even know if I would have taken the option or not to bring him back to life! And yet before I could recover from everything prior, he dangled the possibility to put it all right in front my eyes. Of course I took it! And of course I regret it! I feel like I have been dragged into something that I can now never escape from again, because he manipulated me into accepting this offer like some bloody devil's pact. And don't tell me that I am **lucky** for getting this opportunity. Necromancers are shunned, hunted, killed. If they don't die from rituals gone wrong first. I do not have the first idea about the repercussions this will have. My very being was torn apart in the world of the dead!''

''You want both too much and too little,'' Barty concluded at long last. ''You are being eaten up inside, not because of him or because of any magic in this world. It's only because of your own conscience.''

''That is not the case,'' Harry determinedly said, getting up on wobbly knees. ''Sirius was right in one thing. This… the way he treats people, it's not **normal**. I want too much and too little? Me? Have you given him that advice too?''

''What are you-''

''He wants me to speak my mind, then punishes me if I do. He wants to own me, then shuns from accepting any feelings he might have except for jealousy! He wants my respect, then manipulates me into doing things I have explicitly told him I don't want to! He… he offered me a safe haven to return to, yet now I see that it only ever comes with a price. What am I supposed to do with all of that? Forgive and forget because he's Magic's chosen?'' Harry bitterly laughed. ''His task of balancing magic should have nothing to do with how he treats other people. I'm human, and I think I deserve not being seen as lesser than any other human, including himself.''

_~You aren't less than I.~_

Harry froze instantly, looking up in shock at the entrance. ''When…'' he choked out as he took in the Dark Lord's form, which filled the door opening.

''Silencing charms break when someone walks through, did you forget that?'' Voldemort calmly asked. ''Black failed miserably to sneak past me, and when I heard voices that became ever louder…'' Then, he sniffed. ''Also, in the heat of your argument, you may have forgotten whatever broth you were trying to prepare on the stove.''

Whipping around, Harry looked at his pot, seeing his cooking had been reduced to an inedible sludge that stuck to the bottom of the pot. ''Oh no,'' he groaned miserably, for some reason feeling far worse about that than anything else. Why did everything seem to go so wrong? He hadn't even noticed the burning smell that came from it. Resigning to not being able to salvage it, he turned to face Voldemort. How much had the man heard? He tried to pick up any feelings but didn't get a thing. Voldemort was completely suppressing any hint of his own magic. Resolutely, Harry made a decision that took all of his courage. ''Barty, sorry to ask this of you, but could you find something edible that needs no cooking and take some of it to my godfather? He's bound to be starving and he's already spent far too many days of his life in that state. Voldemort… I want to **talk**.''

''I had been about to suggest the same thing,'' the man muttered quietly. ''Do as he says, Bartemius. Evan and I shall be having a word. You are not to interrupt even if Dumbledore himself would come knocking at the door.''

With a mixture of relief and anxious anticipation, the Gryffindor followed Voldemort out of the kitchen. Had he gone too far? They didn't head upstairs as he had expected. Instead, Voldemort went to the back of the house and opened the orangery. It wasn't very warm in winter, but the earthy smell was still unmistakably there and instantly comforted Harry even as Voldemort gestured for him to sit down. Although Harry recognised it as an attempt to make him put his guard down, he still appreciated that the Dark Lord had picked up on his preference for this place. Wrapping his arms around his knees, the teen carefully watched as Voldemort lit a few floating candles that reminded very much of the Great Hall, especially as they reflected endlessly in the glass panes all around. Once he was done, the man sat opposite of him, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the candles, the fire making his red eyes glow.

''I wasn't entirely truthful earlier,'' Voldemort spoke up before Harry could decide on what to start with. ''When I told you that me overestimating my own power could not happen again. I don't always have access to all of my magic. In the past few days, it started waning.''

Unsure where this was leading to, Harry cautiously asked: ''Why?''

''I neglected my duties. I am favoured by Magic, but I do have to pay the necessary prices to her too. As soon as Nagini did not return, I spent every hour of the following days trying to find her. As a result, I missed the Yule celebration. I imagine She is displeased with me for that and taking away part of my magic as punishment.''

''It's hard to imagine anyone punishing you for a change.'' Harry commented.

''When I noticed, I was angry. Was it my fault, after all, that I did not do exactly what was expected of me in this extraordinary situation? I'm **still** angry over it. After hearing your conversation with Barty, it struck me that you might feel the same.'' Harry was thrown a pointed look, and he pondered on what to say.

''Magic is magic though, I can't imagine that you can have a conversation about it with her.''

''No, I imagine not,'' the Dark Lord sombrely spoke. ''Which is also incredibly frustrating. I can't explain my reasoning after all, I have no chance to explain my motivations to a force of nature. However, **we** can talk, and I would indeed like to give you the opportunity to do so. If you are displeased with me, it will be solved faster if you take that up with me directly than trying to ask others for advice… especially as both other people you can ask are heavily biased in different directions.''

It was a breath of fresh air that the Dark Lord appeared to be on the same line of thought with Harry regarding this. However… ''Do you even know why I'm mad?'' Harry sighed. ''Barty couldn't understand.'' And if even the often so understanding man couldn't, why would someone who shunned every possibility of exploring his own empathy?

''I have some inklings… I am not sure if it is enough.''

Harry contemplatively gazed at Voldemort for a while. ''When I said that we need to talk, I meant doing so openly. I don't want to have to be afraid to offend you,'' he decided. ''Promise me that no matter what I say, or whether I get angry or emotional, you won't punish me for it. This is not going to work if I have to tread around your pride with every sentence I say.''

Voldemort blinked in surprise, as if it was something he had not considered at all. It took a while before he answered: ''I shall promise so, if in turn you won't walk out before we're finished. You have a habit of leaving and hiding when you get fed up with a discussion. It's extremely irritating.''

Harry grinned wryly. ''A bad habit I picked up at the Dursleys, I suppose. Where do I sign?'' he half-jokingly asked.

''No need for blood or contracts this time,'' the Dark Lord replied in all seriousness. ''I'll take your word on it. A sign of **good faith**.'' They sat in silence for a bit, Harry feeling slightly awkward, trying to find something to start with… Should he simply spill out his frustration? Was there truly any good point to begin with?

Figuring that maybe he should try to continue from where Voldemort had first started and caught him off guard, Harry said: ''Since when do you not think I'm less than you? I thought you considered **everyone** beneath you.''

''Most are,'' Voldemort readily agreed. It was a struggle not to make a scathing reply at that, but Harry was proud to say he held his tongue in check. ''I have to admit that with you, there are some… extraordinary circumstances to consider. With my soul connected to-''

''No,'' Harry interrupted strongly. ''I know that you said before that I am important because I am you in a way, but it's obvious that anyone would find themselves equal to... well, themselves. I haven't even ever talked to that part of your soul. Or is that really all there is to it?''

''Not quite,'' Voldemort spoke in a clipped tone that betrayed how unhappy he was about the previous interruption. That he was staying civil was close to a miracle ''Although I cannot simply ignore it. My willingness to accept you as being able to be on an even level is partially due to the reverse conclusion that can be drawn from the fact that you are a vessel to my soul. I know better than most that Magic has a plan. The situations that shape the course of history aren't merely left to a whim. The prophecy foretold of your coming and how intertwined our fates would be. Everything that happened after confirmed your importance. You have the power to vanquish me, instead chose not to and even keep my soul safe. Our wand cores are linked, our minds… That cannot all be ascribed to my Horcrux. The power and fame you reject is still written across time and reflected in all that you happen to be a part of. I have seen it each time we perform heavy magic together, each time I teach you. And even when leaving magic out of it for a moment, I have met few people headstrong enough to face me at eleven years old, see through my words and call me a liar,'' he spoke with a wry grin. ''Perhaps I should have realised it then instead of branding you a nuisance.''

Harry couldn't deny how flattered he felt, face growing hot as the Dark Lord sang his praises so openly. It wasn't enough to push away his broken trust. ''Yet you treat me much the same as any other follower,'' he spoke in confusion. ''Yes, you answer my questions, which you wouldn't with a lot of other people, but you do that also with Barty.''

''You **chose **to act as a follower,'' Voldemort pointed out. ''I told you that you had the option to stay out of my task, to keep away from the conflict between me and Dumbledore, as well as distance yourself from politics. You could have lived a regular life as an average Hogwarts student, settle down in an office job and ignore your potential. Instead, you wished to follow me and help me in achieving my task anyway you could. I even diminished that role further than I did for anyone else… Or do you think that Lucius or Severus can barge in here and demand answers from me? I have gone to great lengths to accommodate you, Evan. To sate your curiosity, to show you the depths of our world, to protect you any way I can… Even Barty does not have the freedom to oppose me as I granted you. I have never once punished you for your words, have I? Your opinion was always something you could state without consequence. Only if your actions displeased me, did I retaliate.''

''I recall you choking me after I apparently 'belittled you' and did not show the same courtesy to you that all of your followers should,'' Harry pointed out.

''In a dream,'' the other shot back. ''Hardly anything that could harm you. Besides, I had not expected you to recall much of that. You always complained that you had trouble recalling our nightly rendezvouses.''

The choice of words gave Harry images of very different meetings than what had actually transpired. ''Since I learned Occlumency and actually can remember those dreams, bits and pieces of previous ones also cleared up. That doesn't answer my question. If you thought me equal on any level, why try to remind me how I am beneath you?''

Voldemort finally tore his eyes away from the candles' flames and stared directly into Harry's eyes. ''That was almost a year ago. My opinion of you was not as favourable until you managed to win the Triwizard Tournament. Although you decided to follow me before that and aided me, I was convinced for quite a while that luck and bravery were your most noteworthy skills. You wore your heart on your sleeve and were far too trusting. Certainly, I saw potential, but thought that you had a long way to go still, relying on the guidance of people who were older and better than you for many more years until your power would show. After the Tournament, I realised just how much effort you put into improving your knowledge, your skills, and found out how insightful and inventive you could be. I had underestimated you. Which is also why, when you spent time here again in July, I pushed you further than I did before. While obviously still teaching you as I hold far more experience and knowledge of magic, I tried to treat you otherwise as I would have treated a younger version of myself. You could take part in celebrations and rituals the way you wanted to, had a certain level of command over my other followers, and had discussions with me about many a topic.''

That was somehow not at all how Harry recalled it. ''You ordered Barty to drag me out of my room when I was grieving my parents; you choked me when I entered your bedroom; you attacked me because you'd thought I'd kept the Locket from you longer than I should have…'' he listed from the top of his head. ''And above all, you're still of the opinion that you have a right to punish me whenever it pleases you.''

''None of which I wouldn't do to myself,'' Voldemort countered. ''I punished the Horcrux in that very Locket when it revealed its plans to undermine my authority.'' He sighed. ''I think I am starting to understand where the true problem lies… you have a fundamentally incorrect view on how I deal with people. From the moment I came to Hogwarts, I joined a community where you were either on top or fodder. The one who could flaunt most power and could thus use magic as they pleased on others, were the ones to run the House. I very quickly established myself as the top. With most of my followers also growing up in that same environment, it was easy to keep that dynamic of establishing a hierarchy. To rule through fear. You think that I do not respect you because I punish you? If one of my other followers would dare to question my judgement in doling out punishment when I am displeased and fights back, they might as well be my enemies. In cases of repetitive rebellion or betrayal, I would kill them as I cannot risk being overthrown. With you, on the other hand, I would only ever kill you if you actively threatened my continued existence. The same would go for my other Horcruxes, Nagini, and Barty.''

It was telling and highly disturbing that Voldemort's small group of people whom he'd only kill in the direst situations consisted nearly exclusively of himself somehow. ''Errr, yeah, cause you'd kill part of yourself in most of those cases… right?''

''I could make a new Horcrux. I wish to have seven pieces of soul, so if one would be destroyed, I'd have to make a new one. An arduous process, yet not impossible. In that way, I suppose it was favourable that the diary was destroyed, otherwise I would have had a Horcrux too many. But say that hypothetically, you would not be a Horcrux anymore due to a fluke of fate. I would still extent you the same courtesy. If your actions cause me to wish to punish you, you may retaliate if you find it unfair without fear of dying.''

Slowly, Harry shook his head. If anyone else would try to explain that their regular way of dealing with conflict was to kill others, he'd have called the Aurors instantly. Why did Voldemort have to be so difficult? ''That this is the way you want to treat people and some apparently agree to that, does not mean that anyone else **has** to accept that. Merlin, if I acted like this with my other friends, I wouldn't have any left. Differences can be… can be forgiven, or talked through, without the need to get back at or even **hurt** each other.''

''It's clear that you were never a Slytherin,'' Voldemort said, raising a nearly non-existent eyebrow.

If this was the way being a Slytherin worked, Harry was incredibly glad for Draco's horrid attitude and Ron's amazing influence that had made him wish to go to Gryffindor instead. Now he thought about it, it made sense. He'd always wondered why other people in Slytherin put up so much with Draco commanding them around… but Malfoy did have money and wasn't bad academically either, especially compared to most other Slytherins in their year. Before, he'd half-assumed that Slytherin worked like that because of the whole Death Eater business as most children of former and current Death Eaters seemed to have a higher status. That assumption turned out to be incorrect if even Voldemort had had to fight for his place.

''Listen, I… I don't think I can do this anymore,'' he quietly spoke. ''To one day have deep talks as if we're just regular people, and the next having to worry that you'll hex my head off if I breathe wrong. I never know what to do and worry about it even when you're not there. I don't think it's healthy how… how **scared** I am of you at times.'' Harry had never expected to ask the Dark Lord such a thing so openly, but he was glad that he did now that he'd gained a confidence boost over the whole 'equal' business. ''What I'm trying to say is, that I like helping you and I will continue to do so, but I'm not cut out to be a follower in this system that you have created. I don't expect you to try the Gryffindor way of crying things out on shoulders,'' he quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood, ''But can we find a compromise? Please?''

''What would be in it for me?''

Harry released a frustrated groan. ''Is there not a single thing that you would ever do without gaining anything in return?''

Voldemort hummed and leaned forward. ''It would be a first.''

''If it makes it any better, I'd certainly be more inclined to actually go along with things you request if I knew there was no possibility of torture or coercion if I refuse.''

''You want me to be… amicable,'' the man concluded with astonishment.

''That would help. It's working out now, isn't it?''

Voldemort let out a short chuckle and gave him a look that made Harry feel like he was an alien from some distant planet. ''Let me think on it for a while. Changing my entire behavioural pattern takes a lot more effort than you seem to think.''

''Fine,'' Harry said, trying not to feel too disappointed. He bit his tongue to not remind Voldemort of how easily the man had been able to slip into roles before like with Hepzibah Smith. Being reminded of another one of Voldemort's murder plots wasn't helpful right now.

''In the meantime, I would like to ask you something still.'' The other waited until Harry gave a curt nod, then continued: ''Would you really not have brought Black back to the living if you'd had the ability to choose in different circumstances?''

Having expected the question to actually be about the previous topic and not a sudden shot into the heart of the problem, Harry wasn't sure what to do so quickly. It was a loaded question, and Harry was careful to not immediately say the choice words that shot through his head the instant it was asked. Being amicable would go two ways, maybe he should start by setting a good example. It felt weird, having to set an example for someone over thrice his age.

''Maybe I would have done so after all,'' Harry truthfully said. ''He is my godfather after all, and I would have been devastated if he would be gone. Becoming a Necromancer… I can imagine that even after careful thinking, I'd come to the conclusion that it would have been worth it.''

''Then why are you angry about it now? You did not seem to mind last night. In fact, you were admirably level-headed before, during and after the ritual.''

''I didn't react so strongly then because I hadn't had time to process it and needed to spring into action instead. And I'm angry now because I finally realised how much you set me up!'' he retorted exasperatedly. ''Because you've clearly been thinking about ways to force me to use the Art since I told you that I saw into the Cosmos. This wasn't about it being Sirius as you claimed. Even if I'd dragged in a wounded cat instead, you would have asked this price. I told you clearly that I did not want to personally use Necromancy, and yet you persistently tried to get me into contact with it. To ensure that I agreed, you did not calmly sit me down or ask me. No, you let him die in front of my eyes while I felt responsible for his death, before suddenly revealing that there's still a way to save him if only I am willing to give you what you want. Not only that, you made me pay this price, called it a reward, and tried to make me forget the literal torture you inflicted upon me shortly before that! Or is any of what I just said wrong?!''

''I didn't think you would catch that,'' Voldemort merely replied. ''The bit about rewarding you after the punishment to make you forget. Not many people catch that.'' He actually sounded impressed.

Harry could only stare. ''Is manipulation a game to you?'' he asked, honestly wanting to know.

''Ah, no. It was… merely an observation. It's something I learnt was effective when I first started gathering followers. It's no more than a force of habit now.'' Voldemort shifted, and he started absentmindedly rapping his nails on the stone tiles. ''I admit that I wanted to find a way to make you practise Necromancy. Though you are missing some details in this.''

''Such as?'' As irritated as Harry still was with Voldemort, he'd also started having hope that somehow he was mistaken. That what he'd mulled over the past day was all in his head. Was it bad that he wanted to find reasons to forgive the Dark Lord? Harry felt like he'd already started doing so after finding out that he wasn't merely seen as some lowly pawn.

''I did not have any particular time span in which I planned to teach you the Arts, merely waiting for situations I could use to pressure you into it. It was a mere coincidence that those presented themselves in such a short period of time. I had not expected so. Furthermore, while you say that I used your state of mind, I was not at the height of my sanity either. Since Nagini disappeared, I hadn't slept, pushing through by using potions. I could hardly focus on anything that was going on around me. You turning up with both Nagini and the near-corpse of a man I hated with a passion, was not a good combination, Evan. Surely, you must have realised that.''

Harry hugged his knees tighter, not wanting to have the tables turned so much that he'd feel sympathy for Voldemort instead. It would be far too easy to slip back into the role of a supporter if he gave into that, which he was just trying to actively combat. Voldemort continued: ''So I was in a situation in which you were asking me something I did not wish to do, at a time where I wanted to focus on healing my familiar instead. However, I also could not entirely ignore your plea. I soon knew he was already beyond healing, and that there was only a single possibility to reverse his death. Making **you** resurrect Black felt like the perfect compromise to me. I did not need to spare energy and magic on my enemy, you would have your godfather back. I would have set you on the path of Necromancy as I wished to, and you would not bear a grudge against me for staying silent about this chance. For there really was no possibility for me to win there. You speak of manipulation, yet fail to see that you were employing the same tactics.''

''That's not true!''

''Isn't it? What choices did **you** give **me** then? I already knew healing was not going to work, so was left with the following options: one, I don't tell you he can still be saved and let him die permanently. This would surely lead you to resent me if you would ever find out he could have lived. Two, I offer to resurrect him myself. This would have greatly displeased me as I hate his guts, possibly ruined the ritual due to my lack of will and state of mind, and led to Black either remaining dead or being tied to me personally if it would have been successful. Three, I actually take you up on your offer of paying a price and make **you** resurrect him, which I did. As I said before: a perfect compromise.''

Harry opened and closed his mouth, trying to come up with anything to say against it. He'd felt so justified in his anger before… now, he wasn't so certain anymore, his arguments did not sound so solid when being broken down. He hadn't at all considered that **he** may have been the insensitive one.

''Lastly, when faced with those choices, I did not have the **time** to calmly ask you and let you decide. Corpses may only start to physically decay after some hours, but the braincells start breaking apart quite soon after the person dies, a process called autolysis. It's another reason why full resurrections are usually impossible. The mind still needs something to work with. Had I given you however long you may have needed to make a thoughtful decision, it could have been too late to bring him back sane.''

''My parents…''

Voldemort gave him a stern look. ''We connected a piece of their minds which had been locked inside my wand for years, pieces that were even sentient without a form at all. They didn't have to use their brains, another reason why it lasted no more than minutes before the connection fell apart. They used their entire bodies as channelers. It was something unique, nothing at all like re-connecting a still living mind and soul back to a resurrected body. Admittedly, I did not give you as much time as you could have had either, as my priorities were to ensure Nagini's health and at least being somewhat informed about what had happened, before starting to heal his body and keep it in a state where it would not deteriorate further.''

It sounded so logical, yet a feeling of unease still nagged at Harry. Had Voldemort really done what he thought to be in Harry's best interest? That sounded very unlikely, but he also could not find much fault in the man's argumentation. ''So what now?'' he asked, wanting to focus on trying to prevent things like this happening in the future. If he wasn't careful, **he** would end up being the one apologising, and that was absolutely not going to happen. ''You got your wish, I'm a Necromancer now.''

''You are.'' Voldemort hummed in a pleased tone. ''And I hope that you will hone this talent of yours. It is magnificent magic which is far more versatile as you may yet realise. Of course, there is still no hurry. Now that you have been chosen by Glory and know how to safely reach the Cosmos, it will be up to you to explore. Naturally, if you have questions or need books…'' the Dark Lord said, excitement seeping into his tone.

Harry merely gave him a tired look. ''I'll see,'' he said. ''I have… a lot to think about again, given what you just told me. Does being chosen by a moon have any consequences for me? Did I give up my soul or something?''

Voldemort chuckled. ''Of course not. The only side effects are that you are more in tune with the Black Cosmos now. You may start hearing whispers of the dead or seeing things that don't belong in the world of the living, but you will learn to blend them out soon enough whenever you do not need it. Oh, and Dementors should not give you much trouble anymore. They'll be able to notice you have crossed the Shroud and could potentially bring back souls to feed them if you so wished. As such, they're not as likely to prey on **your** soul as they are opportunistic creatures.''

''That is... interesting,'' Harry only commented, glad that the whole ordeal hadn't suddenly changed who he was or had grave consequences. He still was in two minds about forgiving Voldemort or not, but at least it worked in the other's favour that he wasn't bound to anything now. If he could opt not to use it when he didn't want to from now on, that would be ideal. He supposed that he would make it dependent on Voldemort's answer about acting more like a friend and less like an almighty Lord. Wishing for the topic to be dropped for now, he instead asked about something else that had been bothering him since they'd started their talk: ''All this time, you've been blocking our link… may I ask why?''

Voldemort's mouth tightened as it was pointed out. ''You accused me of manipulating you. Which I admitted to doing. Given how you react to my magic, I thought you might be influenced again if I let you have contact with it now. I wanted you to speak your mind, free of that influence. Not only that… through this bond, you can feel my magic more clearly, but also…'' he trailed off, seeming to be in thought. ''Your feelings influence mine. All those pesky emotions. Strange, isn't it? When I was born, I lacked all of these. I read and analysed other people in the hope to imitate the complexity that I missed. Yet from the moment we shared our blood and I could feel yours, emotions have begun to be part of my everyday life in ways that I never imagined. Without control, in such intensity that I almost believe they might be **real**,'' the man whispered, sounding disturbed by the very thought. ''Learning something to understand it and actually being influenced by it, unable to stop it, are two very different things. It has made me… unstable.''

''You're afraid I'll make it worse?'' Harry asked.

Slowly, Voldemort shook his head. ''It does not work like that. It far more seems to depend on how long our link has been established and whether you are near. No, it is far more that…'' he grunted, breaking off and looking away. Harry tried to patiently wait, even though he was insanely curious what the man had wanted to say.

When he didn't continue at all, Harry carefully spoke: ''As long as you don't use it against me, I'd prefer feeling you. Without, it kind of feels like a dream instead,'' Harry spoke after some consideration. Maybe if he would have more clues as to Voldemort's emotions, he'd be able to discern the man's reactions more clearly. He released a shaky breath as an invisible barrier opened up and the familiar weight of Voldemort's magic filled the room. Along with it, he could make out the unmistakable feel of sadness. ''What are you thinking about right now?'' he inquired.

''So many things at once…'' Voldemort muttered in a non-answer.

''Tell me?'' he asked gently. The other gave him a slightly suspicious look that resonated through their link. Harry didn't back down, becoming so bold to move closer. It was so rare that Voldemort showed any sort of openness that the teen wished to treasure this moment before they might fall back into the roles of Lord and follower as usual if Voldemort was unwilling to change it. Harry had truly expected the man to be furious with him, not have a heart-to-heart talk.

''I am at a loss of what to do. I failed at one of the simplest tasks Magic has put on me, and yet I can't find a solution as worldly matters are on my mind instead. I am trying to cope with the new insight I gained on Regulus, I'm worried about Nagini's health and then…'' the words halted, but the whirling magic that connected them did not. It was as if a claw reached inside of Harry's chest and scratched at his heart, an unpleasant darkness spreading through that made his limbs heavy. Desperation, frustration. Unable to hold himself back, Harry rubbed his chest, uncomfortable. With everything else going on, he doubted he'd have the strength to start a conversation about the palpable feelings between the both of them.

''Maybe things will be put right if you first remedy neglecting to honour Magic during Yule,'' Harry suggested. ''I know, I know, the correct time and moon phase and such may not fit, but maybe it's the thought that counts too? It's worth a try.''

A wave of disbelief from Voldemort hit him. ''Are you proposing that I should perform the Yule ritual now?''

''Not necessarily **now**, maybe another significant date. New Year is in a few days, doesn't that have any magical connotation?''

''As a matter of fact, it does not. December 31 as New Year was made significant by Muggles according to their calendars, which we happened to take over out of convenience during Roman times already. Magic is far older than any human-made concepts of time, and her power is ruled by the changing of the seasons, the passage of time and the waxing and waning of the moon,'' Voldemort corrected him. ''Yule celebrates the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, which will obviously not happen for another year. The next days with any magical significance are the Full Moon at the January 5 or First Quarter… which is today, and as it is nearing midnight, there wouldn't be much time left.''

''Right,'' Harry said, processing that, an idea forming. ''But Barty and I are both here, and even Sirius might be interested in celebrating and seeing a true Lord of Magic at work if you'd allow it. So, what do we need?'' For a moment, Harry allowed himself to bask in the astonishment and gratitude he received, then set to work as he followed Voldemort's quick instructions on what to set up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, as promised, they talked through some difficulties, although it might take a few more chapters till everything has been addressed in more detail, from Regulus to Harry's vision of Nagini. (Srsly, there is just so much stuff they have to talk about and it's hard getting it all in one conversation, sorry. I rewrote several of the conversations in this chapter like 3 times and have about 3000 words in outtakes now for maybe future use..)
> 
> Before anyone asks, next chapter will of course have a detailed Yule ritual and there will also be some fluff ^^  
Also, Sirius will definitely become more frequent from this point onwards hehe.  
I do hope to speed things up a bit after the next couple of chapters so we can go back to Hogwarts and hopefully crush Umbridge.
> 
> I hope that you will all stay safe and healthy! Please read and review, I'm of course also always happy to answer any questions.  
xx GeMerope


	61. Shifting Dynamics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone is staying safe and healthy, and that wherever you are in the world, this chapter will be able to cheer you up a bit ^  
As promised, fluff is to come :P Many thanks again for all of your lovely reviews.
> 
> Enjoy

It was wondrous just how fast magic could bring results. Though Voldemort kept grumbling under his breath about the inability to 'properly' celebrate, it took barely thirty minutes to clean and decorate the house, and gather ingredients that they might need. Sirius had only warily come out of his room at Harry's request and was now eyeing the Dark Lord from where he was sitting. It was hard to read his exact expression due to all the shadows and flickering light that came from the floating candles. Harry knew that his godfather had only agreed to join to watch over Harry, but the teen didn't mind. He was simply happy that he could share this moment with Sirius.

''So… was that everything?'' Harry nervously asked, looking at Voldemort for guidance. The man was stroking his pointed chin thoughtfully as he cast a glance through the veranda, eyes drifting over every sprig of holly and yew that Barty had cut from the garden. Before this, Harry had not realised that both woods were symbolic of eternal life and rebirth. It seemed that not only the phoenix feathers played a role in the unique connection between their wands.

''If you could turn back time to the twenty-first in such a way that we create no paradoxes, that would be perfect,'' came the cynical reply, at which Harry quickly rolled his eyes.

''There's nothing to be done about that,'' he replied, a bit bitingly. As if it was his fault that Voldemort had missed Yule! It wasn't as if he'd asked for Nagini to get kidnapped, nor to get involved in any of it.

The other sighed quietly, and Harry felt a wave of anxiety. Careful to not show too much affection with Sirius watching them, he moved closer to Voldemort and looked up at the man_. ~It'll be fine.~_ he hissed quietly. _~You honour Magic still. She didn't strike down every mage who celebrated Ostara on Easter, did she? Besides, I know of no other person who is as good at adapting rituals out of the blue than you are.~_

His words appeared to have an effect. Outwardly, there was no change, but the magic and emotions he felt became less strained. Harry closed his eyes and briefly basked in the strange combination of the tangible and intangible that flowed through their link. Years ago, he would never have thought that feelings and magic were so closely entwined that one could hardly distinguish them. Even now, sometimes he felt purely raw magic, but as soon as emotions came into play, it was an odd mixture of both rather than separate feelings. He wondered how Voldemort experienced it, as Harry knew that his own magical force wasn't nearly as strong.

''Let us begin, then,'' the man commanded. ''Black, if you try to sabotage this, you're sleeping in the snow tonight, clear?''

Sirius pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod. Voldemort sank to his knees and with a snap of his fingers, all candles were extinguished, smoke filling the room with a lovely odour that mingled with the burning incense. Harry took a deep breath to taste the spicy mixture of smoke, earthiness and fresh greenery.

''On this midnight, we offer what has wrongfully been denied. Magic, I plead for your presence, to receive the late presents we bestow in your honour. The darkest day has passed, our worship lasts.''

Voldemort fell silent and Harry held his breath, wondering what the other was waiting for. He could only see the silhouettes in the room and whirling snow outside that was illuminated by the few rays of the moon that managed to find gaps in stormy clouds. He was hyper-aware of the Dark Lord's magic, an ever-present aura that reached everything within grasp, covering everything it touched like a film of oil. Harry narrowed his eyes when something in their middle, above the log around which they'd formed a circle, began to move. He couldn't quite say what it was in the few seconds he'd been able to see it, nor did he recall feeling anything in particular afterwards, but as soon as the flickering vanished, a strong surge in Voldemort's magic made him gasp and double over. The doors towards the garden were forcefully blown open, and waves of snow gusted into the room. Sirius made an unhappy noise as he was the one sitting with his back towards the garden.

''I thank you,'' the Dark Lord continued, sounding relieved. '_'From Samhain to Yule, the dead have spoken. The days of sickness and mourning now over, we welcome the time of light_.'' He placed his hand on the large log. Beneath his fingers, it started to spark and glow until it caught fire with a crackling noise. '_'That the days may lengthen and bring with them the warmth of your new-born strength. The months of frost to come, we shall weather by turning inwards to the fire that you gave us, the fire which streams through our veins_.'' The flames grew in strength in such a short time and with such intensity that Harry could hardly feel the biting frost that came from outside. '_'Allow us to bask in your gift and repay you in full for the light that ensures our survival._''

At first, it was hard to see due to the radiant fire, but when Voldemort raised his hands, Harry realised that the log wasn't their only source of light. The network of veins that was usually already so visible beneath the Dark Lord's near translucent skin was glowing red and orange, as if he contained an inferno. Entranced, the teen traced the shimmering lines with his eyes, the light spreading rapidly from the man's hands to the rest of his body like a network of electric wires. Although dark robes hid much, the material was thin enough that it could not entirely contain the glow. When Voldemort spoke again, it was with an ethereal quality that was hard to place.

''_Inside each of us the sun returns  
This temple of worship for thee, burns  
with a fire that a cold one never learns_

_For half a year, the darkness grew stronger  
Burning clear, magic allows it no longer_

_Hail the flame that has no end.''_

Two blazing hands reached out, one to Barty and one to him. Intrigued, Harry carefully took it. It felt pleasantly warm, a rarity for Voldemort. As soon as they touched, the light rapidly spread to his own hand, feeling like molten lava was flooding through his body. In no time at all, he himself was entirely illuminated as well. He reached for Sirius with his free hand, grasping freezing fingers to let his godfather experience the amazing magic that warmed him. The snow could not reach them anymore, melting at the doorstep from their combined heat. Harry was unable to tell how long they stayed like that, one with magic and each other. Through his mind flashed images that went too fast to fully grasp, only impressions remaining. Rays of sun, sparkling stars, icy glaziers… the magnitude of the world unfolded in his inner eye, and it was beautiful.

Voldemort stood, and though he released their hands, strings of light kept connecting them even as he walked away. The man opened a cage and grabbed a petrified, large rabbit, bringing it over to them. '_'From seed to land, land to life, life to fire, fire to ash, ash to seed. Accept our offering, oh mother of magic. __**Avada Kedavra**__._'' A flash of green for a moment blinded the warm glow of the fire. The rabbit was dead before the body was consumed by the flames. With a shock, Harry recalled a memory of a dream he'd had last year around this time, of a burnt hand in a fireplace. It hadn't been a rabbit then… He'd entirely forgotten about that part when suggesting to celebrate the ritual together. Was it out of consideration that Voldemort chose to sacrifice an animal instead of a Muggle? Or simply because of a lack of time? For Harry didn't think that the man suddenly had a different view on them.

The rabbit was not the only offering however, as Voldemort sliced open his own palm and let the shining blood drip into the fire as well. The Gryffindor had seen something similar once, when Dudley was adamant to find out what was in one of the glowsticks he'd been given by Petunia for a band performance. Harry had of course been the one who'd had to scrub the mess out of the sink afterwards…

Ever so slowly, as if the Dark Lord was being drained, Voldemort's skin returning back to normal. The effect extended to all of them. With a feel of sadness, Harry felt the wondrous magic leave him and the cold settle in again. He huddled closer to the fire, although he tried not to look at the rabbit which lay amidst the flames, draped over the log. He did not have long to feel sad though, as Barty sprung up and closed the doors before gathering some cups and a large bottle of something hat smelled suspiciously alcoholic. Harry had already half relented to his fate when the stack of cups passed him by.

''None for you anymore,'' Barty mockingly said. ''Orders of our Lord. Maybe you passed out too quickly last time. I got a butterbeer for you.'' Although the comment was clearly meant to annoy him, Harry was happy to hear that Voldemort was finally taking into account Harry's wishes about not wanting to drink anything strong. Thus, he gratefully took the warm bottle and toasted with that while the adults all took gulps from some amber liquid.

After only a few sips, Barty started singing in a raspy voice, and although Harry did not understand the words, he hummed along best he could. To his pleasant surprise, Sirius' tenor joined.

_''Fáilte ort féin, a ghrian nan tráth,_   
_'S tu siubhal ard nan speur;_   
_Do cheumaibh treun air sgéith nan ard,_   
_'S tu máthair áigh nan reul._

_Thu laighe síos an cuan na díth_   
_Gun díobhail is gun sgáth;_   
_Thu 'g éirigh suas air stuagh na síth,_   
_Mar ríoghainn óg fo bhláth.''_

Soon after the song ended, Harry's godfather commented: ''That's been a while. To think I'd sing it with a Death Eater of all people…'' he scoffed, shook his head and took another sip, staring thoughtfully in the fire. ''God, this brings back memories.''

Voldemort hissed at the comment. ''Don't take the word of false gods in your mouth, Black.''

Sirius glanced at Voldemort, chugged out the rest of his cup and retorted: ''Mother of Magic rest ye merry Hippogriffs doesn't have the same vibe though.''

To distract Voldemort from Sirius' inebriated talk, Harry turned to the Dark Lord, whose fingers were already flexing dangerously. ''So did it work out, you think?'' he gingerly asked. It took a moment for Voldemort to tear his hateful eyes away from Sirius.

''The offer was accepted, yes.'' Then, he switched to Parseltongue. _~And even at the start of the ritual… my magic returned to me.~_

_~I think I saw something. I'm not sure what…~_

Ruby eyes pensively stared into his. Harry could feel the man's focus change, point only towards him..._You saw source magic, welling up through the borders of our world. I am impressed.~_

Those three little words shouldn't feel so good, Harry decided, disgruntled as his own feelings betraying him once again.

Voldemort's lips slowly spread into a lazy smirk that was far too attractive. In that moment, Harry realised just how much their magic was buzzing about, intertwining. The heat he'd felt before returned in full, only now it was caused by his own body. Fuck. He was immensely glad now for the butterbeer that he desperately clung onto. Anything stronger, and he wouldn't have been able to agree anymore with the few rational thoughts he had left about why it wasn't a good idea to launch himself at the man he was still angry with.

_~I thought about your words from before,~_ the Dark Lord hissed quietly. He leaned closer, a pale hand splayed on the stone tiles right next to Harry's. The Gryffindor could feel the iciness cross the mere inch their fingers were apart in distance. He was sure of that, if he were to touch even a single part of the man's skin, he'd be dragged into all-consuming magic again. It was tempting.

_~And?~_ he asked. The hiss came out far too hoarse.

_~The idea intrigues me… you being less of a follower and rather counting you… what, exactly? An ally?~_

_~A friend?~_ Harry dared to suggest. He regretted it instantly when Voldemort frowned and his feelings shifted to something… uncomfortable. _~Sorry, I… I didn't mean to-~_

_~I am uncertain as to the conditions I would have to fulfil under that term.~_ Voldemort admitted tensely, looking away.

Harry's first instinct was to respond in the lines of 'surely you must have had friends before' but held back just in time. From everything he'd seen of both Voldemort's past and present, he doubted that the man had ever truly called someone a friend. In the orphanage, Tom Riddle had stood out and spread fear as soon as he'd been bullied, keeping the other children away. At Hogwarts, he'd been an outcast until using power to ensure a following. As those people had grown older, their children had become Death Eaters… never friends. Even with Regulus, the relationship had developed from follower to lover. There had been no room for any steps between that. The closest who might come to being considered a friend was Nagini, and she was a **pet**. Maybe it was because of their constructive talk from before the ritual, but Harry did not feel like backing down. Not this time.

_~Well, erhm… being friends means being there for each other,~_ he thus explained. Of course, he was sure that on some level, Voldemort knew this information and had observed friendships between other people. Harry found it important however, that Voldemort knew exactly what he personally thought of friendship._ ~Supporting each other, giving mutual advice… And other than maybe giving each other the silent treatment when mad, friends don't punish each other and instead try to work through problems together. I guess there are certain stages to it, I'd call Dean my friend too for example, but I don't hug to greet him like I would with Ron or Hermione…~_ Harry fell silent, not sure if he should have dropped the subject after all. Clearly, Voldemort was on edge about the idea of having friends.

_~When I came to pick you up in summer… you embraced me in greeting too. I wondered why, then. It was not… unpleasant.~_

He had simply acted on instinct then, excited to see Voldemort again and escaping from the Dursleys… Why must this be so awkward! His heart was thudding loudly when he brashly answered: _~Well, if we were to be friends, I suppose we'd have reached that stage already.~_

_~I understand that the idea of being friends with Lord Voldemort is daunting…~_ the man remarked. _~You're nervous.~_

Harry really wished he could sink into the ground right now. A gust of cold wind made him realise that they were, in fact, not alone.

''Black!'' Barty shouted. ''What do you think you are doing? You can't just-''

''They're here! Harry told me that they are here! Just a glimpse! I need to-''

Before Harry had the chance to react, Sirius had run into the garden, followed by Barty.

''I should probably not have mentioned that I buried my parents here again,'' the teen muttered in concern. ''Is he going to be alright? What about the choking spell?''

''I won't activate it for now, Barty will ensure that Black won't start searching for the exit. More importantly, we were on the topic of **us**.'' Inky robes fluttered past as Voldemort's arm shot out around Harry's back, only to draw him closer. Harry's previous fears had been entirely justified: as soon as the Dark Lord crossed the distance between them to hold Harry in a tight grip, the teen was overwhelmed by magic again, as if an invisible wave crashed through him. It crept into his very pores, cutting off his breath. Dark, delicious, he craved for more of it with every fibre of his being. With it came Voldemort's deep-seeded blatant possessiveness that clawed at his insides again, which Harry at the moment didn't mind nearly as much as he should. He whispered the man's name like a prayer and looked up to sharp eyes that followed his every moment.

''It seems that being **friends** really does have some benefits…'' Voldemort muttered, a second arm joining the first to pull Harry entirely into his chest. The Gryffindor couldn't do anything apart from clinging on, feeling the fine material of the thin robes slide through his fingers as he grabbed two fistfuls of it. His forehead was pushed against a bony shoulder, and Harry simply enjoyed everything the moment brought.

''Does that mean you accept?''

''I do,'' came the whispered reply, together with a waft of icy breath that tickled his left ear.

XxX

Friends… it was such a common word for common people. Voldemort had never counted himself amongst the weaklings who had need for such connections and had never thought he'd want to start doing so. He'd been entirely truthful when admitting that he did not know what it entailed exactly, but maybe not for the reason Harry thought. Plenty of people, especially in his first years at Hogwarts, before he'd risen to the top, had tried to label him as such. It had become known quickly that Voldemort was academically apt and loved by teachers, so many tried to befriend him in hopes of getting something out of it, be it helping them with homework or getting them out of trouble. There lay the crux of the problem… every person seemed to understand something different under the word friend.

It was not something easily defined, a term with more elasticity in its interpretation than most anything. In books, friends appeared to be people who were so compatible that they supported each other through thick and thin, going to far as to give their lives for the other as if there was some sort of magical understanding of what was mutually expected. Reality was very different indeed. Children often decided that they were going to stick together for life on the day they happened to sit in the same compartment in the Hogwarts express, and only kept hanging around those because they did not bother searching anyone else to group up with after. Voldemort had seen so often that this did not work. People did not know what to expect of each other, some putting far more value in bonds than others. It usually ended in a power play, one person being exploited by their friends, or talked about behind their back. Even if that wasn't the case, many simply dropped their old friends and made new ones as soon as someone more interesting came along. Unlike his peers, Voldemort had found it difficult to understand what was expected from different 'friends', so establishing himself as someone special had made him able to avoid all of that drama very quickly.

Before laying out clear terms, Harry had asked him to be exactly that. And still, he'd been tempted into agreeing. Why? Voldemort wasn't certain at all about this new development. It felt as if he was giving up something without getting much in return. They had already advised each other and supported each other before, had they not? Yet now, he was robbed of the ability to use volatile magic on his young Horcrux when he was displeased with Harry's actions.

Deep down, he found the answer in the form of frightening feelings that made him wish to retreat and reflect upon them. Instead of focusing on that right now, he tried to find logical advantages of this 'friendship'. Treading into this unfamiliar territory also opened up possibilities: gathering information would be easier for example. The Dark Lord knew that most people, including Harry, were often more reserved in presenting answers when they thought that punishment could follow if he became displeased. Perhaps like this, he'd be able to push for honesty. It was unfortunate that they didn't have the time to have a more in-depth conversation at this moment so he could test that theory.

Ignoring the real reason was made more difficult as he still felt slightly lightheaded from the ritual he'd performed and the magic he had been granted use of again rushed through his body. It had worked… the teen's brilliant suggestion of simply going through with the celebration had made Magic forgive his oversight. It was a weight off his chest… one that was currently being replaced by a warm body. With great reluctance, in the knowledge of that Barty would surely get worked up over nothing again if he were to see them like this, he nudged Harry away, relishing in how hazy the emerald eyes had become.

''You need to go back to Headquarters. That damned portrait might signal alarm if you don't show up in bed at all tonight.''

''Oh,'' the other said, emitting wafts of disappointment as he stood. ''Can I drop by again tomorrow?''

The hopeful voice stirred something soft within him that he hadn't known existed. ''Of course, I should have the contract finished in the afternoon. As long as you will have no trouble over there, you can visit in the evening again like today,'' he replied a bit too quickly.

A relieved, radiant smile was his answer. ''Great, thank you. For the talk, the incredible experience of this Yule ritual, for everything… Hey, I know this might seem a bit contradictory, but I'm pretty sure that Sirius would flip if he knew that we are friends now... Especially as I kind of had an angry rant about you before to him too.''

Voldemort scowled. It did make sense to not give Black another excuse to be even more of an obnoxious human being than he already was. The reason Harry gave however, did not please him in the slightest. ''Did you vent your frustration to every stranger on the street too?''

''Luckily for you, I didn't have time for that, but my owl and Sirius' Hippogriff got to listen to my woes,'' Harry grinned. The flippant answer caused ire to rise within him, until he remembered that that was probably not a good reaction. He dug deep in his memory to compare Harry's current behaviour with that of the many people he'd observed at Hogwarts. ''Are you… teasing me?'' he asked in astonishment.

''I didn't think you would catch that,'' Harry parroted Voldemort's own words from earlier that evening. It was wondrous just how fast the boy was slipping from his role as a follower into this new one. It indeed came far more natural, maybe because Harry had so many other friends…

Voldemort realised that this was one point that would cause many headaches in the near future. He wasn't the only one who held this status. In fact, he was pretty certain that the Granger and Weasley brats were considered 'best friends'. The only reason why he could swallow that down was because he knew that Harry wanted to have something else entirely in the end. It was only a first step to something that he could not yet allow. Voldemort cursed himself for unintentionally getting so interested in a teenager again. This time he did not entirely put the blame on himself though. When considering all information, from the Prophecy to their magical compatibility, he was quite sure that Magic was at work somehow. That he shied away from Divination after the disaster that led to his death, did not mean that he did not believe in fate. Far from it.

''Voldemort?'' Harry asked, and he realised that he hadn't replied other than blankly staring.

''I'm simply tired, Evan. It was a long day.''

''Right, sorry.'' The boy looked away, approaching the glass. ''Looks like they're still at the graves,'' he mumbled. ''I don't really want to disturb Sirius right now. I've got no idea what his feelings are on my moving my parents here… Another confrontation right now would not be very productive. Can I trust that you won't treat him badly?''

''If he signs,'' Voldemort curtly spoke. Their new dynamic did not instantly include every other person that the teen was close to. Black was responsible for himself, and he told Harry so.

The teen thoughtfully nodded. ''Fair enough. Though I'd hate to see either of you hurt, so it might be best not to rile him up. Or let him do so to you. I'll be going now then…''

''Evan?'' he hastily said, getting up from the floor as well, brushing off the soot that had landed on his robes during the ritual.

''Yes?''

''This doesn't mean our talks are over,'' he stated, searching for confirmation. He knew Harry… the boy may be happy right now about the progress they'd made, but one day alone and he'd start getting **thoughts** again about everything that was left unspoken. ''There are still quite some things left to discuss.''

Harry's face fell slightly. ''You're right. For a moment I… I forgot. You never told me your theories on what happened with the connection between me and Nagini for example. And we've got to figure some plans out too for the future regarding Sirius, the Order and more…''

''I wish to speak about Regulus too.'' He said it calmly, though he knew that Harry could most likely feel the turmoil in his mind. ''I have questions still. Perhaps we can find some time tomorrow?''

''Tomorrow, yeah…'' the teen replied, sounding none too happy about it, which did not feel pleasant at all. Should Harry not be grateful that he made more time? ''I'll see you then.'' The teen reached up to his glasses, hesitated, then let his hand fall again. ''Friends also hug goodbye usually…'' he mentioned. It was obviously supposed to come across as a casual comment, but even if Harry wouldn't have been mentally throwing bundles of nerves around, his entire stance betrayed him. Gracefully, Voldemort stepped forward and once more briefly embraced the other, this time trying to reel back his magic a bit. Harry really did fit well in his arms…

As soon as his Horcrux disappeared in a flash of blue light, Voldemort started the process of cleaning up to have something methodical to do. With care, he lifted up the remains of the yule log and the sacrifice, levitating it outside to bury it under a spot of untouched snow. After he was done, he finally approached the snow-covered graves in the far corner of his back yard. Black was kneeling, and although wet hair covered most of his face, it was clear from a dark spot on the grave right in front of him that he'd shed more than a few tears. Barty was shivering and patted Black's shoulder, only stepping away from the other man's side when he noticed Voldemort approaching.

''My Lord,'' he respectfully spoke, bowing his head.

''Get both of you inside, I wish to lock the house for tonight and sleep. You may still rest until the morning, Bartemius. After that, you'll get going on your mission.''

He turned on his heel, knowing that he could trust his follower to do exactly as he said. He should think of giving Barty some sort of a reward, the Dark Lord mused. His follower had done excellent work, taking over the role of Noctua without needing to be even asked. Harry might have an idea on what the Death Eater might like…

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. He still hadn't caught up with the lack of sleep of before, and the Yule ritual had exhausted him further. Damned brew… he very much preferred regular spells over potions due to their many side-effects. Unfortunately, they could accomplish effects that were too hard to achieve through other means, so even someone as accomplished as himself had to rely on potions from time to time. Nagini curled up against him as he slept fitfully, waking up from bizarre dreams every couple of hours. Her presence calmed him each time that he woke and felt her cold scales against his skin. After days of searching for her, he found it hard to believe that she was really back and by now relatively unharmed. The serpent was a lot more clingy than usual, both due to the traumatic imprisonment and because he did not want her in a room with multiple people at the moment, so he'd left her in the bedroom when meeting with Harry and Barty. Voldemort realised that at one point, he should allow Harry to see her again, the teen had saved his familiar after all, and had been too busy being upset for Black to pay Nagini the attention she deserved.

As morning dawned, he reluctantly got up, still feeling rather horrible. He dressed quickly in comfortable robes, knowing that it was unlikely that he'd leave the house in the next days still. As Barty had taken over his other job before, he could still afford to stay home under the pretence of illness for now, with only minimal effort through writing. It would be detrimental to his goals if he allowed his current state to affect his decisions negatively and cause long-term problems. It was better to stay away until he had a clear head again.

For a while, he sat on the bed still, inspecting Nagini. _~How do you feel today?~_

_~Scared,~_ she simply answered, curling the end of her tail around his arm._ ~I keep seeing them… I want to forget.~_

_~Forgetting is not the answer,~_ he sighed deeply, wishing that he could just grant her request and obliviate her. Softly, he raked his fingertips across the length of her body. _~You would want to go out of the house again, get reckless… I don't want this to happen again.~_ It had been her wish to be helpful and leave the safety of their base. He'd sent her to the Ministry in hopes that the Order would not have the means to truly infiltrate it to such an extent that they could keep watch over the places they thought he was interested in.

She stayed silent at that, and he wasn't sure if she was angry at him or simply tired. If only he could feel her emotions the same way as Harry's… but even if they'd go through the same rituals, they were still two different species. He'd never felt as disconnected from his companion as in this moment.

She moved again, raising her head to look at him with her unblinking stare. _~Will you eat them for me?~_ she asked. _~The humans who hurt me?~_

_~I don't think I would be able to stomach their taste, but I'll make sure they won't breathe long,~_ he promised. It would not be simple to make two Order members disappear without causing a ruckus, yet he was still determined to grant her revenge. Sometimes, Voldemort wished that he'd been born a snake, so his urge to kill would have been much easier to satisfy. No-one judged animals for their nature… Surely, not even Harry would tell Nagini off if she decided to kill another snake. Human society was an annoying burden.

_~What is with Harrison?~_ she suddenly inquired, as if having read his mind. _~He brought me away from that awful place. I want to thank him for it. I could smell on you that he's been here today.~_

_~He had to leave again. When he returns today, I shall make sure that you get some time to speak to him, dear.~_

_~You and he fought, I remember…~_ she hissed with sadness._ ~After he brought me back.~_

_~That's been forgotten already.~_ He did not feel like trying to explain all the ins and outs of his problems regarding Harry, mostly because he was sure she would only understand half of it. Only the concept of that he was angry about Harry reading the diaries of his dead lover would already be impossible to properly get across for many different reasons, the main one being that he'd first have to explain what 'writing' was. He already had enough of a headache at the moment. The topic of Harry did make him realise that now, he finally had an opportunity to get at least one honest opinion. She'd given him advice about the teen before, surely Nagini would do so again. _~Nagini, how would you consider your relationship with Harry? What would you call it?~_

She cocked her head a bit, not unlike a dog. _~We're friends, of course.~ _He was taken aback a bit as Nagini hadn't even needed to think about it. She continued: _~He is nice to talk to, feeds me, adds more wood to the fire if I ask him to, and now he saved me. I felt betrayed for a while when I found out that he lied to me about who he was, but he did not act differently after, so I forgave him. I am not close enough to Harrison to consider him family yet, so I think that the term friends fits.~_

_~Harry told me that he also wishes to be my friend, instead of a follower. I accepted as it felt right at that moment, but I don't know if it was a good thing. I cannot make him listen to me anymore now like my Death Eaters.~_

_~Could you ever make him listen to you?~ _She yawned and cuddled up on his lap again. _~I think you were friends before. You take care of each other, yes? The few times that you had to make him follow your orders, he did not take it well. I've heard some complaints…~_

''Why does he complain to literally everyone about me?'' Voldemort muttered, irritated.

_~Besides, you've told me that you want to have him as your future mate and were trying to keep others away from him until then. Being friends is better than having him as a follower, considering that.~_

_~My last relationship was with a follower,~_ he reminded her crabbily.

_~Worked out, did it?~_ she snapped at him. Nagini unfurled and slid across the bed, getting into a better position to look at him that did not strain her muscles so much. _~I may not know much about how humans interact with each other, but your followers obey you because they fear you and the consequences of what will happen if they don't. Friends follow your lead because they want to. If you want to mate for life like your people apparently do, the second option sounds like a far more logical starting point.~_ Sagely, Nagini added:_ ~Friendship can bring equality, and equal say is important. Both mates should have a say in where the nest gets build.~_

_~I'm absolutely certain that you made that up right this moment,~ _Voldemort replied, thinking of snake's regular nesting habits. The involvement of male snakes ended at fertilisation. _~Also, you're wrong. My followers pledged their loyalty to me because they agreed to my vision and knew I am the best to lead them towards it. That is not based on fear alone. Barty follows my every order with respect and dedication because that is his wish, not because I force him to.~_

_~The blond one, yes?~_ she asked thoughtfully, _~He is not your follower.~_

Perplexed, he simply stared at her. _~Pardon?~_

_~He is not your follower,~_ she repeated_. ~You're family. He treats you like you are his parent, and you referred to him as your son multiple times in your rants. You often speak my tongue when you mutter about.~_ Voldemort froze at the words. Yes, Barty had expressed before that he saw Voldemort as a sort of father figure, but the Dark Lord had always tried to actively distance himself from that. He had not wished for any familial bond to get to Barty's head, nor did he have the desire to consider anyone related to him who wasn't already dead. Nagini considered herself some sort of family too, but they'd never put a name to it, and she wasn't even human in the first place, so he could bear it without thinking about it too much.

Had he actually called Barty his son? It must be true, Nagini had no reason to lie, and he had never told her about Barty's comments. She shouldn't even know about any of it. Digging deep into his memory, he could not find any particular moment in which he had done so, although he had the vague feeling that he might have during particularly tiresome evenings when muttering about everything and the world to Nagini. Filing this information away, determined to never let Barty find out about it, he got up again and got ready for the day. It was time to check up on his prisoner. Black was the only person around now of whom Voldemort was absolutely certain of their status: enemies.

''What a night, huh?'' Black greeted as soon as he opened the door to Harry's bedroom, in which the dog currently resided. The man was at the moment doing sit-ups on the floor. ''You look like shit. Even more than usual,'' he casually continued speaking. Voldemort blinked rapidly, trying to process what was going on. Black should be scared out of his mind, the Dark Lord still held all the means to choke Black to death… ''Okay, keep quiet… more time for me to speak, great. I thought a lot about the past two days. If I sign your stupid contract today, can I go out into the garden again?''

''I'll think about it,'' he curtly spoke, deciding that Black just wasn't all right in the head. Voldemort turned on his heel again to head to the study, where he spent most of the day. He allowed Black some leeway on the choking spell to let the man down to the kitchens, which Barty should have restocked right before leaving this morning, not feeling up to preparing food himself as he got invested in calligraphic spellwork. It was an obscure branch of art magic that few people knew about or cared to learn, but Voldemort found that it was highly useful to strengthen already enchanted contracts when the very way the words were written on parchment was a spell in itself. The colour of ink, the amount of pressure, the exact degree of slanting, all of it could contribute to different results. In Black' case, he wrote the entire contract with the intent of compulsion, binding an activation charm to the line on which Black would have to sign. It was going to be far more difficult for Black to find loopholes if the contract itself charmed him in such a way that he did not wish to even search for them.

Shortly after noon, all thirty-two pages of it were at last ready. Not wanting to bother searching the house, he modified the choking spell so that it would only cease inside the very room he was in. It took Black only a few minutes to figure that out, which did admittedly speak for his intelligence. As soon as his prisoner entered, Voldemort held out the stack of parchment. ''Sign. You can read through it if you wish, but you're not in a position to negotiate.''

Black threw him a glare and sat down on the floor, eyes hushing over the pages. Voldemort used the opportunity to study the other, trying to take note of small things like ticks and reading speed. Black showed a surprising amount of self-control, most people would have started skipping parts to read faster after about twenty minutes, but Black did not speed up, clearly taking in everything with careful consideration. The largest part of the contract listed ways in which Black could not disclose information, and further specified exactly what that information was. Voldemort had also thought to add further restrictions that would impact Black's life. He was to regularly get into contact with Harry and inform the teen of any and all important details considering the Order of the Phoenix for example, as well as admit to anything he had said to other people that might have an impact on Voldemort's side. Listing Harry as the recipient of this information rather than himself was deliberate, both to extent trust to Harry after the new turns in their relationship and to make Black less likely to turn down the entire contract altogether.

''I expected it to be worse,'' Black muttered when he was finally through. He wore a heavy frown and gave Voldemort a pensive gaze. ''You're not making me spy for you?''

''If Harry determines that something is important, he'll surely tell me,'' he dismissed. ''What had you expected, that I would exploit this opportunity to make you a Death Eater?''

''Maybe? Or an unbreakable vow that ensured my death if I would break any of these rules?''

Voldemort sighed. ''I have no desire to bind you to me as an unwilling follower. I wrote this for a reason, Black, one far more important than trying to cause you harm. I am trying to be inconspicuous and cannot have someone like you revealing my location, contacts or anything else. Usually, I would have killed you, but your life was a reward for Harry, so it would defeat the point if I did so. You dying from an unbreakable Vow would have the same result. Make no mistake, breaking any point on this contract will have direct, severe results that I did not find necessary to specify in writing.''

''You are… really looking out for him, aren't you?'' Black said with a grimace. ''I did not want to believe it. What do you **gain** from that?''

''Plenty. Are you going to sign or not?'' he snapped, holding out a quill. With a wary glance, the other took it and pressed the tip to the parchment. Still, Black hesitated.

''Will I be able to go to the garden again?'' he quietly asked. Voldemort was uncertain why it appeared to be such an important point for Black. Was it because of the graves? Or did he think he could run? There was no need for running anymore however, the Dark Lord intended to keep his word of letting the man return home after this.

''Under supervision, you may,'' he replied. Two seconds later, Black's signature was drying on the parchment. Each letter of the document glowed up briefly as the spells took effect, binding themselves to Black's magic.

XxX

One moment, Harry was alone, pacing up and down the living room of Grimmauld place, trying to think of something to do. The next, he heard the front door open and Walburga's portrait start screaming. Heart shooting in his throat, Harry tried to quickly rehearse once more what he was going to say: _Sirius went out to get groceries, no-one visited and Kreacher has hidden himself somewhere. He thought that it would be more dangerous for me to show myself than him. What, the snake? The snake is here? I don't know, no-one visited anymore. Sirius didn't reveal anything to me._ Play dumb, play innocent, try not to faint from nerves… Hopefully the visitors were the Weasleys or someone else amicable.

The door opened, and Sirius enthusiastically shouted: ''Harry!'' running in to swoop him up into an embrace. ''I'm back!''

Relief flooded him, and the teen clung tightly onto his godfather. ''You're here, you're here again…'' Harry kept repeating. Although he'd put up a brave front while at Riddle house, trying to ease the mood when Sirius was around, there had always remained doubt in his mind that the man would actually make it back. So much could have gone wrong still, Sirius finding himself on the deadly end of Voldemort's wand or refusing to sign the contract that the Dark Lord understandably insisted upon. They sat down, both rather shaken, and Harry nervously cast his godfather a glance. ''So… thoughts?'' he finally asked when unable to bear the silence any longer.

Sirius clacked his tongue a few times and glanced around, eyes hushing over the walls, on which a few old portraits slumbered. Harry realised that this may not be the best place to speak. Phineas Nigellus may be the only portrait connected to Hogwarts, Sirius did not trust the other ancestors that hated him any more than Dumbledore's contact. ''We'd better head to the tapestry,'' the man decided, and Harry followed quickly.

As soon as the door of the tapestry room closed, Sirius continued speaking: ''He's something, I'll give you that… I only am not sure what that 'something' is. Only that it is different from what I expected.''

Harry couldn't help but crack a smile at that. ''I'm also still trying to figure that out.''

''No matter how much time I had there to think everything over, I can't seem to sort my thoughts,'' Sirius admitted, shaking his head. ''It's all so much. After all that happened, between being brought back from the afterlife to joining a Yule celebration… I can't let go of the fact that started it, that I tried to… That I would have succeeded in killing you if not for **him**. It's so surreal.''

''You didn't try to kill me though, I find that an important fact that you should not forget either. Your mind warps reality through hallucinations. After what you've been through, thirteen years of being around Dementors although you were innocent and then either being on the run or locked up, it is completely understandable. You didn't see me, so you did not recognise that you attacked me.''

''It shouldn't be understandable,'' Sirius growled, sitting down in an armchair and slamming a fist helplessly on the armrest. A cloud of dust whirled up and shimmered in the light of the sun that was going down, light that seeped through the one dirty window in the room, which looked out over the street. ''It is so frustrating. I can't help anyone if I can't even clear my own head!''

''Don't therapists exist in the Wizarding world?'' Harry asked with hesitation, sitting down as well, trying to wipe away a few old stains on the chair in vain.

Sirius shrugged. ''Mind Healers, yes, but they work at St. Mungo's and usually still try to find the underlying magical problem in order to heal it. Thing is, while the cause may be an effect of prolonged exposure to Dementors, I don't think that can be **cured**. Besides, I'm still convicted remember? Healer's oaths don't mean a thing for a criminal. If I'd show up at the hospital, they'd have me dragged to the Auror's office in no time.''

''And going to a Muggle therapist?''

Sirius barked out a laugh. ''Whom I'd tell what, exactly? That some ghost-like creatures tried to suck out my soul on a remote island that isn't on any maps? See you in bedlam, kiddo.'' Harry leaned back, not having any other good ideas either. The books he'd read about healing had also only focused on healing physical injuries or countering magical maladies. Nothing about improving mental health. Harry would gladly offer a listening ear to Sirius, but as he himself was part of some of Sirius' problems, that might be counterproductive. And anyone else that his godfather trusted, like Remus, could not be involved anymore now that Sirius was not allowed to speak openly due to the silencing contract. ''Listen, it's not your burden,'' his godfather reminded him. ''I will somehow deal with it. I'll try to be more careful from now on. One good part about you bringing me there was that I could finally walk in an actual field again, as a human no less. Not the shitty, tiled-up, cramped space with dying plants that my parents left me. Breathing country air, having snow-covered, real grass beneath my feet… that was indescribable.''

''I'm glad that you enjoyed it. Would it help if you could experience that again?''

Sirius started to absentmindedly bite his nails as he stared into the distance. ''I don't know. Maybe… **they** are there too,'' he whispered mournfully. ''In Azkaban, I often thought about how the first thing I would do when I got out was to visit their graves and pay my respects. In a way I did, visited the graveyard at Godric's Hollow in my Animagus form even before I tried to find you. It wasn't the same. People are scared to death of Grimms. Appearing at a graveyard in the shape of a gigantic black dog was less than ideal, so I had to go by night and couldn't find their headstones like that. I never had the opportunity to return as a human. It was both a shock and a blessing to find you'd moved them from their previous resting place. It was probably good that I saw them while affected by both magic and alcohol. I'm not even sure which of those packed more of a punch, Voldemort's magic was on a whole different level than I ever imagined, and that was while he wasn't even casting anything harmful. Now I experienced the feel of his magic, it feels foolish that the Order tries to take on someone of his calibre. It surely made me wonder if Dumbledore really is on the same level. Everyone always says that Dumbledore was the only person he ever feared…''

''As a kid, maybe,'' Harry said. ''Perhaps even in his teenage years still, when Dumbledore was at the height of his power and defeated Grindelwald, while Voldemort only just started on his path. Nowadays, I don't think that Dumbledore frightens him. Angers is a better description. The topic of Dumbledore usually makes him furious, and I can't really blame him. Not after my own issues with the Headmaster and knowing a few more details on how Dumbledore treated Voldemort before.''

''Albus really wants to see you dead… that wasn't a ploy or something you were made to say while he was in earshot?''

''Unfortunately not. I don't know Dumbledore's exact line of thoughts of course. Whether there is malice behind it, or if he regrets 'having' to see me dead. In either case, he'll try setting me up and justify it in some way.''

''Because you and Voldemort are… connected, right?''

''In order to kill him, I'd need to die first, basically,'' Harry shrugged sadly. ''You can trust me when I say this is definitely true. So at the very least, I will be an unfortunate sacrifice to make for the goal of ridding this country of its current Dark Lord. Not that it would help for long,'' Harry scoffed. ''Voldemort was appointed Dark Lord for a reason. As long as balance isn't restored, magic will search for another to fulfil that task.''

Sirius made a disbelieving sound. ''I admitted to him being powerful, I don't suddenly believe in a god of magic.''

''But the Yule ritual-''

''Was interesting, nostalgic and felt better than I thought it would. I did not see proof of the work of higher beings there. Only that of an extremely formidable sorcerer.''

Were Harry and Voldemort the only people who had noticed the source magic that had flickered in the room before returning to the Dark Lord after it had been taken away? Not wishing to start another argument so soon, Harry dropped the subject. ''In either case… are we… okay?'' he carefully asked. ''I know that much happened in a very short time, and now that you actually met Voldemort…'' he struggled to put his thoughts into words. ''Not sure if it's only my wishful thinking, but you don't seem as opposed to him as only a few days ago.''

Sirius got a determined look. ''I made a decision, Harry. I have been running from responsibilities for too long, failing to see the full extent of my role. James and Lily appointed me your godfather, and they are gone now. I have to… I **want** to take care of you best that I can. No, I don't agree with any of Voldemort's propaganda and I certainly don't like him as a person, but he is a man who acts in his own best interests. Those currently align with protecting you from Dumbledore or anyone else with harmful intent. As such, I have no choice but to offer my support, even if that means I'll help Voldemort. I only pray that James will forgive me for betraying what we stood for before…'' His voice broke. Harry had the urge to get up and hug his godfather again, only staying put as he didn't know how Sirius would react to it right now.

Instead, he focused on getting Sirius up to speed with some important information. ''I told you that I… that I spoke to my parents during the few minutes that they were alive. Maybe I should have mentioned sooner what exactly they said.'' It had the right impact: Sirius tensed up and leaned forward, wide-eyed, desperate to hear the words of his best friends. Harry hugged himself as he recalled that evening. How strange that it had only been a few months ago that his parents had stood in front of him, hugged him. ''At first, they were confused, their mind and souls not yet fully connecting. For their souls had passed on and were brought back from the realm of the dead, whereas an echo of their minds had been trapped in Voldemort's wand all this time as he'd been the one to kill them. There seemed to be a clash of information due to that. On one hand, they held onto beliefs they'd had in life, while at the same time, they had knowledge of far greater things, a greater scheme of life. Although mum still warned me against trusting Voldemort too much due to his character, both admitted that they might have been on the wrong side of the war.''

''Can you show me?'' Sirius whispered. ''The memory?''

Harry blinked. ''Are you apt at Legilimency?'' he asked in astonishment. Occlumency was one thing, but Legilimency?

Sirius shook his head in denial. ''That is a skill beyond me, I admit. This house held a great deal of old artefacts however, not all harmful ones. My father had a Pensieve in his study. As Dumbledore already had one, I didn't offer to give it away to him and as it wasn't a dark object, it wasn't thrown out either, so it's still upstairs. We could use that. That is, if you'd allow me to see the memory, of course. I understand if it's too private.'' The way he spoke the words made it clear to Harry that Sirius had only added that to be polite, absolutely desperate to witness the event himself.

Voldemort had explained a bit to Harry what he all wished to include in the silencing contract that Sirius had now signed, and was pretty sure that Sirius was not able to reveal any information related to Voldemort that he came to know from this point onwards to anyone whom Sirius was not explicitly aware of to already be privy to that information. There were of course a few negative points about this. While showing this memory would certainly solidify the truth behind Harry's words and hopefully convince Sirius further, the short conversation with his parents had also included some sensitive information. He'd desperately asked them for advice on how to cope with the knowledge of having their murderer's soul in his head, and his parents had also mentioned that they knew about Voldemort entrusting another piece of soul to his familiar. The word 'Horcrux' had not been mentioned, but Harry was sure that Sirius would be able to piece together some bits of information that he hadn't understood before. It was a heavy decision to make, considering that the Horcruxes were one of Voldemort's most important secrets.

However, it wasn't only the Dark Lord's secret anymore. The piece of soul in Harry's mind was a part of himself, a part that he wanted his godfather to understand and accept so that finally, the man would know fully who and what Harry was. Also, like that, Harry would finally be able to convincingly explain to Sirius once and for all why his life was tied to Voldemort's, and thus why Dumbledore needed Harry dead too. Shortly ago, he would have been bound by oath not to say anything about it as Voldemort had been his Lord. Now they were friends instead, Harry was of the opinion that it lay in his own discretion to decide what to tell Sirius when it also involved Harry directly. That Sirius could not speak of it to outsiders, and probably would not willingly tell Voldemort about knowing his secrets, solidified his decision of that it brought more good than not to show Sirius this memory.

''Alright, you go get the Pensieve, and I'll try to recall the memory as clearly as possible.''

Almost comically, Sirius shot out of his chair at Harry's request. ''Get the Pensieve, yes master,'' he mumbled, then shot out of the door. Perplexed, Harry stayed behind. Had he heard that correctly?

''Merlin's balls,'' the teen whispered as realisation dawned. The wording had been an order specifically directed at Sirius. Clearly, the command had triggered the connection that Voldemort had warned Harry about. He really did have power over his godfather that he hadn't had before. Was Sirius aware of it too? Or did the man think he was acting on his own? Distraught, Harry vowed to be more careful with his wording. He did not want to treat Sirius like some House-Elf…

Only a few minutes later, the other returned, carrying the Pensieve. He didn't look like anything bothered him, so Harry figured that either Voldemort had told Sirius about that this might happen, or the spells took effect in such a way that Sirius did not actually notice his own strange behaviour. ''You know how to extract a memory?'' the man cheerfully asked, clearly looking forward to this.

''Not really. I've seen it being done, but I don't know the spell for it myself. Can you teach me?''

Sirius pulled his wand. ''It will be faster if I extract it myself. I'll teach you another time. Just concentrate on the memory and I'll pull it out.''

Harry closed his eyes, imagining that night, his parents' faces, the cold touch of their hands… He tried to ignore the Necromancy ritual, feeling that that part was somehow private between Harry and Voldemort. He **tried** to also leave out the part of the Horcruxes just in case, but it was difficult as it was in the middle of their conversation, so he was quite certain that he did not succeed. The teen barely felt anything, a slight tickling at his temple when the wand brushed it, nothing more. Upon opening his eyes, he saw the silver strand as it mingled with the memoria fluidum, whirling around. ''I'd prefer not to see it again, if you don't mind,'' Harry croaked. He'd rather hold onto the lingering feelings and impressions of the memory rather than see every stark detail once more. Sirius nodded and carefully lowered his head into the bowl.

Minutes ticked by, during which Harry lit a few of the wall candles to combat the falling darkness, then studied the family tapestry, though he did not find many surprises on it. He saw his grandmother, Dorea Black, who had apparently not been enough of a disgrace to ban her from the family tree. Interesting. Harry had expected his grandmother to have been blasted off the tapestry as well, either after marrying a Potter or latest when taking in Sirius for a while. The name Charlus Potter was still there as well, connected with fine thread. Underneath though, there was a burned spot where James Potter once had been. Neither Harry nor his mother had made it on the tapestry for obvious reasons. Caught up in following all the lines as he was, it took a while to realise that Sirius must be done by now, who hadn't made a sound anymore. When looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that Sirius had indeed exited the Pensieve, simply standing there and looking down on the thing with a frown on his face.

''Sirius?''

The man shook his head wordlessly and took the bowl in his hands. ''That was… a lot to process again.'' Then, the man warily eyed Harry. ''You have his soul in your head?'' he muttered, sounding awed. ''And that snake too? Now the puzzle is slowly coming together.''

Calmly, Harry spoke: ''Under the contract, you can't mention this to anyone, so I figured that it would not be harmful if you knew. I do ask though that you don't let Voldemort know that you have even the slightest information on this matter, as I doubt he'll take that well.''

''I'm smarter than I look,'' Sirius grinned. ''And I already look good. Don't worry kiddo, I won't breathe a word about it. This is good news for you though, isn't it?''

''What do you mean?''

''Dumbledore kept that snake imprisoned to find a way to remove Voldemort's magic on her. If that 'magic' is really his soul, then, should we have succeeded, it would mean that it could also be removed from you.'' His triumphant expression changed quickly to worry. ''Hold on, all of Dumbledore's words about possession… he knows, doesn't he? This is why he wants to kill you?''

Harry nodded and started pacing. ''Yes, although if you are right, he may have tried to use Nagini as a guinea pig to see if the soul can be removed from its vessel. Do you think that he actually tried to find a way to get rid of it without killing the host?''

''It's possible. Dumbledore may have made mistakes, harmful ones even, yet I still refuse to believe that he is evil. Lily and James did not seem to think so either. Dumbledore would not honestly want to kill one of his students if he didn't think it was necessary. On the other hand, it does not sit well with me that he wanted Doge and Vance to try and see if inflicting pain worked after Albus himself apparently failed by using more subtle methods.''

''Neither would have succeeded anyways,'' Harry commented dismissively. ''Voldemort himself does not even know of a way to reverse the process. Once the link is established, it's forever. The soul becomes one with its vessel in a way, which is then part of the larger network. It's why I could see into his head, and into Nagini's as well.''

''Does it hurt?''

The question came unexpectantly. Even Voldemort had never expressed that concern. ''Not to me,'' Harry said. ''Well, it did at the start,'' he corrected. ''My scar would hurt whenever I came too close to him. That had less to do with his soul and more with my mother's sacrifice trying to fight that soul however. We negated that effect a long time ago. I don't actually know if the piece of soul is hurting. I… I saw it once, it appeared in my mind while I learned Occlumency and formed a mindscape. It doesn't really look healthy and it appears as if it can't talk, though it's still capable of performing magic. It saved me, once,'' Harry spoke, rather happy that he could finally speak about this now, share his troubles with someone else than Voldemort. It was a huge relief to know that Sirius couldn't relay this information to anyone else, and wouldn't do so to Voldemort. Harry of course had to be careful what exactly he said, and he would not take the word 'Horcrux' in his mouth, but speaking about the effects it had directly on him was helpful. At last, he did not need to hide any part of himself any more in front of his godfather.

''Saved you how?'' the man inquired with curiosity.

''A few months ago, some harmful entity tried to gain access to my mind, and the piece of soul in my head prevented it. Threw the other thing out and bound it.''

''Merlin, the things you get into,'' Sirius sighed, ruffling his long hair. ''If I wasn't so worried about you, I'd be proud of all the trouble you run into and conquer.''

''You can be worried and proud?'' Harry hopefully asked. A weak smile was his answer.

''Good idea. So, did you give Snape Lily's warning?''

''Yeah,'' Harry vaguely said, to not give away too much regarding Snape's allegiance. ''He wasn't happy and I told him straight that I didn't want him to act differently if the only reason why would be because my mum threatened him. So, Snape is still a nasty git who makes my potion lessons unbearable.'' He fell silent, not wanting to say much more on the matter of Snape. Sirius looked like he had a million questions still, but Harry was faster: ''We should probably come up with a cover story still for Nagini's break-out. After I was told that Vance and Doge can't remember a thing, I made the cage look like she broke out. I don't know how convincing it is though, and Voldemort once told me that Dumbledore can check for spells cast on rooms…''

''Not here,'' Sirius reassured him. ''Not under the wards of my family home. It should be safe, but I'll check your spellwork just in case. Did you also think to add traces of a breakout on the other doors of the house? The cellar entrance for example? Or the front door?''

''Cellar entrance, yes, and I also tried to make it look like she knocked over some chairs and whatnot when getting out of there. Dumbledore knows that she is intelligent, so I thought that maybe we can make it look like she threw floo powder into the fireplace and escaped using that? It's more believable than a gigantic snake escaping unseen in Muggle London''

Sirius barked out a disbelieving laugh. ''You want to tell me that it is more believable that an animal used floo powder?''

Harry crossed his arms defensively. ''You keep it in a bowl above the fireplace like most mages, it's not unfeasible that she knocked that down with her head and flicked it into the fireplace. Besides, Parseltongue is a legit language which even sounds like English to me. I don't know for **sure **if speaking Parsel is enough to travel by floo, but it's a possibility. And yes, Nagini is certainly intelligent enough to come up with a plan like that, or at least be instructed to do so by Voldemort in case of emergencies.''

Carding his fingers through his long hair, Sirius answered: ''Okay, how about you first try out if snake tongue works to travel by floo and **then** we use this as a cover story? The fireplace here is only connected to a limited amount of other homes for security of course, so you'd have to travel to the Weasleys for example and make up an excuse of why you're dropping by. If it works and you disappear, I will check the rooms and contact Dumbledore about the situation while you're away still.''

''Sounds like a plan. Won't it be suspicious that I'm gone?''

Sirius shook his head. ''It's your holidays, I can't forbid you from visiting your friends. Dumbledore might if he's your legal magical guardian, but he did not explicitly tell you that you had to remain in this house, did you?''

''I'm not bound here no,'' Harry replied, avoiding a direct answer. Phineas Nigellus had passed on Dumbledore's message of that Harry should not leave, but Dumbledore had no power over him. With everything that was going on now though, Harry did not think that now was the best time to reveal yet another piece of new information to Sirius: namely that **he** was Harry's legal guardian still. Voldemort had made Harry promise not to speak of it for a myriad of reasons, and Harry agreed that it would be better if Sirius could not hold that over Harry's head.

''Then it'll be better if you're not here. I can use that as a reason why I am contacting Albus about the situation now, so he can quickly check it out without you getting involved. Remember that you're not supposed to know anything about Voldemort's pet having been brought here.''

They put their plan into action quickly. Harry emptied the old bowl of floo powder and flung it into the fireplace just in case it would work. After a while, he fished the blackened pieces out again as 'proof'. Then, he replaced it with a new pot and took a pinch from the powder to floo to the Weasleys.

_~The Burrow!~_ he hissed, and Sirius' sceptical face turned to surprise before it vanished altogether as Harry was transported to the Weasleys' home.

They welcomed Harry with open arms and he would have felt guilty, if not for the fact that he really was happy to see they were all doing well. Mr Weasley was home now, still weak and recovering, but alive and on the mend. Ron had clearly missed him too, enthusiastically telling Harry about all the trouble that the Twins had gotten up to in only those few short days – ''Set the yard on fire in an attempt to herd the gnomes out!'' – and dug out his collection of cards to give Harry two spare ones he'd forgotten about before. Mrs Weasley insisted that Harry stay for dinner, which he agreed to as it would give Sirius more time. When the clock struck nine though, he started to get restless, wanting to go back to Grimmauld Place to shortly see Sirius still and check if it was safe to leave again. He'd promised Voldemort that he'd visit tonight…

Thankfully, the Weasleys did not express their disappointed over him leaving again for too long, and Mrs Weasley handed him the jar with floo powder. ''Here you go dearie, do come over for a visit soon again. Maybe you can come over tomorrow to celebrate the start of the new year with us? Fred and George are expanding their new line of fireworks that surely will be tested. I'm still hoping that they will ask my permission first, so I don't have to ground them after, but I don't have good hopes for that.''

''I already have other plans tomorrow, sorry,'' Harry apologised. New Year's Eve with the Weasleys sounded lovely, but he'd surely have to stay until midnight if he came over, and he did not want to miss Voldemort's birthday.

''With Sirius? He can come over too, of course!'' she insisted.

''Ah, no. A… a good friend of mine invited me,'' he stammered, sure that he was getting red. ''It's his birthday and I missed it last year. It's really important to me that I visit him this year to make up for it.''

She looked disappointed yet understanding and only nodded. ''You still have a few days afterwards too,'' she spoke thoughtfully. ''Maybe drop by then?''

''I'll try,'' he promised, before flooing back. Grimmauld place was dark, and Harry had to light up his wand to see anything. He finally found Sirius in the master bedroom, talking softly to Buckbeak. ''Hey,'' he spoke up to get the man's attention.

''Oh, Harry! Took you a while. Everything's good here, Dumbledore was in quite a state after I brought him the news and also baffled by a snake escaping through floo of all things, but it was probably the most logical option he could come up with as well. He was happy that you were visiting the Weasleys and gives you his greetings. Be careful when you return to Hogwarts though, I'm sure he'll want to speak to you soon about the snake and everything that happened.''

Harry went further into the room and bowed to Buckbeak, glad when the Hippogriff bowed its head too. ''Did Dumbledore mention what he wants to do about her escape?'' He sat down on the creaky bed next to his godfather and started stroking the sharp beak, intelligent eyes taking him in.

Sirius shrugged. ''Not really. I doubt there is much that he can do. I convinced him that checking the cellar for spells is useless as the snake broke out by itself and obviously cannot cast any spells. Checking the floo history does not work here either as it is an illegal, restricted access under the Fidelius charm that isn't on the registered floo network. At first, he wanted to contact Vance and Doge, until I told him that they didn't visit yet and had planned on starting after new year, when the festivities were over and you might not constantly be in the house anymore. That leaves Albus without any leads as of now, apart from starting all over again.''

''Fast thinking,'' Harry appreciatively spoke.

''It feels strange, lying to him like that,'' Sirius mentioned, troubled. ''Even knowing what I do now… Sure, it's for the better, but it feels wrong.''

''We can't really change the situation. It sucks, '' Harry sympathised. ''It's the same for me at Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. I love them both, they're amazing friends and I can't stand having to be dishonest. Yet the alternative is far worse. Neither would understand in this moment, and I don't want them to resent me for choosing Voldemort's side when I can't even properly explain to them why I did. Telling them the whole truth is impossible, like it was before with you, and talking about his current goals won't be enough to convince them after all the horrible things he did. Speaking of Voldemort, I really have to go. I promised that I'd drop by again this evening, and it's getting late.''

''Should I come with you?'' Sirius asked, his brow furrowing. ''To make sure that you're… that you're safe? Crouch isn't there anymore either now, so it'll be just you and him, right?''

''I'll be totally fine, Sirius,'' Harry grinned. ''For once, I'm glad that Barty won't be present, I wanted to speak to Voldemort alone.''

''If you're sure…''

''A hundred percent. You don't need to wait up for me, it might take some hours till I return. Get some rest soon, you need it.'' Sirius did not reply, only holding out his arms to give a quick, tight hug. ''Thank you, for being on my side,'' Harry whispered. ''It means so much to me.''

''As you mean everything to me,'' Sirius whispered back. ''I'll do anything to protect you. I'm sorry that I didn't before.''

''All forgiven,'' Harry said brightly. He received a brilliant smile back, which lingered on his mind long after he activated his Portkey.

In a flash of blue, his surroundings changed, and Harry rubbed his stomach at the unpleasant feeling that Portkeys always brought. As the glow died down, Harry was not surprised to find himself in a pitch-black room again. What did surprise him, was that Voldemort did not speak up, as the Portkey should have transported him directly to the Dark Lord's side. ''Hello?'' he called out, receiving no answer. He only heard a soft, rustling sound, nothing else. Confused, Harry raised his wand and lit the tip to cast some light. Something gleamed, and Harry realised that the beams reflected on Nagini's scales, who was curled up around a deeply sleeping Voldemort. ''Didn't wait for me, huh,'' Harry muttered, slightly offended. It looked like Nagini was fast asleep as well, and he carefully moved around the bed, lowering his wand again so the light hit a pale face. The rustling was to be heard again, and Harry noticed that the noise was caused by the fabric of Voldemort's robes rubbing against the blankets, which he lay upon rather than under. It looked like he'd crashed on it and fallen asleep instantly. Just how exhausted had Voldemort been still? He'd appeared so composed yesterday…

Harry did not really wish to wake either a grumpy snake nor a probably even grumpier Dark Lord, but he'd come here on Voldemort's request, so he couldn't simply leave either. As he was debating on what to do, the man started mumbling something and moved his hand in front of his eyes to shield them from the light. Harry supressed a chuckle at how innocent Voldemort looked. He quietly knelt down at the bedside and held his breath as he studied what remained visible of Voldemort's face. Green eyes raked over smooth skin and rested on the slightly parted, pale lips. Harry fought down the urge to lean in closer and press a kiss to them. They'd just established a friendship that he wasn't about to ruin. Long fingers moved again, and he hastily went back a bit as Voldemort frowned and his eyelids slowly fluttered open, a slit of a dark red iris becoming visible. ''Turn off the light,'' he grouchily spoke.

''Thought you wanted me to come visit you?'' Harry teased. Voldemort groaned and closed his eyes again.

''That cursed potion,'' the Dark Lord lamented, which Harry figured referred to the ones that Voldemort had taken to stay awake during his search for Nagini, which he'd also drank once more to get the energy to heal her.

''Should I come back another time?'' he asked.

A suffering sigh followed his question. ''No, give me a moment.'' _~Nagini, wake up dear. Look who is here.~_ Voldemort nudged the snake, who also started moving and yawned, showing off her sharp fangs.

_~Harrison?~_

_~Hey there, how are you now?~ _he gently asked her as she unfurled and slithered over Voldemort to approach him. ''Oof!'' he exclaimed, as Nagini did not stop at the edge of the bed, instead sliding across his shoulders, coiling herself around him entirely. The weight was pressing, and he was glad that he was already kneeling on the floor. Voldemort took that opportunity to turn and sit up as well, rubbing his face, blinking blearily.

_~My scales don't hurt anymore,~_ Nagini answered. _~I hope they'll die soon.~_

Harry didn't have to ask who she meant. _~I'm glad that you're feeling better.~_

_~You saved me,~_ she gratefully said. _~And brought me back.~_

_~You'd have done the same for me,~_ he smiled, accepting it when she nuzzled his cheek, a cold tongue flicking over it.

_~Of course.~_ The matter seemed to be settled with that, as she loosened her grip on him and slithered under the bed.

''I had expected her to have more to say to you,'' Voldemort commented. ''She's been asking about you. Admittedly, she still isn't entirely well yet, so that may be why. Shall we relocate to a more comfortable place?''

''Gladly.''

They switched to the drawing room, where Harry quickly started a fire as it was freezing. He blew on his fingers to warm them even quicker. He could feel that Voldemort was even less pleased with the cold than he was. ''Maybe casting a warming charm will be quicker?'' he asked.

Voldemort made an unhappy sound. ''Warming charms are helpful, which is why I have them in the bedroom as well, but it holds nothing to real heat. I can wait.''

To offer at least a bit of warmth already, Harry sat down on the couch next to the other, happy when Voldemort leaned in minimally to bask in his body heat. Impulsively, Harry reached out and took Voldemort's hands in his own. ''Here, I'll warm you,'' he said, ignoring the nearly electrifying shocks that the gesture caused to shoot up his arms, in favour of concentrating on helping Voldemort feel a bit more comfortable. He refused to meet the astonished gaze of the other, rubbing the skin between his palms. He'd do this as well for Ron or Hermione, he reasoned to himself. Even Neville or Ginny if they were freezing so. That thought didn't entirely convince his brain to stop freaking out over the fact that he was touching Voldemort's hands intimately. It also did not help that Voldemort's emotions went from shocked to something warm and pleasant that buzzed in the air.

''You.. err, wanted to speak about some things?'' he asked, still not looking at the Dark Lord's face.

''Yesss,'' Voldemort replied softly, flexing his fingers until Harry let them go. ''A few matters were not addressed. Before I change my mind, I will be blunt and start with the one that I wish for you opinion on most. Regulus.'' At the name, the teen tensed up instantly, wondering if this touchy subject would already lead the Dark Lord breaking away from their new agreed-upon roles. ''As much as I begrudge your breach of my privacy by reading his diaries, you seem to know better than I do where it… went wrong. I still can't quite understand no matter how much I have thought about it. He never showed anything but devotion. He took my word as law.''

''I already told you, didn't I?'' Harry frowned. It was quite surprising that Voldemort wanted to talk about his past lover, considering how mad he'd been about Harry prying into it before. Therefore, the teen was hesitant now to speak of it. ''You told him that you descend from Muggles…'' he hinted.

''While true, he was smart, top of his class. We talked for months on end… Surely, he knew by then that those beliefs of blood supremacy were mere propaganda… That Magic matters more than blood,'' Voldemort scoffed.

Harry simply stared at the man for a few baffled moments. Was the other truly that delusional about the views that his followers had? That 'propaganda' had enabled Voldemort to rally a whole army to his side. ''Speaking frankly, your problem is that you always expect to be the centre of the universe.'' That hadn't come out as subtle as it had sounded in his head.

''**What**.'' Voldemort growled dangerously. Harry didn't flinch. If the Dark Lord wouldn't keep his word and lash out instead, Harry had every right to end this and return to Grimmauld.

''You weren't the only influence on Regulus' life. In fact, he hardly knew you at all until the last two years. Since childhood, he'd been groomed by his parents into the perfect blood purist. Intelligence is no guarantee for a person's beliefs being logical. For years and year, he was part of a circle in society that deemed anyone with only a drop of Muggle blood as lesser. You must know how deep those biases run, you fully used those to pull the majority of Purebloods towards you. From what I gathered, you were very tight-lipped about how much of that was a ruse on your part. So, Regulus moved in those social circles, thrived in them. Maybe part of that was Sirius' fault… he shielded his younger brother from the ugly sides of their parents, protected his brother while only he rebelled. But then Sirius was forced to run away, and it placed all responsibility on Regulus' shoulders, who was only too eager to take what his 'ungrateful brother' had refused. Instead of the second son who always had to prove his worth in society, he became the Heir of one of the most powerful dark families in Britain. Always having had ambition, Regulus grasped that chance with both hands and became determined to prove that he was worth it. In you, he saw the perfect future. Someone of seemingly like mind, a powerful Pureblood who had beliefs that aligned perfectly with those of the Black family whose legacy he wished to continue, and the power to make it happen. It was with this mindset that he… that he fell in love with you.'' At the word 'love', the Dark Lord's jaw clenched briefly, but there was no other indication that he'd heard it. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how much Voldemort had felt for Regulus in return, and how he'd labelled those emotions. There had to have been something if Voldemort was still so bothered by being betrayed.

Harry continued: ''During all of your talks, he found nothing that contradicted his thoughts. You spoke of magic, of a new society, of erasing muggles… and that was part of the problem. Your conversations always came back to **you**. Your politics, your schemes, your followers… it was a one-sided communication. Never once did you ask about his childhood or family. You didn't even know that he was engaged, did you? He broke that off to be with you, had a huge fight with his parents about it. Regulus told you nothing because he had the feeling that those petty things would only bother your **grand mind**. He idolised you so much… When I read his words, I did not get the feeling that your relationship was very… equal. He wanted to have something serious, yet always held back as he was a follower first. Then, right after revealing that you had created a Horcrux, making you an immortal, he found out that your dad was a Muggle. Worse, when he tried to talk to you about how that fit in with your plans for blood supremacy, you laughed it off and said that he should have known better to believe in such a thing. Everything he'd been raised to believe in crumbled within days.

So, he had a choice to make. You, or the rest of his world. In my opinion, he made the wrong choice, but I wasn't surprised when I read it. I'm sure that he loved you, but he also loved his parents, his friends and the life he'd been given. Suddenly rejecting everything he'd ever been told because things weren't adding up with a Half-blood being the most powerful mage he knew, was too much to ask. He could not find it within himself to forgive you for lying to everyone before, and also could not get over the fact that someone with tainted blood had dared to make himself immortal. So yeah. In short: you didn't listen, didn't communicate like he was your partner, and lived a lie for far too long. You expected him to choose you no matter what happened, oblivious to the fact that of course you weren't the only person in his life. And the last nail in the coffin was that you killed his House-elf, whom Regulus loved like most people love their loyal pets. Your complete disregard of that bond was what fuelled Regulus' anger. If you'd have listened even a single time to what he found important in life, you'd have known that that Elf was everything to him.''

The Dark Lord didn't answer immediately. Nothing could be read from his face either ''How could I have mended it?'' the man demanded to know without addressing any of the specific points Harry had made.

''Mend it?'' Harry repeated, thrown off. ''Er… I'm sorry to say that I don't think it could have been. You both got together under very different expectations and views. If you'd been open and honest from the start, it might never even have come to the point it did in the first place.''

Clearly, this was not what Voldemort had wanted to hear. ''There must have been **something**.''

''Some people aren't meant to be,'' Harry quietly spoke, thinking of his own feelings. Although he had hopes, he still did not know if it was a realistic possibility for him and the man in front of him to ever have an actual relationship as he wished to. ''You can only look back on the times that **were** good.''

''I don't know **how**,'' Voldemort admitted, frustration audible. There was a vulnerability behind his annoyance that Harry hadn't heard often. ''Each time I think of him, I am consumed by betrayal and anger on a scale I have never felt before. I don't know how to handle it! It doesn't help that you-'' he cut off and let out a short growl, looking away.

''That I… what?''

Voldemort was silent for the longest time, staring miserably in the fireplace. His magic was dancing around aimlessly, giving Harry unpleasant goose bumps. The sense of desperation gnawed at them both. ''You remind me of him, in a way. I can't put my finger on why, your personalities are so different and yet…''

''I know what you mean,'' Harry spoke, to Voldemort's clear surprise. ''One of the reasons why I kept reading was because I could relate to Regulus so much. It's odd, as he was raised in a dark pureblood family and I by my muggle relatives, but I could find a lot of similarities. We both cared deeply for Sirius, and later for you, we both had family that was distant and objectively not very healthy for us. We both loved the escape Hogwarts offered and the friends we found there… And both of us felt a large responsibility in a war that wasn't really our business. Of course, there were many differences too, as he practically leapt at the opportunity to involve himself while I did not have much of a choice. Still, reading of his experience felt like reading about a kindred soul, or maybe an alternative version of how my life could have been. I can't describe it better,'' Harry said, shaking his head. ''Maybe it was partially something planted in my head the first time that you called me Regulus. Nagini did say that I looked like him as far as she could judge.''

''I suppose you do…'' Voldemort commented absentmindedly, brooding again.

''I don't really know how you can control those emotions,'' Harry admitted. ''Other than keep trying to tell yourself that it was in the past. There's nothing that you can change about it now, and even if you had tried to act differently back then, it may have resulted in your relationship ending even sooner.'' It did not appear to be the answer that Voldemort was looking for, as he could feel the other withdraw. ''May I… ask you something personal?'' Harry gulped, not sure if he would step too much on the man's boundaries.

Voldemort raised one thin eyebrow. ''Hasn't this entire conversation been personal already?''

''It's probably **more** personal,'' he nervously spoke. Voldemort only waited expectantly, so he pressed on: ''Did you ever… well, have qualms about being with someone so much younger than you?''

The Dark Lord gave him an amused look for some reason, and Harry was aware of that he was flushed. As he was pretty sure that Voldemort knew at some level that Harry felt attraction, it was not a very subtle question. The teen just had to know what Voldemort's stance on it was though, especially as Harry was still younger than Regulus had been and not even of age yet, and Voldemort was over a decade older now than he'd been then. Harry knew of his own feelings, and also that Voldemort wanted to... **have** him, for lack of a better word, but he did not know where they stood at all regarding the age difference, which was an important aspect to many people. Harry had not fully considered it before until he'd realised that a future relationship wasn't as impossible as he had feared.

''I did not consider it a problem with Regulus. By the time we grew closer and spent time together, he was already sixteen.''

''And?'' Harry asked, confused.

''And, while laws are shaped by the present ideals and norms in a country, the opposite is true as well. By law, the age of consent is sixteen in this country regardless of when one becomes an adult. While I disregard many other laws such as those against murder and theft, I do agree with the need to protect children, so I set my moral boundary in accordance to the law in this case. Had I lived somewhere else, I may have found that too young, who knows.''

''So you draw a hard line at 'legal' or 'not legal', regardless of age difference?'' Harry asked, curious about how Voldemort's mind worked there. He recalled Aunt Petunia's scandalised gossip about middle-aged celebrities starting a romance with some 'young blonde bimbo's' in their twenties as she had called them.

''I don't see why not. I find there to be no difference in if a sixteen-year-old sleeps with someone who is one or fifty years older. It does not change anything about the act. Regarding relationships, I can understand that it may become troubling if people of different generations end up together and don't understand each other in the long term, but ironically, these kinds of laws are specifically about acts of intercourse. There are no laws against a non-physical romantic relationship with someone even younger. Marriage yes, though also only since it is usually expected that married partners engage in certain acts. I suppose this goes beyond your question though,'' Voldemort realised.

''Right,'' Harry spoke, feeling quite embarrassed to speak so openly about this topic with the recipient of his affections. However, he'd never been taught anything about any type of laws and his curiosity for it reared its head. ''One more thing, is the legal age sixteen in all of Britain then? Also in the Muggle World?''

''Not exactly. In Muggle Britain, the laws changed quite a bit over the centuries. There was a law passed in 1885 when the legal age was changed to sixteen in both the magical and Muggle world. Before, it had been thirteen. While the wizarding law did not change anymore from that point onwards, there were a few changes in Muggle law however. Same-sex relationships are not very accepted there even to this day, so the age of consent for that is higher. They changed it only last year from twenty-one to eighteen, with some people vying to drop it to sixteen as well. In the meantime, there were also some attempts to raise the general age from sixteen to seventeen several times, which was only passed in northern Ireland and again, only in the Muggle World. There's been talks of reverting it to fit with the rest of Britain again though, so I am not sure how long it will still exist. Since wizarding law has not changed for so long and is equal regardless of gender, I opted to include the current British magical law into the legislative system I created for future use.''

Harry was so mesmerised by Voldemort's knowledge that he could almost forget that he'd asked about it for personal reasons. He did find it interesting that Voldemort apparently tried to keep up to date to changes in the Muggle world as well. When he expressed this, the Dark Lord answered: ''As long as we will have contact with Muggles, it is important to know of their laws, as the ideas Muggleborns have are shaped by those, which might clash with our society. It is an often overlooked danger. The other way around, it can cause trouble as well: wizards and witches who try to live in the Muggle world may break the law there without realising it. To get back on topic and give you a final answer: it did not bother me as Regulus was legally able to consent to anything we did.''

A few passages from the diaries came to Harry's mind about what exactly they had done, and he wondered if his face could grow any hotter. It also gave him the answer he'd really been searching for: as he was fifteen right now, there was no chance at all that Voldemort would allow something to happen for a while still. On one hand, it was good to know, and on the other also slightly disappointing.

''Don't look so glum, Evan,'' Voldemort commented, and Harry could feel that the man was extremely entertained as his expense. But that could not be, it didn't make any sense. Sure, Harry could not fully hide his feelings, but Voldemort had swallowed that story from Snape about him being involved with a Durmstrang student, hadn't he? As the Gryffindor looked into deep ruby eyes, he wasn't so certain anymore.

''I'm not glum,'' he pathetically countered.

''Of course not.''

''I… I don't have time for much more talking,'' Harry tried to use as an excuse, even though he'd told Sirius it could take hours. ''Before I need to leave again, could you maybe tell me what happened between me and Nagini?'' All amusement disappeared from the Dark Lord's face instantly as the man turned serious again. ''I thought our link was stable, and I've never gotten visions from her before. So why now? And twice in such a short time? Did some spells go wrong?''

''No… I ensured that the link between **us** is under control,'' the man mused. ''My theory is that this never affected the one you and Nagini share. You were always able to have visions of her.''

''I never did,'' Harry protested.

''I imagine that the link between separate Horcruxes is not as strong as those each of you have with me. Due to this, you won't accidentally slip into Nagini's mind at random. However, both times that you saw her, she was in danger.''

''Not at the beginning. Both visions started when nothing was happening yet.''

''I doubt you saw the events unfold at the same time as Nagini did.''

''You mean they were delayed?''

''Yes. I've been thinking about everything you said and also what I gathered from Black. It may be hard to determine as it would only be a difference of a few minutes at most, but let me ask you this: during the second vision of Nagini, you saw that she was afraid of the two people in the room, wo then attacked her, correct?''

''Yes.''

''So when you came downstairs, rather instantly, did it look like they'd only just started casting spells?''

Harry thought about it for a while. ''No, she already had a number of injuries. So the vision I had was a sort of delayed memory that Nagini sent out the moment she was actually attacked then…'' he concluded.

''It would make sense. During her distress, her short-term memory of what had happened up to that point was sent out and received by you during your sleep, which has proven to be a sensitive time in which you are susceptible to visions. I most likely did not see either as I was awake both times. You never connected to Nagini's mind before this as she has not been in danger before while being a Horcrux.''

Harry leaned back into the couch, thinking about the implications of this. Did this mean that it could happen more often? And was it only with Nagini as she was a living horcrux as well, or would he suddenly start having dreams of those in inanimate objects too? He thought of the Locket-Horcrux, which he'd given back to Voldemort a while ago already. He honestly didn't really want to get visions of the one who had betrayed him so.

''What are you thinking about so deeply?''

''Oh, nothing,'' Harry hastened to say, not wanting to mention his problems with the Horcrux he'd kissed.

Voldemort was clearly less than impressed as he hissed out: ''I did not think that **lying** to each other would be allowed under our new circumstances.''

''It's not… argh, you make it sound really bad! Look, not all lies are bad per se, okay? There are white lies and omissions and other things like that.''

''Ah,'' Voldemort commented, unconvinced. ''I fail to see why you would use those. If one of my followers would-''

''But I'm not your follower anymore, I'm your friend who is asking you to trust him on this, okay?'' After the previous topic, Harry did not think it would be a brilliant idea to let Voldemort know that he'd locked lips with one of the man's Horcruxes.

''How can you ask me to trust you when you do not trust me with the **truth**?''

Harry ran a hand across his face and groaned loudly. ''Sometimes the truth isn't necessary to know at a certain point in time. Or at all! Remember when sometime after you came to your senses, way back when, I'd seen into your head that you liked it when I held you in your rudimentary form? I was embarrassed by having seen that, and you practically tried to torture me into telling you cause you thought I was hiding some vital info! That was a truth that I still wish I hadn't been made to say out loud.''

''So it is something embarrassing?'' Voldemort pressed on.

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. ''Yes, actually. Please, can we drop it?'' Voldemort scowled, looking offended. ''I need to return soon,'' Harry softly stated. ''Sorry, I really did not want to leave on a bad note… Can I try to make up for it tomorrow?''

Angry zaps of magic shot through the room, so Harry almost thought that he'd ruined his own plans until Voldemort stiffly spoke: ''If it pleases you to visit me again, you may do so. I'll be here. Any particular time I can expect you?''

Harry exhaled slowly in relief that he had not screwed up his chance to return on Voldemort's birthday. ''Maybe around ten in the evening?''

Voldemort frowned and cocked his head. ''It will be New Year's Eve, don't you have other friends who are just **dying** to celebrate that with you?'' Despite everything, Harry was slightly happy about the amount of jealousy that dripped from the man's words.

''In fact, I do. I already was asked by the Weasleys,'' he spoke with no small amount of satisfaction. ''I told them no.'' The shock that crashed into him made him jump slightly. ''I'd rather spend it with you,'' he meekly added to ensure Voldemort that he was sincere. ''I told everyone that I'd be spending it with another friend as I missed last New Year's Eve with them.'' Harry was careful to not take the word 'birthday' in his mouth, as he wanted it to be a surprise that he even knew about it. Voldemort did not look like a person who threw a birthday party, so he did not want to make it uncomfortable.

''I won't have fireworks, or any of that other Muggle nonsense,'' Voldemort warned him still. ''Barty isn't here either. And I already told you that there is no magical significance to the day, so if you were hoping for another ritual, you are out of luck.''

''You're not going to convince me otherwise,'' Harry said, trying not to grin at the Dark Lord's attempts to dissuade him. ''I didn't want to visit for fireworks, or Barty, or rituals. I want to visit **you**.''

''In that case, do so at your own risk,'' came the reserved reply. It did not discourage Harry at all, who got up from the couch. ''As you were half asleep before we sat down here, you didn't give me a welcome hug,'' he grinned, trying to see how far he could push the other now that he'd managed to throw Voldemort off. ''It would be polite to remedy that now.''

He relished in the mixture of disbelief, exasperation and gratitude that wrapped around him as Voldemort got to his feet as well, and Harry sighed contently as he was allowed to wrap his arms around the man and held on tight for a minute. It was a good thing that no-one could interfere with Voldemort's morals on hugs with consent laws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, in which Harry and Voldemort grow a bit closer again, and finally have a fresh start. (yes I know, wow, they are finally friends after 61 chapters :P) The next chapter will mainly focus on New Year's Eve and the remaining holidays, before we finally head back to Hogwarts again to pick up some plotlines!
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> \- The song that Barty and Sirius sing is a winter solstice prayer from the Carmina Gadelica Vol III, no 317.
> 
> \- I mainly included the whole legal stuff because some people who left comments seemed to be confused about when they would/could get together, as I said up front that I did not want this relationship to be underage. As this story plays in Britain, I will stick with british law for the definition of 'underage', as it is different in each country. In my own country, 16 is a bit of a grey area, with permission needed of legal guardians and such to marry someone over 18 for example, with no max age specified (so not entirely forbidden either).  
As with the drinking laws, this again reflects the state of law in 1995, not currently. Right now, the age of consent in Britain is 16 for everyone regardless of gender. The Northern-Irish law of seventeen was reverted again, and there is no differentiation anymore between hetero- or homosexual intercourse.  
I hope that clears some things up :)
> 
> Please Read and leave a comment!  
xx GeMerope


	62. Fireworks

The coldest month in over a decade went out with a blast, the front garden of the Weasleys covered in frosty bushes and sheet ice that had formed from puddles of previously melted snow. Inside, nothing of that could be felt. Even if the whole house wouldn't be covered in comfy warming charms, the number of people and their boisterous energy made up for the dark outside world. Sirius hadn't thought he'd ever get used to the company of other people so much after his period of isolation. He'd been mistaken. The affection of these people was contagious. It only served as an even harsher reminder of that now, he was betraying everything they stood for. He wondered how Harry did it, who was chatting away with Ron, Fred and George in front of the fireplace as if nothing was wrong in the world.

It had taken some convincing to get Harry to agree to come here after all despite declining Molly's offer yesterday, and Sirius had to promise multiple times that it was not a trick to get the teen to stay past ten o' clock in the evening. Personally, he couldn't fathom why Harry was so insistent on spending this day with Voldemort of all people. The Dark Lord was not exactly the most approachable or festive person. Even celebrating Yule had been focused around honouring magic, not enjoying the company of other people. Harry had insisted that he somehow owed the man for not celebrating his birthday last year while receiving birthday gifts himself, but Sirius somehow did not get the feeling that Harry did it out of a sense of duty.

He had mixed feelings now about his godson's involvement with the Dark Lord. Clearly, Voldemort had done much for Harry, going out of his way to ensure that the teen was protected and healthy, going so far as to take him away from those abusive Muggles and cover the boy in protective spells. On the other hand, he too had a game going on, Sirius could recognise that by the way that Harry had complained about being made to do things he didn't want. Sirius feared that once Harry's usefulness would run out, Voldemort would turn on the boy and show the cruel sides he undoubtedly had. Even James and Lily had been afraid of that in death.

He closed his eyes briefly and recalled their faces that he'd seen in the memory. Even after replaying it in his head time and time again today, he could find no falsity in it. Harry's memory had not been manipulated, nor had the ritual been a sham going by everything he knew about dark magic - which was much more than he would ever let anyone suspect.

The chime of a clock rang out, and Sirius looked up at it, slightly nervous. Half past nine now… in less than thirty minutes, he'd have to say goodbye to his godson again and hope Harry would return safely tomorrow morning. It was nerve-wrecking that Harry not only wanted to visit, but also planned on staying the night in that house, until at least breakfast.

''Harry dear,'' Molly spoke up, a broad smile on her face. ''We were planning on cutting the cake at midnight, but as you need to leave early, I thought we'd do it now so that you can bring a piece for your friend as well!'' Sirius involuntarily snorted, which hopefully no-one seemed to have heard. Harry reddened and started to stutter something about how he didn't think it was necessary. ''No no, I insist!'' Molly continued, waving her hands. ''I can't let one of my guests leave with empty hands! Besides, what is a birthday without some home-made cake?''

''Err, thanks,'' Harry mumbled as the woman quickly went to the kitchen and returned with two large pieces of a heavenly-looking chocolate cake. In his personal opinion, Sirius did not think that Voldemort was worth giving this away to, but he could hardly voice that thought.

Instead, he approached Harry and said with an innocent tone: ''Are you going to tell him just who made that?''

Would Voldemort really accept goods that came from blood-traitors? The other Weasleys seemed confused a bit at the words, whereas Harry only threw him a grin back. ''Of course, and if he doesn't like that, I'll happily watch him suffer by eating both pieces in front of him.''

''Why would your friend not like it?'' Fred asked sharply, clearly getting defensive of his mother.

Harry shrugged helplessly. ''He's a bit… peculiar. Hung out with bad friends in his youth and such, swallowed some Slytherin crap. I still somehow have to convince him that all people are born equal. I've made some good progress on that though.''

''Right, **he** had bad friends,'' Sirius muttered under his breath. Harry either didn't hear it or didn't deem it worthy of a reaction.

The topic slowly returned to Quidditch and racing brooms, which all participants were quite engaged in. Sirius gradually relaxed again and put his worries aside, trying to catch up on everything he'd missed while stuck in prison and Grimmauld place. The teams hadn't really changed, but their reputation had, and rumours had it that a new racing broom would soon come on the market, which was supposed to become as much of a game changer as the Firebolt had been.

''Course, it needs to get past all restrictions first, and since **Percy** works in-'' Ron broke off his sentence as he got two death glares from the Twins. Sirius had almost forgotten that their older brother was a taboo topic since Percy left during summer over opposing political ideals. Sirius himself was in two minds about it, as he'd never really liked the Ministry, but could also understand from a personal perspective how a fundamental difference in ideals could break up a family. Trying to avoid that with Harry was one of the reasons why he was in his current situation. Arthur and Molly did not have it so easy, as breaking away from Dumbledore like Percy wanted would then go against the beliefs of their **other** children.

At least Percy hadn't really caused trouble other than ignore invitations and sending no more than some rather tasteless white flowers while Arthur was in the hospital. Sirius hoped that it would not escalate when the Order would take on a more active role. The longer Voldemort did not make a move, the more agitated all members became, and the more likely an explosive action could occur. The Ministry would not like that at all, no matter for which purpose…

Too soon, it was time for Harry to leave, and with a quick, maybe slightly too desperate hug, Sirius watched his godson disappear in green flames. Harry had told him that Voldemort's house was not connected to any Floo network, so he was first going back to Grimmauld place and pick up the present before using a Portkey. It was rather disturbing that Harry had been granted a personal Portkey to summon himself to the Dark Lord's side… Sirius cheered himself up with the fact that it at least meant that Harry did not have a Dark Mark tattooed on his arm.

Fred, George and Ginny got up and moved to the kitchen, as they were arguing about cookie flavours and wanted to ask their mother for some last-minute changes - which Sirius knew was going to be fruitless, which Molly's own children really should know by now – and only Ron remained, who was staring at the fireplace with a frown.

''Not sure how I feel about Harry leaving to go to that psycho instead,'' he commented softly. Sirius almost had a whiplash at the words, staring at Ron. Hadn't Harry said that his friends didn't know yet? Maybe he hadn't understood that correctly…

''I agree completely,'' he hastened to say. ''I'm rather worried.''

''You too huh… I don't get why Harry would rather spend time with someone who clearly doesn't appreciate him instead of us.''

Sirius hummed, glad that he wasn't the only one with these thoughts. ''I don't get it either. I feel that Harry is getting played. Only a few days ago, the kiddo had an outburst about how much of a manipulative arse he is, and now insists on celebrating his birthday?'' Sirius almost said 'Voldemort', but his tongue somehow twisted itself as he tried that, probably a result of the silencing contract that left him unable to mention the Dark Lord to anyone not explicitly stated as 'safe'.

''Right, I don't understand at all,'' Ron groaned. ''And between you and me, I don't feel too comfortable with it, which is why Harry usually goes to Hermione for advice. I wonder if that was a mistake. But both times that Harry has spoken really openly about it, he burst out crying, so… yeah… I'm not good with crying people.''

Sirius narrowed his eyes. ''He made Harry **cry**?''

Ron shrugged. ''It's no wonder. I mean, they're not really compatible, are they? Haven't met him personally, but just from Harry's words, I can't see this going well.''

''I **have** met him personally, and I can confirm your words,'' Sirius growled lowly.

Ron sat up straighter. ''You've met him? Honestly?''

''Just a couple of days ago,'' he affirmed. ''Not a pleasant experience, I tell you.''

''So you know who it is?''

Sirius blinked. That question somehow seemed off. ''Sorry?'' he asked, confused. ''What do you mean 'who it is'?''

''Harry only ever talked about 'the guy he has a crush on', he never mentioned an actual name,'' Ron grinned helplessly. The grin slid off slowly, probably because Sirius suddenly felt as if he had no control over his frozen face anymore. **Crush**?

''I…'' he croaked. ''I think I need to go. See if I can catch Harry still before he leaves. I forgot something.''

He practically stormed towards the fireplace, ignoring Molly's yelling about also taking some cake with him. After some fumbling with the Floo powder and a string of curse words, Sirius finally arrived at his home, howling in frustration when finding it empty already. Harry would have something to answer for when he came home, that was for sure.

XxX

Completely oblivious to having just missed his furious godfather, Harry blinked against the bright light that stung his eyes upon arrival. It appeared that the bitter winter had made Voldemort relinquish to his preference for heat over his fondness of darkness. Bubble dimension or not, the weather here was still the same as outside unless Voldemort would change it with weather magic himself. The man in question sat on the floor, studying rolls of parchment that had been scattered across the low coffee table. Pleasant waves of magic rolled through the air, indicating that Voldemort was is a neutral mood, completely focused on work. Had he even realised the time?

The Dark Lord's head shot up as Harry cleared his throat. ''You came,'' he stated with slight surprise.

''I promised,'' Harry answered, and moved closer. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to sit on the floor next to Voldemort, setting his bag aside to not instantly draw attention to it. ''You are working on a day like this?''

The other pulled what looked like a map closer. ''After those hectic days, I need to catch up. Both my Death Eaters and staff cannot be left unsupervised. Barty did a decent job managing the newspapers at least, but my followers do not respect him enough to take orders. There have not been enough battles to prove his mettle in, in their eyes. The raids on the slave auctions were all quick and lethal, not exactly filled with glorious duels. To be prepared for the year to come, I have to get focused again myself and take the reigns.''

''Are you at least rested now?'' Harry asked in worry, thinking of how exhausted Voldemort had looked before.

The man grunted. ''Decently, the potion's after-effects are wearing off. It will still take a couple of days until I am physically as well as before, which I cannot wait for.''

''I admire how much of a workaholic you are, but setbacks in your health aren't going to help anyone,'' Harry sighed. ''No-one is expecting you to reveal your next grand plans on today of all days.'' Daringly, the teen resolutely started putting the sheets of parchment into a pile without being asked to.

''I told you, there is nothing special about New Year's Eve,'' Voldemort sneered, grasping Harry's wrist tightly to hinder him from continuing.

Harry met Voldemort's irritated look and raised an eyebrow. ''Is the date on which a Lord of Magic was born not significant enough to celebrate?'' he spoke, unironically.

Harry's arm was released so abruptly that the Gryffindor had to supress the urge to check if his skin had suddenly grown slimy tentacles. ''True, Dumbledore showed you those memories…'' the man hissed. ''I wasn't born into my role, your argument is invalid.''

For someone who was so egotistic, Voldemort was sure making a big deal of not celebrating. The teen didn't really understand, as Voldemort didn't appear to have something against birthdays in general, giving Harry gifts and even a trip to France, albeit it connected to work. Harry tried to think of multiple ways to tread around the topic without making it awkward. None of them were really his style. ''Do you dislike your birthday?'' he thus bluntly asked. It was probably a good thing that the present he'd bought was still in the bag. If Voldemort really had something against it, Harry wasn't going to force him to accept gifts.

The Dark Lord was silent for a while, staring at the fire, which made his ruby eyes flicker in a way that gave the illusion of actual flames dancing in his eyes. It was no wonder that so many people would be scared to death when even catching a glimpse of Voldemort. Harry tried to rather concentrate on the emotions that he was able to grasp, a strange twisting of discomfort. ''This day has meant different things to me at different points in time, rarely did it leave a positive impression. You know where I grew up, and when. In a time of turmoil and later war, Muggles did not have much time to celebrate any birthdays, least of all of the child they were most afraid of. At Hogwarts, it was much the same at first, until I gained popularity and this day became one on which I would be overloaded with superficial gifts of people who hoped to grow close to me. That was one of the reasons why I did not disclose this information anymore after I graduated, preferring to have my peace. That then became a habit. Not even Nagini knows my birth date.''

Not sure what to do with this information, Harry reached out and lightly placed his fingers on Voldemort's. ''I'm sorry that I found out without your permission,'' he said, retreating after a few seconds as the Dark Lord did not react.

''I fully blame Dumbledore, not you.'' The man heaved a deep sigh. ''Is that why you insisted on visiting me today?''

Scratching his head awkwardly, Harry admitted: ''Yeah, actually. It's just that… you gave me gifts these past two years and I never repaid you in kind as last year, I didn't yet know when you'd been born.. I never imagined that you'd have something against celebrating since you… well, since you're you.''

''Is this yet another way of saying that I think the world revolves around me?'' Voldemort asked dryly.

''How perceptive of you,'' Harry grinned. Was the other finally learning to pick up on hints?

The Dark Lord hummed and turned back to staring at the fire for a while, his emotions shifting, to Harry's surprise, into something far more pleasant. ''None of my previous reasoning applies when it comes to you, does it? You couldn't care less about currying favour with me, nor do you think I am a monster.'' The word was spoken so pensively that Harry's heart quenched. He did not think that Voldemort referred to the view any enemies from the previous war had for the Dark Lord's actual horrible deeds. No, it was stated like a fact by someone who had heard it so often that it had been ingrained in their very being, and Harry knew all too well the kind of people who would have called a much younger Tom Riddle that. Rarely did Harry wish harm on people, but he now sincerely hoped that Mrs Cole and her entire orphanage were burned to the ground.

He did face an internal moral debate however. Going by stories he'd heard, of the Dark Lord dehumanising people and bringing down terror upon an entire country with his war and hatred against those of 'lesser blood', Harry could not lie and say that Voldemort had never been a monster. The blood on his hands, the trail of pain that Voldemort had left in two generations, was not something that should be simply forgotten. Denying it would not improve future actions, as history often repeated itself. Yet that also did not take away from the fact that the man had changed both goals and methods and was constantly trying his hardest to save their society any way he thought was needed. Neither did it change the fact that Voldemort had not been born evil, and the path he'd taken was an accumulation of tragic events that could have been avoided. If the Wizarding world would have not already been so prejudiced. If he would have grown up anywhere else. If Dumbledore would not have let the assumptions about Parseltongue cloud his judgement from the very first day…

''You were not born a monster,'' Harry settled on saying. ''But you were born with a great amount of magic, so no matter when you were chosen as a Lord, you were special enough from the start that you would grow to become one no matter what.''

Special… the one childhood wish that Voldemort had wished to be confirmed and was denied. Being unique, standing out in any way he could… If Harry was good enough in judging the man's character, he could imagine that this was a craving that had started even before the desire to become immortal. His words had the desired effect, Voldemort's magic grew heavier, pressing yet comfortable, like a thick duvet that smothered you with its warmth.

''I suppose I wouldn't mind celebrating,'' Voldemort whispered. His eyes flicked over the bag that still lay innocently at Harry's side.

Supressing a smile, the teen took it and first withdrew the now slightly squashed pieces of chocolate cake. ''Not sure if you like sweets, but this was made by one of the best home bakers I know. Of course, you'll first have to swallow that this came from the Weasleys…''

''You stole this for me?'' Voldemort inquired.

''What? Why would I **steal** cake?'' Harry asked, baffled. ''Mrs Weasley is incredibly generous and insisted that I bring two pieces, one for me and one for my friend.''

''She doesn't know who I am. She would gain nothing from it.'' The frustration was both tangible and audible.

Harry tried to patiently remind himself that this was Voldemort's birthday and releasing a loud, suffering sigh was not going to make anything easier. ''They're Gryffindors, just please accept that Gryffindors don't have this equal-exchange system in place that your House has.'' Although the Dark Lord raised a disbelieving eyebrow, he quietly accepted that explanation and drew his wand to transfigure two blank sheets of parchment into plates.

''Considering how much ground my plans are gaining whereas the Order remains ignorant, it seems fitting that my enemies would feed me on the day that celebrates my prolonged existence,'' he gleefully stated, making matching silver forks appear. Harry admired the detail on them, a pattern of crisscrossing fine lines giving more grip on the handle. ''And I do enjoy chocolate, although bitter is preferable to sweet,'' he added, a fact that Harry filed away for future use. With his other hand, Voldemort summoned a glass and a bottle of wine from the cupboard, which poured itself. Harry didn't need to be asked whether he wanted some as well.

Not wanting to look cheap by only giving something that came from other people, Harry then withdrew the present, which he'd wrapped in light blue paper. After a bit of debating, he'd decided to take a gamble and not go with traditional Slytherin colours. From bits and pieces that he'd picked up from their dreams, Voldemort appeared to have a fondness for blue. The Dark Lord carefully took the offered package and looked it over. ''Perhaps I sometimes underestimate how observant you can be.''

''It's because half of the time, I have a brick in front of my face,'' Harry grinned, thrilled that he'd guessed right. ''But I have my moments.'' Long nails hooked under the folds and slit the paper open clean as if using a letter opener, a movement which Harry couldn't pull his eyes away from. So that was why Regulus had complained about scratches. Voldemort's hands were almost as deadly as his wand was. Good to keep in mind… Harry forced himself to pull his eyes away from the man's slender fingers and instead look at his face when the paper was pulled off and red eyes scanned the cover of the book.

''Tolkien?'' the man muttered in surprise, instantly opening the book and reading the table of contents. ''This is…'' he fell silent, leaning back so his back hit the couch. At first, Harry thought that Voldemort was simply still looking through the book, but as minutes passed, it became apparent that the Dark Lord was fully concentrating on the story - or first story? Hermione had mentioned something about it being a collection, Harry hadn't really checked before wrapping it up. Not wanting to disturb the other, Harry leaned back too and relished in the feel of magic around and the taste of chocolate in his mouth as he shovelled more of Molly's cake in.

Something caught his attention as he sat there, a few swirling shapes on what looked like white fog that drifted from one corner of the room to the fireplace and back. It didn't look like Voldemort's magic, and he wondered what it was. Over the crackling of the fireplace, it was almost as if whispers came from that side of the room too. Dismissing it as another oddity of magic, Harry instead started to sneakily glance over to Voldemort, who appeared entirely engaged in the story, his face wearing an expression of full concentration. He turned the pages with the flick of a finger while sipping from the glass he held in his other hand. Now and then, the fork levitated upwards with pieces of cake until the slice was gone. Harry was immensely glad that he'd been allowed to visit today. There was nothing quite like sitting alone in a room with the person you had feelings for.

''Evan, you're distracting me,'' Voldemort muttered suddenly, not looking up.

It took a moment of frantic wondering what he'd done, before Harry embarrassedly realised that the link went both ways. As if it was his fault that whenever he looked at Voldemort, it felt as if there was a dragon breathing fire in his chest! ''Are you going to read the whole night?'' he asked to distract the other.

''As per your advice, I am not working anymore,'' the man pointed out. ''And books are meant to be read. Unless you have another enlightening suggestion?''

''Oh, errr… I had been hoping to… talk a bit? I still had a few questions…''

''When do you not,'' Voldemort muttered, though he closed the book and laid it on the table. ''Your gift is very thoughtful,'' he mentioned. ''I was not aware that more had been written about this universe, and it is interesting to see that it is not so much an adventure story this time as a description of events. Literary, a fascinating piece. I can't imagine that you would enjoy reading it, how did you come across this?''

''Hermione knew about it,'' Harry spoke in honesty. ''I told her about your taste in books and wanted to find something similar.'' He'd expected the other to sneer at the mention of Hermione, Voldemort hadn't seemed to like it when mentioning the girl before. Once again, he was left wondering what was going on in Voldemort's head as the Dark Lord only nodded.

''Finding the best sources of knowledge available to you to solve a problem is an intelligent thing to do. Granger is useful, isn't she? Is that why she is your friend?''

Harry couldn't help chuckling now at Voldemort's attempt to pick apart Harry's relationships. ''Honestly, I disliked her a lot at first, but then Ron made her cry and got her in a very dangerous position where she could have died. Actually, you were there, weren't you? The troll incident in my first year.''

''Granger mentioned that she went to search for it. Even in my weakened state, I could detect that that was a lie, yet I never knew the full story.''

''The first time she lied to a teacher,'' Harry smugly said. ''And an experience that she, Ron and I bonded over. I figured that I had misjudged Hermione's character. She was only annoying in class because she honestly appreciated having magic and the knowledge she could gain at Hogwarts. I was a stupid kid not to see that, along with the rest of my class. She became my friend because I found out that she's a likeable person, it has nothing to do with whether she is useful or not. At first, we mostly grew closer because there weren't a lot of other people willing to give her a chance and we hung out and talked a lot. Later, I fully came to appreciate who she is at a person: passionate about topics that are important to her, caring about other people and a driving force behind getting me out of the trouble I usually find myself in.'' Once again, Voldemort did not react negatively, and Harry really did wonder what the man's problem had been with previous mentions of Hermione.

''You seem to know your friends well.''

''That's… kind of one of the points of friendship. When you like other people, you naturally try to get to know them better.''

The other hummed noncommittedly. ''You get along well with Barty, do you not? Would you say that you know him well enough to suggest a gift?'' Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd expected Voldemort to know one of his most loyal followers' tastes well enough. Barty practically followed Voldemort around like a puppy. The other interpreted his expression correctly, as he continued: ''I theoretically know what Barty wants, but he always speaks of long-term goals. Ending corruption, realising my own plans… occasionally I have gifted him a feel of my magic and once the death of his father, but I was thinking of something a tad… grander. He has faced the scorn of my other followers for staying here and taking care of me more than going out and taking on an active role. Most of his missions have been covert, single operations. Still, he has done splendid work handling the hospital issues and gathering all data I needed for publishing this scandal. Barty is a man of few needs though, so I can't imagine what would be fitting.''

''Not something material, that's for sure,'' Harry said. ''Honestly, what instantly comes to mind is simply your admiration. Yes, he is here because of your goals, but far more than that, he's here for **you** as a person. You're the first who ever saw Barty for who he was, made a large impression on him as a child and personally ensured that he was freed from the clutches of his father. Being recognised by you is all he'd want. If you want to make it grand… why not knock down two Chasers with one Bludger and use this as an opportunity to increase his standing among your other followers at the same time?''

''Giving him a new position for example?'' Voldemort mused, stroking his chin. ''That could work. I could gather all of my current Death Eaters in a ceremony to appoint Barty as my official right hand. He's done enough to earn that.''

''Did you ever have a right hand?'' Harry wondered out loud.

''Informally, I had a few through the years, yes. For his experience and influence, Abaraxas Malfoy was my first. After that, I took on Bellatrix as a student and there was a bit of rivalry between her and Lucius for the position for a few years before my demise. In practice, she supported me most on battlefields, whereas Lucius handled the political aspects. It does not seem fitting to grant him this title after he denounced my name however, and Bella is in prison. He's back in my good graces since Lucius played such a large role in getting rid of the slave auctions and housing the many beings and beasts that came from there, but I can never trust him fully again.''

''I was honestly a bit surprised to hear about Bellatrix,'' Harry spoke with a tad of hesitance. ''All of your other followers are male, are they not?''

Voldemort let out a displeased noise. ''It is true that there is quite a disparity, although Bellatrix was not my only female follower. Not by my choice. Magic does not differentiate between gender or race, only society does. The early separation of girl and boy dorms at Hogwarts and the culture of early marriage and expected roles in Pureblood families made it difficult for women to join actively in the war. Most who did join my ranks were half-bloods for this reason, and I could not allow those in my inner circle if I wished to uphold the ideals of my earliest and closest followers then. It's a different story now, as I will slowly try to abolish those ideals-''

''You will?'' Harry interrupted, sitting more upright. ''That's the first I hear of that! I mean, you told me that you personally don't believe in blood prejudice anymore, but I didn't know you'd finally try to convince your followers of that as well.''

Voldemort frowned. ''This should not surprise you so much. As I stated several times, Pureblood ideology was useful propaganda for the last war, but without open fighting, I can and will need people on board that are part of a broader spectrum. Hiding behind several personas, the first of them being Noctua and the second being the leader of the Hand of Magic, will enable me to enlist all kinds of mages. It is only Muggles whom we need to fear, and in part the influence that they bring into the world with the ignorance of Muggleborns. By ingraining those from a young age into our society too in the end, it will be useful to have less exclusivity. Hierarchy certainly, but casting them out altogether would decrease our population far too much. Once we separate ourselves, Half-bloods should become non-existent after all, and Muggleborns would be the only ones bringing in new magical blood and abilities, increasing our numbers.''

''Have you told any of your followers of this?''

The man chuckled. ''Of course not, we are far from that point. Gradually changing their ideas is more successful than to risk losing them over such a mundane matter. I haven't forgotten how quick Rosier was to turn on me for accepting you into my ranks. Announcing that other Half-bloods and under certain conditions even Muggleborns are acceptable company would uproot their fundamental beliefs. At least, this is what I have gathered from your explanation yesterday.''

At that sentence, Harry narrowed his eyes. ''One second. Since when exactly have you planned this all out?''

''The overall idea since before resurrecting. Considering Muggleborns, I had a couple of plans ready, depending on what would happen. If you are inquiring about my decision on how to handle breaking this news to my followers, then the answer would be today. Your words solved a dilemma I have had for a while on how to handle several facets of the problems that will arise when splitting off our society from the Muggle world. Originally, it had been my idea to reveal myself to a greater number of dark families around Ostara, when the new generation is also home for the holidays, and announce some of my plans. I have now realised that I'll need to be more subtle. You were correct, everyone has different motives for joining me, and while they may overlook some matters such as giving more rights to creatures in order to be able to practice all magic freely again, admitting that I used their own agenda against them for so long would be dangerous. I cannot count on my magic-given authority alone. While I certainly will show that I have returned, trickling information in slowly will be more effective.''

''Yeah, dark and light mages fighting is already bad enough, an uprising against you by families that were supposedly already on your side would be awful,'' Harry agreed. ''To get back on Muggleborns… I realise that during all this time, you've revealed very little to me about your thoughts on them, other than that you want to kidnap them from their parents as soon as you find out they are magical… which I still think is an utterly horrible idea.''

''Why?'' Voldemort sharply spoke. ''You know better than most wizards how it is to be a magical child in the Muggle world. You were feared, misunderstood and hurt. Only to then be dropped into the magical world without any knowledge.''

''You and me both,'' Harry calmly spoke. ''And still, we both adapted, pretty much left the Muggle world behind as soon as we could. Admittedly, I might have wanted to have more contact if my family had raised me in a loving home instead, but a lot of Muggleborns and Half-Bloods **do** have that. And when it comes to adapting… well, I'm sure it was easier for me than for future children if our cultures will drift apart again, but it's not like we're entirely different species – that's my opinion,'' Harry said as Voldemort scoffed. ''Look, I fully agree with you that something needs to be done about Muggles mistreating magical children, and also about the knowledge aspect, but you're instantly grasping for the most extreme option! Surely, there are milder alternatives! Where would all those Muggleborns even go to? In Britain alone, there are several born each year, you won't find adoptive families for them all. I doubt that you of all people are looking to open an orphanage!''

Voldemort physically flinched at that, making Harry instantly feel like a horrible person. ''I'm sorry,'' he mumbled. ''I'm just afraid that it'll end up like that. With the hatred against Muggleborns, I doubt many Purebloods will look forward to taking them in either.''

''Why do you think that I wish to publish these articles on how Muggleborns are treated?'' Voldemort asked in a tight voice.

Harry blinked. ''Err, same as with the hospitals, right? To make the Ministry look bad for covering up something like that, for caring more about peace than justice? To in the end have this help you in your campaign to be picked as the best candidate if you offer a solution that they couldn't?''

''That too, of course,'' the man conceded. ''However, that is not all. Right now, Purebloods see Muggleborns as the enemy. I want to show them that magical children left with Muggles are victims more than anything, to increase sympathy for them and motivate Pure-bloods to save them. That is also why I want your voice to back this up, to show that even a child considered a hero in our world was nothing more than a punching bag to a couple of hateful Muggles who were terrified of magic.''

The way it was put made the teen flinch. Harry wasn't entirely sure if he should be happy about being asked to show his weakness and play the victim, though he also couldn't' say that the image was untrue. ''There will be backlash against that narrative from Muggleborns who **do** have great and accepting parents,'' Harry warned. ''And I honestly can't say whether those are a minority or a majority. I don't think even you know that. You're making a whole lot of assumptions. Yes, the documentation that you showed me of this happening to other children was horrible, but these cases were from all across Europe in the span of decades.''

Voldemort did not appear convinced, so the Gryffindor continued: ''All I am saying is, maybe consider alternatives for both types of Muggleborns. Screen the parents, see if they are likely to become violent and only take the children away from those who would. With Legilimency and truth serum available, that shouldn't be too difficult, right? And for those with parents who are supportive, offer resources so that when they do enter our world, they're prepared? It would also solve the problem of some jobs no longer being necessary, like the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. All professions that have something to do with connecting to the Muggle world are likely to become redundant in a mostly cut-off society. But the people now working in those positions are exactly the ones that could interact with the Muggle parents of magical children,'' he proposed, thinking of Arthur Weasley.

''I will… think about it,'' Voldemort spoke, rubbing his face. ''Unsolicited though your advice may be, you mentioned certain points that I could work with. We shall speak more of this in the coming month, either through the mirrors or during night-time. News about the hospitals is wearing off fast as the Ministries are not going to find a solution and they cannot simply shut down all magical hospitals across the world either. I need to move onto a new point of focus at the end of January at the latest, to have that be on the forefront of people's minds still once I reveal my presence to more potential followers.''

''How are the previous projects doing by the way? What happened with all the beings and beasts? I only know that some centaurs returned to their herds..''

''Most of them live in groups, so much the same,'' Voldemort spoke. ''My followers helped them reconnect to their lost family and friends to get them back where they belonged, of course under certain silencing contracts and other restrictions. I don't want a number of rogue Vampires for example to start killing off humans as further revenge, nor do I wish for my name to be leaked out to the magical community. They are only able to speak of it to those of their same kind for example, and limited to a small number. Additionally, I put heightened measures in place for werewolves as they are human for most of the month and I know Dumbledore has contacts to some. In either case, they are doing well, licking their wounds. I can count on their support in the future, as you have seen.''

''Right… and otherwise?'' Harry enquired, wanting to pry some information out of the Dark Lord now that he still had the chance for a lengthy one on one conversation that wouldn't be interrupted by him waking up or people entering the dorms.

Voldemort gave Harry a pensive look. ''Do you expect me to reveal all of my plans in detail to you now because of our new status?'' he asked. ''Is that included in this new deal?''

''Erhm, not necessarily,'' Harry hastily spoke. He didn't want to give Voldemort the feeling that he was using this new phase in their relationship as a means to get access to info he would have been denied otherwise. ''If you feel uncomfortable revealing something to me, you have no obligation to tell me, I'm simply asking you. Although I'd like to add that if it's something that could concern me, I'd like to know now instead of finding out later.''

The other looked affronted. ''What plans concerned you, I have been open about.''

Harry bit his lip, wondering if today was really the best time to possibly devolve into an argument. Still, after all the infuriatingly vague hints of Dumbledore, he had to finally get some concrete information. ''Even about the Prophecy?'' he thus asked. Instantly, the mood shifted, the room becoming colder and Voldemort's magic started to withdraw.

''I gave a summary of the incomplete information I have,'' Voldemort snarled back, standing up and retreating to the couch, glaring down on Harry, who did not back down.

''Yes, a summary which states I have the power to destroy you. It was important enough to you back then to try to kill me over,'' Harry reminded the man sharply. ''I have been grateful for your hesitance to do so again, but you said that you were waiting until you had more information, and I cannot believe that during all your research into various subjects, you found nothing new. I find it strange that you have lost interest in this thing altogether. Especially as you told me that only two copies exist: one in Dumbledore's hands and one in the Ministry of Magic, where Nagini happened to be last week.''

''Ah, so that is where your insecurity comes from,'' Voldemort spoke, relaxing again. After a few moments, he said: ''I knew that Dumbledore would have the same line of thought as you do now, that I would not be able to wait to finally know the full Prophecy. By sending Nagini there, and have a few of my men wandering those corridors at times, I played into Dumbledore's beliefs to have him waste resources by sending teams to guard a place that did not need it.''

''A distraction.''

''Exactly. It was more effective than I had hoped for, as it turned into this fiasco. I needed to have him focus on something, as he knows better than that I would sit idly by. I thought that the ruse of me being after the Prophecy and in turn after you, would be more believable than the truth: that I am not only focusing on Britain, nor am I starting another open war.''

''Did you ever find out more information on the Prophecy though?''

Voldemort shook his head. ''There are only four sources: both copies, the memory of Dumbledore and the one of the Seer. Of those, I can only imagine that getting access to the Seer would be easy under normal circumstances. However, Severus disclosed to me that she is a permanent resident of Hogwarts, even during summer holidays. If I could find a way to get in there, I might as well break into the Headmaster's office.''

''You do realise that **I** have access to her, yes?'' Harry asked. ''I even take her class, and she is pretty obsessed with predicting my death every couple of weeks. Although it's gotten less since Umbridge is in the castle. Umbridge hates Trelawney and put her on probation. As it is no secret that that toad hates me with a passion, my Divination lessons have gotten bearable. Also, Severus is there, I'm sure she would stand no chance against his Legilimency.''

The Dark Lord sighed. ''Why are you trying to make it easier for me to gain access to it?'' he asked irritably. ''Evan, in the end it would not matter what it says, since it is a fact that you are my Horcrux. Killing you is detrimental. Back when I first heard the Prophecy, I found that you were an unnecessary risk. Now… you are so much more than simply a threat. There are many other factors to consider.'' There was a slight tremor in Voldemort's voice that Harry wasn't sure if he imagined. ''Let me ask you instead… if this prophecy foretold that you will kill me… would you listen to it? Would you try?''

''Of course not!'' he spoke with more strength than he'd expected his voice to produce. Voldemort was afraid of that **Harry** would go after **him**? That was laughable. The Gryffindor had had so many opportunities and couldn't go through with any of them, instead nursing the Dark Lord back to health and joining his cause.

Voldemort merely gave a sideway glance. ''You don't know that. New information, new perspectives can always change the way you think. As long as I know that you merely have the power to do so… it does not mean that you will. There are infinite possibilities still as to the true meaning of the sentences I know now. If it becomes a certainty…'' he breathed in slowly and exhaled through his nose, anxiety sparking in the air. ''The urge to eliminate you might take over,'' the man admitted softly. His sharp nails gleamed in the light of the fire as he involuntarily flexed his fingers, and a familiar feel of dark hunger was echoed into Harry's chest as Voldemort's thoughts turned to murder.

Harry knew that those words should have sparked fear in him. The furious expression before Voldemort had cast the Cruciatus curse only a few days ago came to mind, and yet he remained calm. If the other was actively avoiding the Prophecy in order to prevent **maybe** getting the urge to off Harry, then the teen doubted there would be any real threat. ''Don't forget,'' he said with a weak smile I order to lighten up their conversation. ''I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. I'll do my best to live up to that stupid title.'' When Voldemort did not react, Harry got up from the floor himself and sat next to the man, closer than was strictly appropriate. ''You can ask the Locket,'' Harry continued. ''Even trying to suppress me didn't work out quite like expected, due to the piece of your soul in me. Something can be said for that, can't it? In a way, you're always trying to keep me alive and safe. No sudden urges for bloodshed can change that.''

''I might ask,'' Voldemort said, finally looking him in the eyes again, where Harry instantly got lost. ''Admittedly, it does **love** talking about you.''

Harry's heart stuttered and his thoughts screeched to a halt as he took in that information. Naturally, he'd expected Voldemort to get some information out of the Locket, but as nothing had really been mentioned during their past talks, he'd imagined it to have been about the Lockets' motivations, or at most Hogwarts and its residents. ''You, you talked about **me** with it?'' he asked with rising distress. What the hell had the Locket said?

Pale lips stretched into a grin. Voldemort leaned closer, and Harry could smell the mixture of chocolate and tangy wine on his breath. ''Naturally, it is a part of myself after all. An annoying, misguided part that I am glad I don't have to deal with anymore, but a part nonetheless, one that took up all of your time in those months I could not reach you.'' Cold fingers came up to Harry's face and grasped his chin so he could not look away without actively breaking the grip. The instant their skin touched, magic surged through his body and Harry had a difficult time keeping his thoughts straight. Through their mental link, he could feel that it affected Voldemort as well. ''I admit, I wondered if you yourself would tell me everything that transpired between the two of you. Should I be di_sappointed that you did not? Was it too… embarrassing?_~ Harry's mouth dried out, and he didn't even know when exactly in that sentence Voldemort had switched to Parseltongue, only noticing that the last word was drawn out into a long hiss.

''You knew… all this time?'' he managed to utter with his sandpaper tongue, mortified. Here he thought that his stupid story about having snogged a Durmstrang student had actually worked… Had Voldemort been mocking him all those months, just like the Locket-Horcrux had done? The thought alone made him want to sink into the ground, but he couldn't muster up the energy to move an inch. Slowly, tendrils of magic materialised, flickering in the corners of his eyes as they encased the both of them in a dark fog.

_~Ah, Evan… I wish that I could tell you that I am not easy to fool, but I believed it for a short while, after I made Severus show me that memory the first time. Rage erased my rational sense. How elated I was when finding out that I had been mistaken.~ _Harry's eyes fell close and he shuddered in bliss as Voldemort pulled him close and cold fingertips brushed the bangs out of his face. The softly stroking finger pads were joined by something else that was just as cold and dry.

Only when Voldemort withdrew and the teen opened his eyes again, did Harry register that yes, the Dark Lord's lips had just been pressed against his scar. Completely frozen, he didn't know what to do. Harry had had so many daydreams and fantasies of moments like these, based partially on the diaries he'd read, yet never had he imagined that Voldemort would be so… careful and soft. Crimson eyes studied his reaction calculatingly, and the man started to withdraw, at which Harry finally sent a jolt through his body to prevent it, clinging on tighter. It felt as if his lungs were filled with the fog around them, electricity danced over his spine and Harry never wanted to lose this feeling of being alive.

''Sorry, I don't really know what to say. Or do,'' he choked out. ''Please just… give me a bit longer to figure it out?'' he whispered, burying his head in the silky robes that covered the man's chest. The only reply he received was the tightening of hard arms around him. Harry remained like that until his bones and muscles started protesting about the awkward position he was in. Even through the haze of overwhelming emotions and magic, he mustered up the courage to ask for clarification just in case he was reading too much into it. ''This kind of goes beyond friends a bit,'' Harry finally said, moving up to place his head on a bony shoulder instead.

''I realise,'' was the short answer.

''Oh,'' he only replied, still not knowing what to do. The initial feelings ebbed away a bit as their hug was prolonged and he had more space in his head to think. Only yesterday, he and Voldemort had spoken about the man's ex-lover and established that Harry was apparently too young for a relationship. So what the hell was this? ''I'm slightly confused how this fits in with our previous conversation about relationships,'' he admitted outright.

''That too, I realise,'' Voldemort sighed. ''Don't talk so much.''

''Oh **excuse** me,'' Harry muttered sarcastically. ''Of course I should absolutely not freak out over your mixed signals and the revelation that you've known for fucking months that I wanted to-'' A hand was clamped over his mouth and he glared at the other's stern face.

''I did not say anything before to prevent exactly this,'' Voldemort admitted, ''And I am right now trying to figure out if I should regret mentioning it more than I do.''

Gathering all of his willpower, Harry was the one to break contact and give Voldemort some space. ''Talking about it right now won't bring us many answers,'' he admitted quietly once he moved back enough to get rid of the hand in his face. ''I can feel that you're just as confused as I am now. Let's just… sleep on it, maybe?''

The Dark Lord agreed, and neither of them exchanged a word as Harry helped clean up all the scattered parchment. Voldemort carefully took the book that Harry had given him and put it on the side table next to the couch, a fancy bookmark sticking out from between the pages now. In silence, they went out of the room and walked down the corridor. Harry had the feeling that he'd lie awake all night worrying about that kiss if he went to his own room, but before he could carefully ask Voldemort to perhaps sleep next to each other with the offer of sending calming thoughts, the Dark Lord had disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door in front of Harry's face.

The teen sighed. ''Happy birthday anyways,'' he still muttered. ''And a Happy new Year.'' He then grinned wryly. ''I thought you'd said there wouldn't be fireworks.''

XxX

That had not gone as planned, Voldemort mused as he angrily undressed, cleaned his teeth and shoved Nagini out of the way so he could crawl in bed. He tried to ignore the whispered words from beyond the door, before he heard Harry shuffle away, first to the bathroom and then to his own bedroom. Nagini made a few unhappy noises about waking her, but soon cuddled up comfortably as he started stroking the top of her head. The Dark Lord tried to close off the connection that he and Harry shared as much as possible, not knowing how to handle the waves of anxiety and insecurity that Harry was sending out now. Surely, Harry was familiar enough with emotions and strong enough to deal with that on his own. Voldemort tried to turn his thoughts to other things, yet failed to do so, everything kept circling back to the past few hours.

In truth, he'd never wanted to reveal that he'd known Harry had kissed his Horcrux. He'd entertained the thought a few times, yet had decided against mentioning it to not make their situation more tense than need be. He couldn't tell why he had done so after all. Maybe there wasn't just a single cause. Both his and Harry's feelings had put him on edge as it was such unfamiliar territory, and having his birthday celebrated after many decades again had thrown him off even more. And then Harry had dropped the word 'Locket'…

The Dark Lord released a frustrated hiss and glared at the ceiling. He wasn't used to having these urges that drove to action without logic behind them. Surely, Harry's feeling had influenced his once more. Because of it, there was very little he could say for certain. Was what he felt real? Moreover, did he want it to be? Everything had been so clear-cut before. No rogue feelings beyond a few primal ones, control over the ones he'd learned through books and observation… Ever since resurrecting, it felt like he wasn't himself anymore. It led to vulnerability.

No, that was not a productive thought. Feelings meant being human, and he'd learned that that could be a desirable thing to be. He needed to be able to connect with his people if he hoped to lead. To a certain degree, he'd need to understand them, and allowing emotions into his life was a step forward. It only confused him that it started to feel more and more as if he was ruled by emotions instead of the other way around. He'd need to do something about that for certain. In the meantime, he could think of what to do with Harry. Reaching out to kiss the teen hadn't been part of his plan… However, it could be, couldn't it? Nagini had spoken of courting, and a forehead kiss could be counted amongst that. It was not an inherently romantic action, so morality was no more an issue here than embracing was. How Harry would interpret it wasn't Voldemort's problem. And if the other read more into it… well, it would be a solid way to ensure that the teen would stick close to him instead of looking for others.

'_Nothing could keep me away from you willingly_,' Harry had said, only a few months ago. Involuntarily, Voldemort shivered, though he could not place the emotions that had caused that reaction.

_~You're fidgeting,~_ Nagini hissed, displeased.

~_Much happened tonight,~_ he explained. _~I let Harry know that I am aware of his feelings for me.~_

_~About time. Humans are so slow with everything, I swear. What did he say?~_

_~Very typically, he panicked. Less typical, he insisted that we should not talk about it now.~_

_~Are you panicking?~_

Voldemort glared down at his familiar. _~Of course not!~_ he said, like a liar. _~I have far more important matters on my mind! Your health, my next plans, work…~_ As he said so though, the only thing on his mind was how pleasant it had been to spend time with someone who appreciated his presence for no other reason than who he was. Someone willing to discuss any topic simply to talk, who engaged in interesting conversation without fear of stating their opinion. And underlying that was the fear of losing this. Every day, it could fall apart by careless words, without even his knowledge. It had happened with Regulus, with the Death Eaters who'd turned their back after his death, with Rosier… traitors everywhere, people he'd trusted.

''Magic help me,'' he whispered into the dark, not having felt so scared in years.

XxX

One sleepless night later, after tossing and turning for hours, Harry was no further in figuring out what to do than he'd been before. After the initial shock was over, he felt that it was… **nice** to no longer have to hide how he felt about the man. And from Voldemort's actions and the feelings that he'd been able to grasp from their mental bond, it wasn't entirely unwelcome either, only unfamiliar. The Gryffindor had no illusions that the Dark Lord would be more open for emotional conversations however, or that a single kiss on the forehead would mean they were suddenly in a relationship now.

He thus stood up early, showered and went to the kitchen to put together some breakfast, glad to see the cupboards restocked. Barty must have gone on one more shopping trip before leaving. In the end, Harry decided to roll with however Voldemort would react today. If nothing much happened… well, he had other things to do, a whole new school semester to focus on soon again during which he could healthily supress his anxiety and sadness.

Small steps, he reminded himself. As Hermione had said, love came in many forms and relationships weren't all the same fairy tale either. It was enough for now to know there was **something** between them, which could maybe turn into something bigger over time.

Naturally, if Voldemort had all of a sudden decided that he wanted to snog Harry against the nearest wall, he'd be all up for that as well.

That hope was dimmed when the man in question walked into the dining room and sat down without a word as Harry was setting the table for two. The teen served up breakfast, which earned him only a minimal nod. Damn, had Voldemort entirely changed his mind? Should Harry speak up?

''You did not tell me yet if you noticed anything different about your godfather after the ritual,'' Voldemort spoke up, and Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow at this obvious attempt at making unrelated conversation.

''If talking about my recently dead and resurrected godfather is your best topic at breakfast, I'm glad I'm not here for dinner,'' he remarked, trying not to sound too bitingly. ''I can't say much about it, I only noticed in a single instance that it had any effect.'' He almost wished that he had denied seeing any results when Voldemort instantly sat up straighter and got a dangerous glint in his eyes.

''Do tell,'' he purred, leaning forward.

Harry put the cutlery down and hesitated, not wanting to reveal that he'd found out while preparing to show Sirius memories with sensitive information. He tried to describe the situation of giving Sirius a direct order, leaving out most of the context. At the moment, it looked like Voldemort wasn't very interested in context anyways. When he finished, Voldemort instantly went on a tangent about several different ways in which Harry could explore this new bond to uncover its depths and limitations, from starting with vague orders and going to specific ones, to trying to see where the limit lay in Sirius not realising he was being influenced.

''It might be similar to the Imperius curse,'' he theorised, sounding utterly fascinated. ''Wherein the person will only try to resist the order once it goes against their view of what would be normal behaviour. You need more evidence to use this against Black when the need arises.''

''I'm not going to experiment on Sirius,'' Harry sighed, continuing to eat his scrambled egg.

Voldemort hissed softly, pulling up his lips to reveal sharp teeth. ''You have the opportunity to study a magical phenomenon that might be unique on this earth!''

''Which is not more important than the feelings of my godfather, who also happens to be unique on this earth.''

''Following that logic, you should consider everyone's feelings!'' the man spoke, exasperated.

''Yeah, yeah you should! That is something I've been trying to tell you for quite some time now!'' Harry replied, getting fed up and raising his voice.

Abruptly, the other rose and made their plates vanish. ''Well apparently, I can't even consider my own feelings because **I don't fucking understand them**!'' Voldemort roared, slamming his palms on the table surface, causing Harry to sit still in shock at the outburst. Violent stings of pain assaulted his chest, which at first he thought to be a result of accidental magic, but which turned out to be a manifestation of Voldemort's emotions. Like approaching a wounded animal, Harry slowly rose from his chair and shuffled closer to the other, carefully wrapping his arms around Voldemort.

''You don't have to understand them,'' Harry muttered. ''Most people don't always know what they're feeling or what it means.''

''Go.'' The words was spoken so softly that Harry almost thought he'd misheard. As he looked up however, Voldemort's expression was firm. ''This is not productive for either of us now,'' Voldemort said. ''I am glad that you came, but it is time for you to leave, Evan.''

Harry's throat dried out. ''Have I done something wrong?'' he asked, trying to remain calm instead of being reduced to begging. Voldemort exhaled and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, pushing until the teen let his arms fall to his side again.

''No… no, you didn't. I cannot afford to get lost in another crisis, that is all. My followers are waiting for guidance, and I haven't been running the papers since Nagini disappeared. Life goes on. Now Magic returned my full powers, it would be unthankful to her if I turned my gaze away from my Task right away once more. You as well have goals that you need to fulfil. Practically, you may be a great wizard, but academically you are behind and this **is** your OWL year. Added to that, you are being faced with your own challenges due to Dolores Umbridge and the group you formed against her and her lessons. I also still want you to start acting as a front for my next campaign. Regarding us - and I won't deny that there can be an us - it will have to wait. I agreed to being your friend only days ago, Evan.''

It sounded so logical, in part even reprimanding, which was so incredibly frustrating. ''I guess this means that I won't see you again this holiday?'' he asked, already knowing the answer.

''Only in dreams,'' Voldemort replied, reaching out to card cool fingers through unruly black hair, a movement which sent goose bumps down Harry's spine. ''I shall attempt to sleep at night more regularly when I can, I just realised that with how much you are taking on, you might have need of someone to help you with your studies. Who better than I to teach you about magic?''

Harry smiled despite it all. ''I'd love that, you're a great teacher.''

This time, it was Voldemort who reached out for one last, brief embrace before he once again asked the other to leave. With a mixture of sadness and hope, Harry activated the Portkey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help putting more fluff in hehe. They're just too cute.  
Thank you so much for all the comments by the way, they really made my day again.
> 
> I'll see you all next chapter, and if you feel like reading something during the wait, I will be uploading a new chapter of Sugar Demon in the coming week since a few people asked me about writing a second chapter and I finally managed to do so :)
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it!  
GeMerope


	63. Bring back what we've forgot

In a flash of blue, Harry arrived at his godfather's house, on the exact spot where he'd left earlier: the corridor in front of his bedroom. He'd chosen to Portkey from there because it was one of the few places in the house with absolutely no portraits around, nor any that he would have needed to pass by. He'd thought of the en-suite bathroom before, but had realised that the door was in full view of Nigellus and it would be odd if Harry would suddenly emerge from there after hours if the portrait was hanging out here. He never knew when the old Black would appear or how long he'd stay.

Before going to search out his godfather, Harry quickly went into the room and let himself fall on the bed, arms outstretched. His scar was still burning pleasantly, though he did not know if it was only imagination or a physical reaction of the curse scar. It would be slightly strange if it was the latter as it didn't give him trouble anymore since Voldemort's resurrection, but the former meant admitting just how vividly he could still recall that brief moment when the Dark Lord had placed his lips…

Harry groaned miserably, covering his burning face with one arm. Life was unfair, he decided. Hermione and Viktor had found each other after like two months after the girl had caught Viktor's interest, and Ginny seemed to have no problems either with finding dates. Even Fred had gotten together with Angelina simply by asking her to go to the Yule Ball. Yet after more than a year of dedicating attention to Voldemort, having a three-time magical connection and what felt like a hundred deep talks when both awake and asleep, they were **friends**.

Not that Harry wasn't also grateful for that, only a couple of months ago he'd thought that Voldemort would never move beyond being his Lord and that any feelings he had were doomed to fail. Only after Samhain had he realised that maybe he stood a chance. Still, it was frustrating how difficult all of this was. It didn't help that Voldemort was right: he did have other, more important matters to focus on now. Both of them did.

Slowly, Harry got up again, checked to see if Nigellus wasn't there and, after affirming that, started changing his clothes into something a bit more comfortable than the robes he'd been wearing. Although he'd basically spent the entire first summer at Riddle house in Muggle clothing, the teen usually changed to robes when going to meet Voldemort if he wasn't already wearing any. The Dark Lord hadn't asked him to, but it felt odd not to. Finally in a shirt and jeans, Harry exited his bedroom and went down to see if he could find his godfather.

''Sirius?'' he asked upon opening every door, finally noticing the man when getting to the living room in the back of the house, where Sirius was just finishing breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet. Harry wondered how it was even being delivered here with the Fidelius Charm active. Did one of the other Order members bring Sirius a copy? ''Sirius!'' he said once again as it appeared that the other hadn't heard him before.

Upon seeing Harry, the man made a comical expression and absentmindedly dropped his toast. ''Kiddo, you're back…'' Sirius managed to say, in a strange tone that Harry could not really place.

Harry scratched his head and asked: ''I did say I'd return after breakfast. Are you okay? You're acting… strange.'' Then, he grew suddenly very worried. ''It's not any after-effect of the ritual, is it?'' he said, rushing to Sirius' side. ''Do you have any pains? Dizziness? Magical oddities?''

His godfather held up his hands. ''Whoa whoa, no, nothing like that. It's just… Merlin, I've been debating for hours how I'm going to break this topic…'' he frowned and his expression turned to tortured. ''Yesterday after you left the Burrow, I had a brief talk with Ron. He insinuated… No, I'm going about this wrong,'' the man muttered. He gave Harry a stern look. ''There has been much going on regarding you that I knew hardly anything about. I am grateful how forward you've been to me about it all and don't want you to suddenly think I'm some sort of control-freak over this.''

''Just tell me,'' Harry pleaded. ''Did I do anything wrong?''

To his relief, Sirius shook his head. ''Not exactly, I think. Let me ask you like this: did you make up a story of going to see your crush to get your friends off your back about whom you were really visiting or was there more to your insistence on celebrating **his **birthday than I knew about?''

Harry felt like a stone had been dropped in his stomach as he stared at his godfather's serious face. He attempted to speak, to laugh it off and tell Sirius that of course it was a little white lie that he'd told his friends to not get them to probe deeper into where he'd really gone, but he couldn't. After opening up to his godfather so much, after telling him pretty much the full truth apart from this one little detail, he could not directly lie to Sirius' face, even if it looked like that was what the man would prefer.

''Ron told the truth,'' he spoke softly, his face growing hot again at his open admittance. ''I'm not sure if I'd call him my **crush**, because that sounds kind of strange, but I do have… feelings for him.''

''By Merlin's Kneazle-strangling beard!'' Sirius whispered, staring at Harry like he was insane. '**'Why**? He is… he is…'' the other's mouth moved, but no words made it out. In the end, Sirius quickly pulled his wand and cast a silencing spell against any potential listeners.

''Complicated,'' Harry grinned wryly. ''That is both to complete your sentence and in answer to your question.''

''But this is… insane! **He** is insane!'' Sirius burst out. Whatever control the other had mustered up before faded away completely. ''Harry, you can't actually **like** him!'' he spoke, aghast.

Harry tried not to be too hurt at the words, knowing where his godfather was coming from. He'd have told anyone else the same a short time ago. He'd tried to tell himself so too. ''I didn't choose this, Sirius. It just… happened.'' He sighed wistfully. ''I can't describe to you in words how much he's come to mean to me and even when times are difficult and he's absolutely impossible, I keep coming back, trying to improve the situation. And it **works**, that is the best part about it. He's willing to admit to mistakes and learn from it and be almost considerate, all things that I'd never thought possible before meeting him.''

''It does not change all that he's **done**,'' Sirius argued.

The teen nodded solemnly. ''I know, but you said that as well when it came to me following Voldemort. I would never have done that if I could not forgive already. There are greater powers at work, and there is no perfect option, no shining unproblematic alternative to what he offers the world. Although I will never forget how harmful he can be, I am willing to excuse it. Just like others can excuse all the crap the Ministry does, or like you excuse what Dumbledore put you through. I don't see why I should suddenly hold a grudge again when it comes to getting closer to him. I also don't want to keep fighting what I feel.''

''I don't approve. This has nothing to do with **politics** anymore Harry. Being the best choice for this country does not mean that he's the best choice for **you**. Only a few days ago you admitted that he is abusive! He tortured you, held you as a prisoner before, invaded your mind's privacy and put you in a deadly tournament! Why would you think that he'd be a good partner? **You** complained to me about his attitude!'' Sirius spoke, growing angrier and louder with each word. Harry suspected that Sirius had flown in a rage as soon as he'd heard that info from Ron, and only calmed down after trying to convince himself that it might have been a ruse. That rage was showing now again.

Harry released a frustrated sigh. ''Right after that conversation, we talked, and then talked more. It's hard to explain Sirius. We partially share minds and magic, which affects us both. It might make me react in ways that don't really sound logical to you, but it is how it is. I am convinced that it won't happen again, we've found a new, more comfortable dynamic that won't leave me defenceless again.'' Sirius scoffed at that. ''I mean it. He is not my Lord anymore, for one. It greatly levelled out our relationship even in the short time after he agreed to it.''

''He agreed to lose you as a follower?'' Sirius asked, confused, anger slipping a bit again. ''When did this happen?''

''Honestly, only at the Yule celebration,'' the teen admitted.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. ''Three days ago,'' he commented, unimpressed. ''That is not enough time to determine whether this changed behaviour is permanent or not. It might be a ploy. He's still a skilled Legilimens.''

Harry shook his head. ''No Legilimency or Occlumency should be able to twist what I can feel from him. He can shut me out if he wants to but that's it. As strange as it may sound, in the past few days he's made such improvements and showed a side that I haven't seen before. Look, I know that you feel protective of me, but you don't need to worry. Voldemort made it quite clear that he's not willing to get involved with me like this for now. I won't visit him again this week and afterwards I'll be at Hogwarts again.'' Saying that caused his heart to clench painfully in his chest. He wouldn't see the man for many months… Harry breathed in deeply. ''So don't make more out of this than it is. It will still be my choice one way or the other. You can't change my mind.''

Sirius rubbed his face tiredly. ''Even so, as much as you might not want to hear this, the chance that he'll react positively is small,'' he reasoned, possibly more to persuade himself than Harry. ''It's rumoured that he tried erasing his own emotions first of all. Secondly, there's a large chance that he's straight. And he's basically a… a teacher to you, right? You have to brace yourself for those very real possibilities.''

''Oh, errr…'' Harry said, not really comfortable discussing this with Sirius. While he appreciated that his godfather was trying to shield Harry from heartbreak, the conversation he'd shared with Voldemort this very morning had left no doubts about the Dark Lord being willing to try eventually. ''Hekissedme,'' he blurted out, stumbling over his own tongue. Trying to look guilty failed miserably as a lunatic smile threatened to creep on his face each time Harry moved his mouth. Telling a worried Sirius this fact was not the smartest move, but who **else** could he confide in? If it had been up to Harry, he'd be shouting this news from the rooftops as he felt so excited about it.

Sirius looked as if his world just collapsed, so Harry tried to quickly clarify: ''On my scar! It was… it was only a kiss on the forehead.''

''I'm going to rip the bastard's tongue out,'' Sirius hissed in a murderous tone, eyes all steel and ice.

''Or you would, if you weren't bound by a contract to not only be silent, but also non-hostile towards me, him and anyone on his side,'' Harry helpfully reminded his godfather. He didn't want Sirius to die again over a stupid, rash move.

A bit of Sirius' determination waned. ''You sound like James when I told him that dating Evans was going to be the end of the marauders as we knew it. Then too, I felt like life as I knew it had ended, my best friend taken away.'' Sirius turned his head and stared at a few dusty pictures in a dark corner that Harry hadn't noticed before, of a group of people. ''Naturally, this is a lot more to take in than James getting a girlfriend, but back then it turned out that while I was right, James was much happier. I'll try to remember that even if you and him end up…'' he broke off and grimaced again. ''I'm not here to tell you how to live your life or act like a replacement-parent as I know you don't want or need that. I can only give you my advice. I don't think he deserves you of all people. Be careful. If at any point he reverts back to hurting you… come to me about it, I mean that. No matter at which point in time. I'll be at your side to defend you against friend or foe, even against the Dark Lord himself.''

Harry gave the other a scrutinising glance. ''That's it?'' he asked in astonishment. ''I don't have to physically hold you back from storming out there? You're not going to forbid me from ever seeing him again?''

Sirius smiled tightly. ''I want to do both of those things and had I caught you last evening before you left, I might have. Although I might be shooting myself in the foot with admitting this, leaving me to worry about you all night gave me the opportunity to cool off and think. You made perfectly clear that I will lose you if I'm not on your side, Harry. Maybe not in so many words, but I know the consequences of turning into a raging parent, trying to do what **I** think is best for you. The last time that I tried to stop you, I ended up nearly killing you. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, I might really be a murderer now. Whatever else happened, I owe him double, for saving your life and bringing me back. That's hard to overlook.''

The words were filled with a deep sorrow and desperation that truly brought Harry to feel immense guilt now. He hadn't thought about how any of his actions or feelings regarding Voldemort would influence Sirius…

''It's not like I hadn't already expected you to in the end fall in love with someone on **that** side rather than finding someone in the Order or a Muggle, seeing as what cause you support now. I only wasn't prepared for it to be Voldemort himself, kiddo. It's a lot to take in.''

After those words, Sirius picked up his toast again and tried his hardest to concentrate on the Prophet, although Harry noticed that his eyes barely moved, glaring a hole in the paper. The teen sat down at the table as well, not sure what else to do than keep his godfather company. He hadn't expected any of this, not for Sirius to suddenly drop on him that he knew of Harry's affections towards Voldemort, nor for the rather positive reaction he'd gotten. Granted, Sirius absolutely thought that Harry was nuts, that much was obvious. Not being actively opposing was also worth a lot though, and more than what Harry had expected from any of his other friends. Even Barty would probably react worse and try to have a talk with Voldemort that might put the Death Eater in danger. The Dark Lord was not really a person who took criticism well.

When Harry returned to his room, he almost stumbled over Kreacher in the corridor, who threw him a dirty look and scurried away hastily. Upon inquiring about it, Sirius let Harry know that he'd found the elf in the attic yesterday, and the man did not really seem concerned about his servant rummaging about up there. Harry was more uneasy about Kreacher's long disappearance and sudden return, especially when in the coming days, the elf followed orders, smiling strangely and occasionally staring unabashedly at Harry. It appeared that he was in a better mood than before. With Sirius' unwillingness to even consider the other living being in the household, Harry could not really do much else than keeping an eye on Kreacher whenever they happened to cross paths.

Apart from Kreacher's strange behaviour, Harry had thought that the remaining week would be awkward due to possible tension with his godfather, but Sirius appeared determined to make the most of their time together. Between the Order meetings that were being held regularly again after New Year, the man always found time for Harry to engage in conversation, although their topics usually did not touch upon anything related to either political views or personal feelings. They speculated together about Harry's possible Animagus form, Sirius asked about Harry's extracurricular activities and gave a bunch of tips for the D.A. and prank ideas to combat Umbridge. At the end of the week, Harry's head was brimming with new plans to tackle the next term.

The teen was just packing his toiletries when hearing a muffled voice from the cabinet where he'd stuffed the two-way mirror away to hide it from prying eyes and withdraw it more unnoticeably than from his trunk. His heart was beating fast as he opened the cabinet and took the mirror out. Did Voldemort want to see him again after all? It only slowed down slightly when seeing that it was Barty's face that appeared instead.

He cast a quick silencing barrier at the door and held it on eye-height. ''Barty?'' he asked. ''I thought you'd leave the mirror behind during your travel? Is something wrong?''

''_I did leave it. My mission was cut short after I had some unfortunate encounters,_'' the Death Eater grimaced. _''Honestly, I don't know how to make up for this. I messed up.''_

''Hold on, start at the beginning,'' Harry said. ''What happened?''

The blond shrugged with an unhappy expression. _''I was scouting abroad for the next big mission and unexpectedly ran into one of dear father's old contacts. When I am somewhere without access to potions like Polyjuice, I usually rely on the facts that hardly anyone has seen my face for a decade and that I was only known by a few people in Britain anyway. I hadn't thought that anyone would recognise me in bloody Greece of all places. Long story short, I was forced to leave a bloody, messy trail behind and am right now in hiding. I could change enough memories so no-one knows that __**I**__ specifically killed old Taxiarchis and his bodyguards, but I'm afraid that they may be able to find me nonetheless.''_

''_They_ being?'' Harry asked.

''_The Greek Ministry of Magic, the British Aurors… maybe even International Task forces if I'm unlucky. The people my father dealt with were not some nobody lowlifes, Evan_.''

That really did sound bad. ''What does **he** say about it?''

''_Haven't spoken to our Lord yet,''_ Barty sighed. '_'He isn't home right now and I only just arrived. I wanted to ask you first what I should do. What if this was it and I'm thrown out? Failure is not looked upon kindly.''_

The teen scratched his head at that. Barty came to him for advice? ''Don't do anything rash and stay inside for now. The bubble dimension should protect you and cover any traces of magic. As soon as Voldemort is home, speak to him.'' Considering that the Dark Lord was about to promote Barty to be his right hand, Harry doubted that this mess would be enough to suddenly get Barty kicked out. ''You've done enough to prove your loyalty, he knows that. Try to focus on finding a solution and erasing any trails you might have left rather than worry about your position.''

''_Yes… you're right. I should do what is best for our cause anyways, not what's best for me,''_ Barty whispered, still looking miserable.

''You've been flawless for over a year, that has to count for something,'' Harry tried to cheer the other up. ''If he becomes unreasonable… tell him to speak to me.''

The blond laughed humourlessly_. ''And what do you think you can do? Beg for my life?''_

''If that's what it takes,'' he seriously answered. He didn't think it was necessary, but there was not much that he wouldn't do to shield Barty against Voldemort's wrath. Harry was also in a much better position now to bargain if he'd have to. ''In the meantime, try not to get too worked up over it. You're safe where you are now, and I'm sure that Voldemort will be able to handle a couple of Aurors if it comes down to it.''

''_You reverted to using his name once again,''_ Barty noted, none too happily.

Harry hesitated, not sure if this was the best moment to give Barty an update about his new status regarding Voldemort. After agreeing to be friends, it felt plain wrong to refer to the man as his Lord again, even to others. ''I'm allowed to now,'' he decided to say, not giving away more information. Okay, so Voldemort hadn't explicitly said so, but hadn't corrected Harry either anymore when saying his name instead of using the Dark Lord's preferred title. That was good enough. ''It doesn't matter now. Just trust me when I say that I'm positive about the outcome of this if you simply talk to him.''

''_I will. Say, there's no chance that you can Portkey here? You could even bring your godfather, he seemed to like the garden. I know what it's like to be locked up…'_'

Harry smiled sadly. ''Wish I could. But my Portkey is not linked to the house, it would bring me to Voldemort. And if he's not there, that won't be of any help to you.''

''_I see… shame, I realised that I didn't make good on my promise for a snowball fight.''_

''True, there was that,'' Harry mused, having almost forgotten about it. ''With all the crazy things that went down this holiday, I don't think there was any time. I'm getting better and better at weather magic though, so maybe we can move it to July,'' he joked to lighten the mood.

Barty didn't really react to it and instead asked: _''Speaking of crazy things, how is the Order handling the escape of Nagini? Did they really buy it?''_

Harry shrugged one shoulder. ''It looks like it until now. I mean, apart from believing Sirius, the only alternatives are suspecting him of being a traitor or thinking that the defences on this house were breached. None of those are thoughts that many Order members are willing to have, and certainly won't voice.''

''_They were betrayed last time as well, by Pettigrew.''_

''Exactly why no-one will start accusing Sirius. If it wasn't for me, he'd be spearheading the Order. Everyone here knows what Sirius went through and thinks that the possibility of him of all members defecting is below zero.''

''_I hope you're right.''_

''Vance turned up last meeting, by the way. Did Voldemort change his mind?'' Harry hopefully asked.

''_I was ordered to keep up the Imperius curse for a good while still so the incidents will not be connected,'_' Barty answered, lowering Harry's mood. _''Evan, you know we can't let everyone live. The Order is dangerous and could cost people on __**our**__ side their lives. Imperius curse or not, as long as they are not out of the picture, Doge and Vance will be sent on missions for the Order and it would be suspicious if they were hesitant about that. They're still a risk to us.''_

''Fine,'' Harry agreed irritably. ''I get it. Barty, I really need to go now.'' He couldn't pretend to still pack for hours in here. ''I wish you good luck. Stay safe.''

He quickly stepped into the shower to justify having been in here for such a long time and was glad that he took that precaution when he came out and was met by the mistrustful stare of Phineas Nigellus from the opposite wall. Harry ignored the portrait, pointedly drying his wet hair with a towel. It threw him a dirty look before walking out, presumably to sulk in his main portrait instead. Harry released a small sigh and went back to fetch the mirror, putting it in his trunk before Nigellus would return. Harry really wished that he could rip the portrait off the wall or get a different room. That would only have negative consequences though, and it was also handy to act like the most boring teenager ever in front of Dumbledore's spy.

Would he have to see the headmaster again soon? Harry wasn't sure if he could face Dumbledore without flying off the handle after Nagini's capture and torture. He swallowed heavily at the memory of her thrashing, bleeding body. He could not allow himself to think about it while in the headmaster's presence… it would instantly shift all suspicion on him. Hopefully, the old man was too busy running Hogwarts and holding off the Ministry to pay Harry any mind. He did seem too preoccupied to participate in any Order meetings at least, and didn't show up during the entire rest of the holidays at Grimmauld place.

Tomorrow morning, Harry would have to leave the Dumbledore-free house behind and return to Hogwarts. It was an odd feeling. The first few years, where he'd been stuck at the Dursleys, nothing could have compared to returning to the castle. The more time had passed, the more reluctant he was about going back to school. It would mean being unreachable for Sirius, Voldemort and Barty, plus being stuck again with annoying teachers, homework and upcoming O.W.L.s. He'd rather have another few weeks of holidays and see his friends here instead of at Hogwarts. He had no idea what exactly was awaiting him until the Easter holidays would bring a break again. One could never know what crazy monster would appear next. Sirius' mood had also dropped during the past few days, clearly not looking forward to being left alone again.

To the annoyance of both Sirius and him, there were enough Order members present on the seventh of January to form a majority of people who were against Sirius risking being seen. There was a bit of confusion and discussion about the method of travel at first. Tonks and the Weasleys had shown up early morning to ensure that Harry didn't travel alone, but Tonks wanted them all to take the Knight's bus straight to Hogwarts, whereas Mrs Weasley had already gotten tickets for the Hogwarts Express. Harry put in his two Knuts on the Knight's bus not being his preferred way of transport as he always go sick afterwards, and Ron also said that he'd looked forward to meeting Hermione on the train before they'd arrive at Hogwarts. As there still was enough time left, they decided on going on foot to King's cross, which was only twenty minutes away.

During their goodbye hug, the man pushed a small package in Harry's hand. ''for emergency cases, if you need to talk to me… use this,'' Sirius whispered, then hurriedly stopped Harry from trying to unwrap it. ''It's not… it's not something the others might approve of,'' he muttered. ''Unpack it at Hogwarts. It comes with instructions.'' The scent of leather stung Harry's nose as he was crushed in Sirius' arms for another second before being let go. ''Look after yourself.''

While they pushed their trolleys over the street which were covered in a couple of notice-me-not charms, Harry struck up conversation with his friend to ignore the fact that an Auror was once again watching his every move. With how much had happened, the ludicrous theory of him being possessed by Voldemort had slipped Harry's mind again until now. At least he wouldn't have to deal with **that** at Hogwarts. He'd managed to convince his friends -with a bit of help from Ginny – that this was highly unlikely as nothing about it added up since he did not have memory gaps or any other symptoms of possession.

''How's your dad doing?'' Harry asked when they'd almost reached King's cross, at which Ron brightened.

''Very well. Completely cured a couple of days ago, but he still stayed home for a bit longer as he was under observation. It really did him good to be home again and have time off while being surrounded by family. At times I did wish that I could have gone to your place again to escape the Twins, but the holiday was fine, I guess.''

''We'll have plenty of time to catch up at Hogwarts,'' Harry replied. They entered the station and he threw a dirty look at a Muggle who was frowning at Hedwig and looked like she was about to protest the presence of an owl. It looked like the charms were wearing off. ''Or during the drive.''

''There isn't too much to catch up on on my part,'' Ron sighed. ''Did chores, played some Quidditch in the backyard, did more chores… I'm sure that your week was more eventful. How did the… erhm, birthday party go?'' the redhead tentatively asked.

Harry felt like it was suddenly very warm and crowded here and pretended not to have heard as the barricade came into view and he sped up. Discussing his love life with Ron was somehow more awkward even than with Sirius. Maybe because Ron looked more uncomfortable than Harry felt when asking the question. ''Maybe Hermione's holiday was exciting,'' he loudly spoke as they exited the barrier and stood in front of the scarlet train. ''I've never gone skiing, I wonder what it's like.''

Once they'd found her on the train, Hermione was more than happy to fill them in on that skiing was Not Fun and almost as dangerous as Quidditch. She showed two bandaged fingers from a collision with a tree and several bruises from a harsh meeting with gravity. ''I really should not have agreed,'' she miserably spoke. ''Mum and dad had the time of their lives though, so I think it was worth it nonetheless. They're both great skiers, a talent I did not inherit. I hope it's possible to visit Madam Pomfrey before dinner, holding cutlery is painful at the moment.''

''Let me see that,'' Harry offered, drawing his wand. By now, a couple of bruises and broken fingers were nothing he was not confident about being able to heal. Hermione hesitated for a moment until Ron reminded her that Harry had healed his own splintered knee. A minute later, she stretched her fingers in amazement.

''You've **got** to teach healing in one of the D.A. sessions,'' she suggested. ''That will be an incredibly handy skill for everyone there. It's not taught until sixth year, and even then only a few basic charms are covered from what I saw when reading ahead.'' Harry took out the little notebook he used for all D.A. ideas and jotted it down, agreeing with his friend that it could be useful. Besides, it meant that Harry would have some time to look into improving his own healing skills. Voldemort had instructed him on a few additional healing spells when mending Sirius' body, but his repertoire was still not as large as he wished it to be. Careful not to be overheard by other students like Parkinson, they put their heads together and discussed all their new plans for their underground defence club.

* * *

The start of second term had not been a very pleasant day for Albus for several years in a row. Last year he'd had to watch two of his students being in danger during the Triwizard tournament, one of whom was a minor. The year before that they'd all been worried about a possible murderer breaching the walls of Hogwarts and the one before that, students were being petrified left and right and the upcoming suspension was already hanging over his head. This year was no different. Like in the past four years, one of the reasons for that was his worry about the child of Lily and James Potter, a worry that changed and grew deeper with time. He'd tried to enjoy the first dinner with all students being back at Hogwarts after the holidays, but had not succeeded very well.

Upon returning to the office, he sought the comfort of talking to his familiar, letting out all worries that he couldn't voice to anyone else.

''I notice that I'm not as sharp as I once was,'' he sighed, staring at the sad, compassionate eyes of his phoenix. ''So much is slipping from my attention and no matter where I turn or how many travels I undertake, I garner no new insights. All is happening at once, yet beyond my grasp. There are dots to connect, I'm sure of it… but how? Where?'' Fawkes let out a sympathising trill, which made a small smile appear on his face. He scratched the feathers just above the tip of Fawkes' beak and the bird closed his eyes in content. A few minutes later, Albus gave Fawkes a last pat on the head, then turned to his Pensieve instead, and to the glass cabinet with rows upon rows of memories. They hadn't brought him much further, but one never knew… One overlooked detail could make all the difference.

He spent the evening like so many others, trying to figure out his own mind and the memories of multiple people whom he had convinced to leave him with a copy of specific events. At first, he looked at recent ones from his staff, which had to do with Dolores Umbridge. She was a problem that would solve itself, he knew. She was here specifically to tie his hands, so struggling would bring nothing. Instead, he treated the woman with as much courtesy and kindness as he could muster, while purposefully ignoring the brewing rebellion from students and staff that she was blind to in her state of intoxication on authority.

Albus searched the memories mainly to find out weaknesses which he could use to hinder her progress and give support to the student body. Dolores wanted to divide the houses further, but apart from pulling a number of Slytherins to her side, she hadn't had much success. It would be challenging to make those see the error of their ways, especially Ms Parkinson, who had become most vocal about aiding Umbridge. Maybe he could arrange for a few of the more openminded Slytherin Prefects to talk to the girl and her gathered friends… He'd have to have a word with Severus about it too.

Besides those inside of Hogwarts, the general public might also want to know what liberties Dolores was taking with the freedom of a large group of magical children in Hogwarts, especially regarding punishment. Albus wouldn't stand for such atrocities happening in his school and had already had words with Cornelius about it, who had tried to downplay the impact and accused him of embellishing students' stories. Albus had swallowed down his white-hot rage and instead sought appeal of several members of the Wizengamot and board of school governors. That had only just started the wheels of what was going to be an incredibly slow process, so against his general instincts, Albus was even considering contacting the press that he usually was so wary of.

For reasons that appeared to have to do with an overhaul of the Daily Prophet's staff, the newspaper had started publishing serious articles that often even went directly against the Ministry. It focused on brewing troubles abroad and scandals that involved multiple Ministries of Magic now instead of spouting Ministry propaganda. As far as Dumbledore had found out, the head editor and owner had not changed, but Rita Skeeter had left and after her a number of other sensation-seeking journalists had been fired and replaced with more competent, serious individuals. He'd been too busy with trying to find out what Voldemort was up to, to concern himself much with the exact ongoing of the British press to find out what had caused the gradual change of direction, but he was grateful for it. It was a ray of light in otherwise dark times, even if the paper still did not appear to believe him on the matter of Voldemort's return.

At that thought, his gaze turned almost automatically towards the rows of phials reserved for anything related to Tom Riddle. These took up a good portion of space, as he was trying to solve multiple mysteries at once. No-one else was going to do this crucial research to prevent a second rise of the Dark Lord as so few wanted to admit that he had returned and even fewer had the power and time to do something about it. It was unthankful and tiring work, but Dumbledore considered his most important duty at the moment. As Headmaster, he could be replaced by a number of capable individuals, but who else was going to hunt down well-guarded pieces of soul across the world? Although 'world' was maybe too broad, everything indicated to all hiding spots being scattered across the United Kingdom. It did not help that so far, Albus had found none of them. All Horcruxes that he'd held had ended up in his hands by chance. He'd only seen the diary after its destruction, the serpent had been stunned by Bill Weasley, and Harry… well, Harry had been bound to come to Hogwarts.

He flicked his hand to bring his chair closer, bones aching painfully as he sat down on it and stared at the next phial in his hands. Horcruxes… he had not wanted to believe for a while that Tom had sunk so far as to tear his own essence apart to quell the fear of death. Everything pointed towards it however.

He'd first suspected so after laying eyes on the destroyed diary and hearing what it had done. An enchanted object would never have been able to act so independently. The most worrisome part was that it had held a sixteen-year-old version of Tom, meaning that it had been created at school during the first time that the Chamber had been opened this century. That fact had made him hesitant about the theory, for while it fit due to the murder of Myrtle, he at first could not believe that Tom would have gained access to the necessary knowledge to even perform such a foul ritual. As it was the only lead he had, he'd treated it as the only possibility and started gathering evidence, but his disbelief had only been entirely wiped away when Horace had been found murdered.

The old potion professor had been one of the few who was genuinely interested enough in the theory behind dark magic to have studied it without taking damage himself. He would have been an easy target for a brilliant, charming teenager who was set on gaining access to the secrets of the darkest arts. Being a favourite student of Horace had certainly helped. Ironically, by trying to cover up that trail, Albus had gained so much confidence in his theory that he became far more active in hunting down information about possible Horcruxes. He knew a bit about how Tom's mind worked, so he did not doubt that the boy had tried to create multiple ones, and everything spoke for that. The only piece that was missing was **how many**. The diary had been one for certain, and after the events of past week, he knew that Nagini was a second. Harry was a third, but due to the high possibility of that being an accident, Dumbledore knew he could leave the teen out of the equation when trying to follow Tom's logic. Would he have stopped at having three pieces of soul, the main one included? If he had, however, then it did not make sense to have murdered to get his hands on ancient artefacts such as the ones Hepzibah Smith had held.

The next magical number was five. Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket would heighten the count indeed to five but again, would Tom have found that to be sufficient? The most magical number of all was seven… Surely, a person could not survive splitting up their soul so many times… maybe Albus was wrong and Tom had indeed wanted to stop at five before leaving a piece of himself behind in the scar of the baby prophesised to vanquish him…

Albus sighed and poured in another memory, one he had already shown Harry before, where Tom met Morfin, on the day that the Riddles had been killed. More murders and a stolen ring… it might have ended up as another vessel, it might not have. Albus sincerely hoped that the ring was merely a trophy, a memento.

He did not honestly believe it. Tom had changed so much beyond recognition, beyond humanity, that it was well possible for his soul to be split into seven parts - eight even, counting Harry -, although Albus still hadn't found any clues about what the final Horcrux could be. The sword of Gryffindor was safe, and the only other artefact linked to the founders of Hogwarts that would fit Tom's collection would be Ravenclaw's lost diadem, which had not been seen in centuries. It was frustrating to have so little to go on, especially when yielding no results in his search. And now he actually had had the chance to study one, a **living** Horcrux even, and the snake had escaped through a method thought to be impossible. Were snakes so sentient that their language could activate floo powder? Or was Nagini a special case as she bore part of a human soul and was highly magical?

From the desk, he summoned an envelop and emptied out the contents on his hand with a determined expression. Not every part of the animal was beyond reach, he thought as he studied the few scales, pieces of skin and tiny bottles of venom and blood. Maybe somewhere in here, he could find the solution that he had not found in the snake's mind or magic before.

A solution to the largest moral dilemma he'd ever had to face. The ultimate sacrifice, a dive into dark magic that he'd never be able to recover from. Tears dropped in his beard at the mere thought of what he might have to do in order to stop Tom permanently. In order to ensure that the prophecy would be fulfilled. He brought trembling hands to his face and wept for the fate that rested on the shoulders of Harry Potter, while Fawkes' song of sorrow filled the office.

He did not want to see this brilliant life be extinguished. For all Dumbledore's fears, Harry had turned out to be everything that Tom was not. Even when last year, the boy had turned to dark magic in desperate times to stay alive during the Tournament, he had not given into it. There were still hints of Harry continuing to use it, a certain aura that was invisible to most, even after attempting to cleanse himself. Yet it was well within reasonable bounds, certainly less than Albus himself had used at that age, even less than James and Sirius had used and with much less malicious intent. Harry stood up for the weak; united students from all houses; fought against oppression and was overall the ideal image that Albus had of what a Gryffindor should be. Godric would be proud.

It was thus with a heavy heart that he tried to prepare the teen for the worst. Harry was so young still, not at all ready to face the truths that would need to come out at one point. The boy was always so curious, had been from their very first conversation, asking all the right questions that Albus should have answered yet could not in order to shield Harry and let him have an unconcerned childhood. Or as unconcerned as possible, considering all the trouble that found the boy every single year. Albus also did not want Harry to lose all hope. Even the darkest magic could sometimes be undone, and it was with this purpose in mind that he'd tried to study Nagini, going so far as to instruct some members of the Order to harm her in hopes of discovering a way to separate the soul from its vessel. She had escaped before that could have been attempted however, so he still did not know if it could work. He knew that the chances were slim, but he had to **try** to find a way to save his student from fate.

That possibility was even smaller now that nothing but a few bits and pieces remained to study further. In the meantime, he should focus again on finding all the other Horcruxes. He wanted Harry to live as long as possible, both for the boy himself and also because it was their last trump card. Voldemort could not know until it was already too late. Depending on how the prophecy was interpreted, it might be that only Harry could truly destroy each of the other Horcruxes…

So, he sat alone on this monstrous knowledge of trying to raise a child to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. It was justifiable. On the larger scale, it was the right thing to do to save their own society and a great many Muggles. Tom may be quiet now, he may not even start a war for some time, but Dumbledore was sure of one thing. Once that man was in power, through whichever method he'd find, he would not stop. He would not be kind or reasonable, instead ruling them all with ruthless and bloody oppression. The weak would not survive, and all those with compassion and emotions were weak in the Dark Lord's mind. That had even been the case when Tom had only been a teenager, releasing a Basilisk in the castle to filter out the unworthy. It had only grown worse from that point. Harry was their last hope, and even if it would eternally damn Dumbledore to whatever horrible afterlife there might be, he'd go through with it if need be.

In time, even Harry would understand.

Albus' eyes turned to the only thing that could bring him happiness in dark times, a series of memories that he'd witnessed so often that the labels had worn off from being taken out thousands of times. He didn't need labels for them anymore. It was probably better that they did not have any. He reached out for one in particular and held his breath while unstopping the cork and letting the silver stream pour into his Pensieve. In the corner of his eyes, he could see an empty, broken pendant shimmer in the cabinet next to the one he stored all memories in. The husk of his soul… Not quite a Horcrux, but it had felt as if his entire being had shattered with it.

With the eagerness of a much younger man, he fled into his own past, to the happiest weeks of summer he'd ever had. To better times when he'd started believing in love. Everyone had their own form of coping with the burden of life, and this was his alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments about all the fluff of last chapter was really heartwarming :) Thanks so much.  
I hoped that you all enjoyed this chaper. Sirius once again knows a little bit more and we've had a brief peak into Dumbledore's mind ;P After only having Voldemort's theories and Harry parroting those, with Sirius trying to counter a bit for this entire story so far, I thought it might be good to finally see how much was true.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on it by commenting below :)  
xx GeMerope


	64. Unease

As soon as they arrived at Hogwarts, even before having the opportunity to enter the Great Hall for dinner, the three of them got bombarded by people. D.A. members came up and wanted to inquire about the next meeting - at which Hermione tried to frantically hush them in case anyone else heard -, Parkinson and some of her cronies started to loudly sing 'Weasley is our King' when Ron passed them by, and Filch stormed up to them red in the face to complain about muddy boots. Harry didn't think that theirs were filthier than those of all the other students who had ploughed here through snow and dirt and was very certain that Umbridge had put Filch up to monitoring them more closely. By the time that they finally sat down at the Gryffindor table, he could already feel a headache forming.

''Second term is not going to be fun,'' he predicted darkly, to which Ron sympathetically agreed.

Whether it would be true for the entire term, he could not say yet, but it definitely held true for the next day. Monday was exhausting, all teachers trying to get them to recall whatever subject they'd been last taught. Due to the vision of Nagini, he and Ron had missed the last few days of first term, including Defence on Friday. Umbridge used it as an excuse to fire questions at the both of them about a lesson they 'should have done homework on instead' and docked a number of points when they failed to answer. Harry was **so** close to yelling at the toad to shove her stupid theory book elsewhere, and only the thought of the other D.A. members relying on him prevented a disaster. Filling his schedule with more detentions wasn't productive to anyone.

Just as classes were finished and Harry hoped to have some time to go over to the Room of Requirement, where he'd planned on putting his notebook away again and look over some material, his way was blocked by none other than Severus Snape. Internally screaming in frustration, Harry put a polite smile on his face and asked through gritted teeth what the man wanted. Potions had not been pleasant today, as usual, and he did not enjoy seeing Snape's surly face more than once today.

''Weasley, Granger, run along. Potter, with me,'' Snape barked, already turning around and striding away.

''What did you do this time?'' Hermione hissed worriedly, and Harry only shook his head, as he had absolutely no clue. He felt stares on him from fellow students as he hurried past and cursed Snape for finding him in the hallways. Couldn't the man have asked Harry for a word right after Potions instead?

Predictably, the trek ended in the dungeons, where Snape impatiently held open the door to his office for Harry to slip through. Black eyes glared in the light of a few candle wall sconces as soon as the heavy door closed. It certainly added to the typical vampiric atmosphere that the office was barely lit. Snape could really do with some electrical lighting décor. Shame that wouldn't work at Hogwarts.

''What is all this about?'' Harry asked. ''Sir?'' he added in afterthought to placate Snape a bit.

''Occlumency,'' the man hissed. ''I was under the impression that you had learned it? Since you had a sudden vision from the Dark Lord's serpent, Albus has been hounding me about your progress!''

Harry grunted unhappily ''As I told Dumbledore, I was asleep while having that vision.''

The potion master sneered. ''That should not matter and Albus knows it! If you would have enough control over your mind, then also during sleep this protection should linger…''

''It's a bit more complicated than that,'' Harry spoke. Although Snape's instant aggressive tone made the teen's blood boil, it was important to at least try having a civil conversation instead of blowing up like usual. He wouldn't deny that it was difficult, especially as Snape never seemed inclined to act like the adult he supposedly was either, apart from trying to impose authority. After making leaps in progress with Voldemort however, having a regular conversation with Severus Snape did not seem like such a daunting task anymore. The potion master wasn't even allowed to cast the cruciatus curse on students, so that was an added bonus. Harry wondered why he'd ever been wary of Snape. All that the man could do was deduct points. Not exactly a great weapon of fear. Not in comparison to a Dark Lord. Snape could technically delegate it to Umbridge, but Harry doubted that the man's pride would allow for someone else to deal with Harry. Snape hadn't looked particularly happy about the last time that Umbridge had taken over Harry's punishment.

''Oh? Are you an **expert** on mind magic now, Potter?'' the man taunted. ''Do you think that you suddenly know the ins and outs of an art as complicated as Occlumency because you've scratched the surface of it a few months ago?''

The teen did not take the bait, starting to pace to have something other to do than throw punches at the sallow face. ''I won't pretend that I know more than you about Occlumency or Legilimency,'' he admitted. ''I'm talking about there having been more than mind magic at work back then. The vision I had came from Nagini, not from Vol- the Dark Lord.'' Harry stopped from saying 'Voldemort' upon recalling that Snape was prone to fly into a rage whenever he did so, as the other had explicitly forbidden Harry from uttering the name in this office. Although he'd referred to Voldemort as such many times before, it felt strange on his tongue now. ''Obviously, Nagini cannot perform Legilimency, the magic that pulled me into her head was… different. Occlumency would not have helped even if I'd actively used it, I think.''

''You **think**,'' Snape scoffed. ''That's a first. And unsurprising, you are utterly wrong. According to Dumbledore, the Dark Lord has an exceptional connection to his familiar. It was **his** thoughts that you saw while he was connected to the snake-''

Harry couldn't help it, he cut off Snape's words with a loud burst of laughter, at which the other looked particularly murderous. ''You really believe Dumbledore's theory of possession too then? No, he didn't possess Nagini, he can't see into her head, unfortunately. That might have made bringing her back easier.''

''Bringing…' Snape choked, cheeks turning red in anger. ''Are you saying that **you** were responsible? How? Black said…''

''It does not matter, only that she could be saved before any permanent damage was done,'' Harry frowned, growing serious again at the memory of how hurt the poor snake had been. ''Just as important is that it gave me another opportunity to have some personal talks with the Dark Lord.''

Yeah, personal talks sounded more diplomatic than 'screamed at the man, was cursed and then hopelessly succumbed to his feelings for Voldemort over the course of a few days'. Snape did not need to be privy to any of that happening.

''There was no possession. Not with Nagini, and also not with me as Dumbledore believes. We do have some sort of… connection, but the Dark Lord explicitly wishes for that to remain open at night.'' Snape should know about it, Harry thought. During the few Occlumency lessons where the Potion Master had gained access to Harry's mind, he'd seen quite a bit of Harry's talks with Voldemort, including some scenes of dreams. ''I don't think he'd be very pleased if I'd suddenly block him from entering my mind against instructions. Or do you want to go tell him that I should, in your opinion, try doing so?'' he gave Snape a challenging stare, which was fiercely returned.

''You are playing with dangerous fire,'' Snape hissed.

Harry shrugged. ''Yes, I am. I realise that this is not to your liking, but it's not my fault that you decided to take an unbreakable Vow to protect me. I'm not the one bound by it and won't hold back because it might have consequences for someone who never made an honest effort to help me with any other motivation in mind than protecting your own life. So, was that all? You dragged me in here to chew me out about not using Occlumency?''

''If only it were so,'' the other replied stonily. ''Albus does indeed strongly believe that you have been or are at least at risk of being possessed. As Dolores Umbridge is now in charge of detentions, that means we will have to use the excuse again that you need remedial potion classes,'' Snape spoke with a thin, victorious smile.

''You know I don't need more Occlumency lessons,'' Harry hissed, getting agitated. That would once again mess with the ability to plan D.A. meetings. ''And I don't have **time** for that!''

Snape pitilessly looked down on him. ''Do you wish to tell Albus yourself that you feel too good for his plans?''

Groaning, Harry relented to his fate. Then, he got an idea. ''As you insist on making everyone believe that I need extra classes so badly, how about we use that time for actual remedial potion lessons?'' he inquired. Snape looked as if Harry really had punched him in the face now, so he pushed on: ''I am bad at potions, I get distracted and it's difficult to work in teams when brewing something that needs constant attention.'' It also did not help that every year so far, potions was unluckily with the Slytherins. Snape's tendency to favour them included trying to make all Gryffindors look stupid and sabotaging their work. Maybe during one-on-one lessons, the man would lose a bit of that tendency and actually use the time to teach. ''Look, if I have to be in here anyways, you might as well teach me something useful,'' Harry argued when Snape did not answer.

''That you must be in my office does not mean that I have to waste my precious time on you,'' the man replied. ''Bring your books and work on homework or make yourself useful by scrubbing some cauldrons!''

Gritting his teeth, Harry once more tried: ''The Dark Lord placed high expectations on my O.W.L. results and I don't want to disappoint. It would be beneficial to you if I get high marks in Potions and I tell him that you are responsible for that, no?''

He should have known to use the Slytherin tactic of offering an advantage in return at the start already. Snape finally looked interested. ''I may be able to spare a bit of time… as your preparation skills also leave much to be desired, you could practise that on ingredients I plan to use in class for the lower years. That way, you can be useful to me as well. I expect you every Monday and Wednesday evening right after dinner. Starting today.'' The tone did not allow room for protest.

It could have been worse, Harry supposed. Some of the Occlumency lessons and the appointments after to keep up the ruse of him being taught had fallen on Saturdays, which had made planning meetings difficult. Maybe Snape had decided that he could spend a Saturday evening in better ways than by annoying Harry. ''I'll be there,'' he replied, feeling as if he'd just won a small victory. Sure, he had to spend more time in these hated dungeons, but at least it wouldn't be a complete waste.

With a portion of the evening already being taken up now, Harry quickly went to the dorms to grab some books he needed for homework. Better to not risk falling behind on the very first day, as he had no idea what might still get in the way. He had to push through a crowd of shrieking and laughing people as Fred and George were demonstrating some of their newest inventions. They'd sure had a lot of time to experiment during the holidays and had apparently made full use of that. Their headless hats especially appeared to be a hit.

As Harry tried to dig out some reference books for history of magic, a small package caught his eye. Sirius' gift, which he'd stowed in his trunk in haste before leaving Grimmauld Place… he'd promised to open it at Hogwarts. As there was no-one around, now was as good a moment as any.

Curious, he unwrapped the plain brown paper and took a peek inside, startled by what he saw. ''A two-way-mirror?'' he muttered. A slip of parchment fell out too, which had short instructions on how to use it and a 'love, Snuffles' written on it. Already owning a similar item, he quickly glanced at the parchment and concluded that it worked identically to the one Barty had given him last year. It looked similar too, and Harry hoped he'd never get the two mixed up. Quickly, he sat down on his bed, closed the hangings and cast a privacy ward before calling out for his godfather. It took a bit until Sirius' face appeared.

''_You alright there, kiddo?''_ the man grinned. _''How was the first school day?''_

''Crap, wish I was with you again,'' Harry honestly said. ''History, Potions, Divination and then a double hour of the worst Defence professor we've ever had. Plus, Dumbledore apparently insists on me continuing Occlumency lessons, so I have additional hours with Snape every Monday and Wednesday again.''

''_Ouch,''_ Sirius grimaced. _''How is your Occlumency so far?''_

Harry debated with himself for a moment, just now realising that it had never come up in conversation before even during last week. Neither had it that Snape was on their side and knew of Harry's contact with Voldemort. Other than with information about the Horcruxes, where Harry could rationalise that it involved himself very much, he wasn't too sure about revealing where Snape stood. Sirius hated the man's guts and Harry could not really rely on his godfather's acting skills being good enough if he suddenly revealed that Snape had been relaying Order secrets to Voldemort for half a year already.

''It's alright,'' he thus said. ''Making progress. Dumbledore was worried about me receiving visions from Nagini during my sleep. He doesn't know that Occlumency could probably not have stopped it as it came from the soul-bond, not from mind-magic or possession.'' Then, he thought of something and revealed the snake fang that he still wore beneath his clothes. ''Also, I don't even need to actively use Occlumency regularly to keep people out unless they look at me directly. This was the first birthday gift that I got from Voldemort. It protects from surface scans and such.''

Sirius grimaced, but only slight, and growled something under his breath._ ''Handy to have, I suppose,'' _he finally admitted._ ''But I don't know about your visions having nothing to do with mind-magic,''_ Sirius frowned. _''Sure, I'll take your word on that no active magic took place, but soul and mind are linked quite a bit. These visions still affect you mentally. You've told me also about times that you saw into __**his**__ head involuntarily. The cause may be that soul bond you have, but that does not mean that closing your mind wouldn't prevent it from happening.''_

Harry bit his lip. ''You may have a point. Even so, Voldemort wants to visit me through dreams, it'll be very counterproductive if I have mental barriers up at night just to prevent visions. It would definitely also stop him from entering my mind at times we agreed upon.''

Sirius stared at him for a moment. '_'Hold on. Dreams? He visits through __**dreams**__?''_ the man asked, sounding disturbed.

''Did I not… tell you that?''

''_**No**__! Harry, you let him mess with your head by entering it with mind-magic at night?''_

''It's not like that!'' Harry defended. ''I usually get pulled into his dreams first of all, so if anything, I could mess around in his head, right? Also, we just **talk**. There's no weird rituals or dream magic or whatever.'' He conveniently omitted the few times that Voldemort had warped Harry's dreams, thrown him out or actually performed magic that had effects even after waking up. Sirius was already worried enough about Harry to harp on exceptions to the rule. Voldemort wouldn't misuse their connection. Not as long as Harry was cooperative at the very least, he mentally corrected. Feelings and friendship aside, he should not be blinded to Voldemort's tendency to turn situations in his favour.

Sirius appeared to wholeheartedly agree to his unspoken thought. '_'You should still not drop your guard. Dreams are fickle and if you are both aware of that you are dreaming, it does not matter who is in whose head, there is a connection that can be manipulated. That is why Legilimency is such a powerful skill. Dumbledore isn't wrong in wanting you to have more defence, even if his reasoning is off._''

''Thanks, I appreciate your concern,'' Harry smiled, touched. He reassured his godfather: ''If I think that he's warping my dreams, I'll break off the connection.''

''_That eases my mind. So, what do you think of this method of communication? Cool, right?_''

''Very,'' he grinned back. ''It certainly beats trying to write coded letters or trying not to get caught with floo visits. I heard that Umbridge might be able to check the fireplaces. With her possibly being in the possession of a time-turner too, the risk would be too high.''

''_A time-turner? Are you sure?_''

Harry shrugged. ''Voldemort speculated that she must have one for everything to make sense. She has around 40 hours of classes herself, inspects teachers, sits in on nearly every Divination lesson since Trelawney is on probation and still has time for detentions, teacher meetings and patrols. She's in too many places at once to not mess with time unless she has a secret twin. If so, it's just as evil as she is,'' he joked. ''Where did you get a two-way mirror actually?'' he asked. ''And why did you not want anyone to see?''

''_Just like the Pensieve, it was an old family artefact. Unlike the Pensieve however, it's made with dark magic. It permanently warps space to connect two places, that is difficult to do with only light magic. Possible, as proven with the floo network, but difficult as there is no other reagent like floo powder. I don't think Molly would like to know that I kept this. I had half a mind to chuck it out with the rest, but then thought that it would be useful. I used these a couple of times to talk with Remus, but with the current situation in Hogwarts I'd prefer you to hold onto the second one_.''

''Is there a penalty to using it? Since it's dark?''

In the small mirror it was difficult to see, but Harry thought that Sirius shook his head. '_'It's user-friendly. The maker probably had to give a sacrifice to create it, which is why these are also only created to be used by the maker and then handed over to the next generation if they're lucky. No-one is going to commercially produce something that they would have to carry the negative aspects of._''

''I don't know, people do crazy things for money,'' Harry shrugged. ''Anyways, I have to get going. Hang in tight, and do keep an eye on Kreacher, I still think that he is up to something,'' Harry warned.

Sirius grunted not too convincingly, and Harry doubted that the man had taken the warning seriously. Well, he'd tried. With a sigh, the teen pocketed the mirror, thinking that he maybe also wanted to keep this and Barty's mirror in the Room of Requirement. Then it was at least safe from Umbridge's prying eyes. Ironic that he now had communication devices to contact two people who were wanted by the Ministry, right under Umbridge's nose.

As he realised that there was not much time left for quick studying and it was getting close to dinner time, Harry packed some supplies and went downstairs to eat with his friends. Afterwards, he instantly went down to the dungeons for his new potion lessons with Snape. At least now he did not have to drag his cauldron there for nothing, it had been annoying to carry the heavy pewter thing from the seventh floor to the dungeons and back all because he'd been **pretending** to have remedial potions.

Snape glared at him like usual, but grudgingly instructed Harry to set up a Wit-Sharpening Potion. Under snide remarks about how he'd really benefit from having a whole cauldron of the stuff on him at all times, Harry ground scarab beetles and cut ginger roots into fine slices. He should not let Snape rile him up, he should **not** explode, he quietly repeated over and over again in his head. Take the high road… He had enough enemies as it stood, and was bound to make a whole lot more once Voldemort started using him as a public speaker for abused Muggleborns.

Harry had briefly believed that after his last few talks with Snape, the man had shown some moments of weakness. Perhaps being constantly in power over hundreds of students had given Snape's ego a boost again. It was difficult to know what was going through the man's head. Harry felt like Snape was constantly fighting with himself, not knowing how to treat Harry and too rooted in prejudices to change his behaviour even in the face of contradicting facts. Lily's warning had not been enough, and even the knowledge of how Harry's childhood had really been had only slightly made the Professor ease up on the usual running commentary about how spoilt and arrogant of a brat Harry was. Instead, the insults had changed to Harry's abysmal potion skills and 'ogre-like intelligence'. He let it slide, having too much on his plate to fight now, knowing that he was stuck with Snape one way or the other for these lessons.

His potion had turned out better than it usually did during regular lessons, he believed. Snape of course still had judged it 'worthy of a T', but that had been expected. Not even Hermione got great marks although her potions were usually flawless, so he would not take that commentary to heart. It was already valuable to get some more practice in and time to read the instructions without hectically trying to juggle tasks with Ron. Or worse, Neville. He really had a newfound appreciation for Neville after seeing how hard his dormmate worked on improving during D.A. sessions, but Harry could not deny that Neville turned into a mess during potion class. Teaming up with the other then was like doing the work for three people, as it was also a task in itself to calm Neville down enough so he wouldn't break down. Harry had a boatload of respect for Hermione as she always took care of that and still managed to make great brews. She deserved a medal or something. He knew now how difficult it was to manage people.

Although he was already quite tired, there was some time left before he wanted to sleep, so Harry headed to the library, where most people were working on Umbridge's most recent piece of homework. Once there, he filled in Ron and Hermione, although he pretended to really have Occlumency lessons. He'd never informed them of his inexplainable fast progress in mind magic, which he was thankful for now as he wouldn't be able to give an excuse for even Snape wanting to keep up the ruse of Harry needing lessons for it still.

As he quietly changed before heading to bed, his attention was caught by a few slivers of strange fog that drifted in and out of the window. He recalled seeing it out of the corner of his eyes yesterday too, but had been tired from the trip to Hogwarts to pay it any mind. He'd instead caught up a bit with Ron until turning in for the night. Now, Harry approached the fog, stretching out a hand. It stilled and wrapped around his wrist like a snake. It felt freezing cold and emitted soft, sighing sounds.

Harry suddenly felt as if he couldn't move anymore, couldn't breathe. He was focused only on the wisp wrapped around his skin and the clammy feel. Something flickered in his mind. As clear as the first time he'd seen it, the memory of Sirius' corpse flashed through his head. The pooling blood, opened ribcage, severed leg…

It was over as soon as it had come. The fog dissipated, then appeared again just out of reach beyond the window, continuing its pattern of drifting in and out. The Gryffindor tore his eyes away from it and hastily got under the covers, creeped out and afraid. Were these the side-effects of Necromancy that Voldemort had been talking about? If yes, what exactly was it that he'd seen? Remnants of souls that didn't become ghosts? Or was it life that seeped out of the Black Cosmos? The Dark Lord had said that he'd learn to ignore these things after a while… maybe Harry should not pay attention to these apparitions. With a shivering sigh, he turned over and pressed his eyes close, trying to think of something more pleasant. Sirius was alive. He'd seen his godfather just before… Everything was alright.

* * *

The next day was not much better than the previous one. The holiday cheer was gone much sooner than usual. The atmosphere in the castle was tense, the kind of tenseness that was ignored by all who did not want to make it worse. Everyone knew that underneath, something slumbering might wake soon. Umbridge made it clear that she planned on changing the entire school to her liking this term, dropped hints about receiving more power by new decrees soon, and students cast her hateful glares whenever they thought they could get away with it. People fell silent as she pompously strode past, other teachers had a harsh edge to their voices or, in Trelawney's case, trembling. Hagrid sounded defeated and announced that he too was on probation now, which Harry honestly wasn't too surprised about. Hagrid had had a target painted on his back the moment Umbridge had laid eyes on the Half-giant. The poor excuses about his absence 'for health reasons' while sporting a blue eye and mangled face had not endeared him to the toad in the slightest either. Hagrid still refused to tell what had given him those wounds.

Other than the news about Hagrid, the first week of the new term passed without any incidents. Thus, Harry managed to scrape by enough time to organise the first D.A. lesson on Sunday.

So it came to be that on Sunday morning, he was greeted with the familiar look of the room that always appeared for their practice sessions. Over the past few months, it had quickly become as homey to him as the common room. During the week, he'd only dropped by here quickly once to hide his mirrors and notebook, which Harry quickly checked once more before joining Ron and Hermione. They all sat down on some soft cushions to wait for the other members to trickle in.

At eleven, everyone had arrived and expectantly looked at him. It was a strange, yet familiar feeling that he'd come to like. His regular teaching crew - Hermione, Ron, Cedric, Cho and Adrian - silently stood a bit behind him now as he faced the crowd. If only Voldemort could see him now, Harry faintly thought while smiling.

''Right, we all know what we're here for,'' he spoke, his voice carrying into the domed room. ''To learn more than we're allowed to. To stick together. For resistance against anyone else who'd see us kept small.''

''Against Umbridge!'' Colin Creevey shouted enthusiastically, almost bouncing up and down.

Harry chuckled. ''Exactly, especially against her. I hope that your holidays were good, but in case it made you a bit too relaxed, I instantly want to start by hammering on the importance of secrecy. We need to be careful again not to get caught. I fear that we can't trust every other student to have our best interests in mind either. I've already had an incident with Edgecombe last term, and then there's Parkinson for example, who will do everything to make our life difficult. If she gets wind of this club, she'll rat us out to Umbridge for sure. Some of the other Head Boys and Girls of other Houses might too out of a sense of duty. So, I want to insist on the following: don't let yourself be seen on the way here, don't practice spells you're taught here anywhere else than in this very room and try not to be seen together if you're from different Houses. I'm sure that she will try to find out our structure by seeing who interacts with whom as soon as she gets a whiff of what's going on. Unfortunately, whatever decrees she comes up with next might give her more edges against us and we have no idea yet what those will be.''

He got some murmurs of agreement and a few grimaces of people who were bothered by how much effort it would take. As long as no-one openly spoke up against these measures though, Harry thought it would have to be enough. He had to trust these people and could not pull everyone aside to give them an extra lecture. That would only backfire if they thought that he was too controlling. He'd seen that the little trust Voldemort had in the capabilities of many of his followers had led to them abandoning him, with few exceptions. It was a good thing that some were so loyal that they could see through the harsh exterior. Most of those apparently sat in Azkaban though, the price that Voldemort and his followers had paid. Harry wished to build up a healthier system between him and his students. It helped that he considered many of them actual friends.

Of course, he couldn't become bosom friends with all of them or expect that everyone would automatically form a tight-knit group. With thirty-nine people from all houses and many different years here, that was impossible. He himself did not have much contact with some students who were a few years younger than he was either, like Astoria, Dennis, Certus and Melis. He mostly let Cedric and Cho deal with teaching the younger ones as Harry had found that he was better in instructing people his own age and older. He got impatient too fast.

''We'll continue focusing on various fire spells this month ,'' he announced. ''We made a good start on it before, but to wield it effectively, we'll need to explore with different variations and see what works best against what. To not get burned, we'll revise some defensive spells to ensure everyone's shields are up to par again, and anyone who does get burned can come to me. Some additional info still to last time: for whoever is interested, I will also cover basic healing charms in between as it's always handy not to have to rely on others for mending your own wounds. Some of you already know these as they'll be covered at the start of sixth year, but most of you don't. Plus, I have looked up some more advanced healing spells that aren't taught at all at Hogwarts which I could introduce later.''

''How'd you come across them?'' Lee asked.

''I had access to some good books,'' Harry hurriedly said, thinking that would be a more plausible explanation than 'I had to mend the skin tissue of my dead godfather so it was a do or die situation in which following Dark Lord Voldemort's instructions to the letter was crucial'. It hadn't been easy for sure, and Voldemort had also had to fix some mistakes before moving on. After the fact, Harry could appreciate how much he'd learned, but while doing it, he'd been too busy trying not to freak out about messing everything up. A slightly more stress-free learning environment was **probably** better for his own students.

They fell back into routine quickly once Harry gave the signal to start. The D.A. split up in several groups, they revised their shields and then slowly moved onto the first few fire spells he'd taught: _Incendio_, _Inflamari_ and _Igneaffla_. He had good hopes that by the end of the month, they'd all be able to cast torrents of fire and streams of lava if he managed to get enough hours in. It was incredible just how many different spells could create a form of fire. Within half an hour, Harry was sweating bullets, trying to shield himself from the flames that shot through the room as he walked from one group to the next, mostly to heal his students. On the way, he was stopped to ask for demonstrations, improvements and explanations by a great number of people. Some also just wanted to chat, which he tried to brush off a bit as he did not feel like talking about how his own holiday had been. Most of it he could not speak about, whether it regarded the Order, Sirius or Voldemort…

Ernie and Justin were both a bit too curious about why Harry and the Weasleys had left school early, and Colin put fuel to the fire by making tactless inquiries about the many rumours that had been going around. Thankfully, nothing about it had made the newspaper. Harry wondered if Barty had blocked anything from being published, as he'd been the one to act as Noctua until Voldemort was of sound mind again. Harry just stepped back to avoid another question under the guise of ducking out of the way of a wayward spell, when he bumped against another person.

''Oh, I apologise,'' Cedric spoke before Harry had a chance to say anything, and the older student steadied him. ''Quite a sight, isn't it? I imagine that our last Defence Professor would have appreciated this spectacle.'' Then, he grimaced. ''If he wouldn't have been a Death Eater, I keep forgetting that, sorry.''

''You don't need to apologise so often,'' Harry laughed, though it was refreshing to talk to someone who so openly apologised for small things. Most people he'd interacted with recently were either too proud, stubborn or both to do so. ''How is it going?'' he asked, trying to peek over Cedric's shoulder at the younger students, who were having a go at dummies rather than each other to spare them a few scrapes and burns.

''As expected,'' the Hufflepuff informed him. ''The fire breath spell is rather advanced already, I'm not sure if they'll get that one down, let alone the next few elemental spells you have planned. I'm trying to get them to focus on repeating some others. I think they're frustrated by the lack of progress, but I'm trying to cheer them up. Some of them are only in their second year, after all.''

''Looks like you have everything under control then.''

''Seems so, though it can't hurt for you to talk to them as well. Oh, speaking of having things under control… they released a cure!'' Cedric said with a wide, excited smile on his face. ''The Ministry of France actually released the cure for dragon pox, and it's being picked up by all other hospitals worldwide. So many lives will be saved by this!''

Harry was not so optimistic about that, as he knew that the lives of these few might mean a starting decline in donations for medical research. It also was not a great sign that the British Ministry had been too stubborn to take the step before France did. ''They really had no other choice after it was discovered that there's been a cure for ages. I do wonder if funds will drop now…'' he speculated.

Cedric remained optimistic, his bright grey eyes sparkling. ''You know, I am in my final year now and got a bit of status due to the Tournament. I've been thinking of going into politics,'' he announced. ''I spoke up rather strongly already to the press about caring for the public, and I want to do everything in my power to create a better government. Criticising the current situation is easy, but changing it from within is what really matters,'' he seriously spoke. Then, he wavered, as if his confidence dropped. ''Do you think it's a good idea? I truly value your advice.''

There were loads of factors to consider, yet Harry did not have time for careful weighing of pros and cons right now, and did not want to leave Cedric hanging either. The Gryffindor inhaled deeply and spoke from his heart: ''If this is a matter that you care so deeply for, try it. You're likable, your dad works in the Ministry already, and you have contact with the head editor of the main newspaper in two powerful countries. Graduating from Hogwarts as a Head Boy and Triwizard Tournament Champion will also improve your chances of making it. However, be careful that you aren't always too optimistic. Fudge is no fan of the Daily Prophet at the moment nor of the articles you helped create, and you know how his undersecretary is. You'll be bound to have a lot of enemies who don't want you to succeed in gaining popularity. If you're confident that you can deal with that, then by all means, try to improve the world. Every sensible person will see that you're honest and true in what you want to achieve. You're a good person, and a loyal friend. The people should be able to see that.''

By the end, Cedric's cheeks had reddened a bit. ''I didn't expect such praise,'' he muttered. ''I'll still think on it of course, but right now this is what I want. If I manage to get all my N.E.W.T.s, that is,'' he worriedly added.

Harry laughed. ''As if there is any doubt about that! Aren't you among the top of your year?''

''That doesn't mean anything if I suddenly draw a blank during an exam,'' Cedric sighed. ''That is what happened with my O.W.L. in Arithmacy two years ago. I suddenly could not add up singular numbers anymore when I was staring at the parchment and got a 'Dreadful'. It was one of my best subjects before that point... The practical exam made up for it a bit, but altogether I only got an 'Acceptable', which was not enough to continue taking at N.E.W.T. level.''

Harry pulled a face. ''Don't make me nervous! I still have to take my O.W.L.s, you know!''

Cedric instantly became apologetic again, which Harry waved away. ''I'll survive the exams somehow. If not, I'll move to a remote little island where no-one can ever find me and live a happy life hidden away,'' he joked. Though if he really did fail his O.W.L.s badly, he might as well. It was preferable to the option of admitting failure to Voldemort. Whether it was worse to anger or disappoint the man, Harry hadn't decided yet. Maybe he should have pushed for staying at Riddle House. For all the Dark Lord's painful teaching methods, Harry at least hadn't needed to write any tests.

He whirled around as right next to them, Astoria released a frustrated cry and threw her wand at the dummy, face splotched with red.

''Hey, what's going on?'' Harry asked worriedly, hurrying to pick up the wand and inspect it. The blow did not appear to have done any damage, but the wand did not feel right. Not in the way some wands at Ollivander's had not felt right and made something explode for him. Harry got the feel that it was not resentful towards him, rather to its owner. ''Here.''

''I don't want it, it's useless anyways!'' the girl replied, sounding close to tears even though her expression was one of fury. ''It won't **work**!''

''What are you trying to cast?'' Harry asked, mentally trying to think of what he could say without sounding too harsh.

Astoria huffed and crossed her arms, eyes glittering as she glared at the floor. ''I want to breathe fire.''

''It takes time, you're giving up too fast. It's not like all the others managed it yet either, right?''

She straightened her shoulders and now directed her glare at him. ''That **others** can't do it does not mean that I should not already be able to! I am the only Pure-blood among **these**, I should be able to learn the spells far before anyone else! The problem **must** be my wand!''

Harry tiredly closed his eyes and cursed the previous generations for messing up their children's heads with nonsense ideas once again. ''The problem is not your wand,'' he bluntly spoke, looking at the piece of dark wood in his hand. It emitted a few blue sparks. ''Magic is a gift, which is handed out equally to all of us, blood notwithstanding. There are two things that you should keep in mind. One: you have to put in just as much effort and understanding as everyone else here. Two: pressuring yourself because you think that you are naturally be better than others is not productive, especially as it isn't based on any confirmed theories.''

As he'd expected, her face reddened even more, and he envisioned Nagini rearing up when offended as Astoria looked at him with a disbelieving and hurt expression. ''What do **you** know! You… you Half-breed!'' she shouted. Harry thought that the girl could be lucky that the noise in the room was so overwhelming that her exclamation had been heard by no-one apart from the small group of younger students plus their two tutors. Cedric appeared to be affronted on Harry's behalf and was already stepping forward when Cho held him back and shook her head silently. Most of the others looked like they were highly uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Only Dennis had gotten just as red as Astoria, but in anger.

Before things could escalate, Harry laughed at the insult. ''Half-breed, that is a new one. Yes, it's true, my mother was a Muggle-born. And yet…''

He twirled the girl's wand into his hand and inhaled slowly. The more he practised, the more in touch he became with his magic, and Harry had noticed that each moment he spend with Voldemort, even when not actively performing magic, that feeling strengthened. The Gryffindor felt each of his muscles and bones as they got into the exact right position, his breath slowed even further upon visualising the effect before the spell formed on his tongue.

''_**Vulcaneo Magmanimus**__!''_ he spoke calmly, heat rushing through his right hand through the unfamiliar wand and further still. Astoria yelped and jumped back as liquid lava formed in the air around them, slashing upwards in patterns that only Harry could control and predict now. In the light it emitted, both fear and awe were visible on the faces of those around him as he made the lava stream through the air to swallow all three straw targets at once, leaving not even cinders. Other groups around them stilled to look at the show. Harry made the substance take the shape of his Patronus, a burning stag galloping into the air. When it finally disappeared in a rain of fiery droplets that he caught with a flame-freezing shield, he'd moved much closer to the girl. A storm of applause and a few whistles crossed the room, noise which he used to bent down to whisper into Astoria's ear: ''Did you know that the Dark Lord is a Half-breed too? Magic has nothing to do with blood. **Nothing**. It's a fairy tale that far too many people believe in. Get it out of your head.''

Astoria gave him a last look, though it was calculating rather than angry now. She held out her hand, at which Harry handed her back the wand. He didn't think he needed to rub in further that the problem had not been her wand either after casting such a high-level spell with it while it didn't even belong to him. It also must have been a wand that chose her, it did not look like it had seen many different hands.

It reminded Harry of other times in which he'd had to use different, sometimes very unwilling or unfitting wands. During most of the summer after his third year, he'd used the wand Barty had stolen from someone else, which had sometimes caused unexpectedly strong results. Harry had never found out whom it actually had belonged to apart from the description of 'a drunk in Knockturn alley', and had left it at Riddle Manor. Harry hadn't needed it anymore the second summer since that bubble dimension had been erected. Other than that, he'd occasionally used Ron's or Hermione's wand over the years if his own wasn't in his back pocket as usual. Ron's new wand worked a bit better, but the old one had been a nightmare, and Hermione's didn't really like him very much. From the moment he'd picked up Astoria's wand though, the teen had been pretty sure that he'd be able to use it quite well.

However, although it was true that wrong wands could hamper spells, it also heavily depended on the aptitude of the caster. It made sense, for if it all depended on the channeler, then wandless magic would be pretty impossible. Once people could perform wandless magic, they usually had enough skill to turn most any wand into a useful tool, unless it was broken or actively worked against the caster. Not that he was on **that** level yet. Harry really wanted to learn a bit more about wandlore as the subject sounded interesting to him, but for now he needed to focus on more useful, practical magic. Maybe once Umbridge was out of the picture, he could do some research on a not so essential subject.

As soon as Astoria had grabbed her wand and turned back to her group, Harry asked the room for new targets and left the younger students once again to Cedric and his girlfriend. Harry moved on, joining some members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in an effort to break up a fight between the Twins. It turned out they hadn't actually been mad at each other and only had wanted to have an excuse to practice some hexes on each other. Harry left the stern lecture to Hermione and just walked away shaking his head in exasperation. Those two…

''Nice piece of work,'' he heard from behind . The drawling tone already told him who'd spoken before turning around to face Draco. ''The stag, that is. Not you. Your hair is terrible again.''

Harry scowled and self-consciously ruffled his hair a bit. ''Shut up, it's fine how it is.''

''Really?'' Draco critically asked, eyeing the plucks that stood in all directions. ''There are more attractive styles.''

''If my hair is someone's biggest concern about me, I'll be pretty happy,'' Harry dryly replied. Besides, Voldemort didn't seem to mind his messy hair, had even carded long, cold fingers through it occasionally… Harry swallowed as his mouth got suddenly rather wet when thinking of the Dark Lord's elegant hands. ''A-Anyways, what do you need? Burned yourself?'' he asked.

''I know how to heal, don't insult me,'' Draco scoffed. He casually waved his wand around and whispered a quick incantation that Harry recognised as a privacy ward, which was confirmed by the slight shimmer in the air. ''You're not the only one who knows some extracurricular magic. My parents always let me practise during summer. No, I wished to… catch up. One picks up some interesting titbits here and there, but the full picture is something else. I recall someone saying they wanted to share secrets with me. Have a listening ear in difficult times. You look stressed, Potter.''

''Still onto that huh,'' Harry grumbled, though he wasn't entirely annoyed. Draco hadn't been the most reliable or friendly companion, nor the best listener. However, there was currently no-one else at Hogwarts whom he could share the full story with - or most of it anyways. Harry didn't want to make Snape any wiser than he was, Harry's friends were obviously out apart from knowing the most basic details about Harry's visions, and talking through the mirror with Barty or Sirius just wasn't the same. ''Fine, I'll give you another chance,'' Harry decided. ''But this time will be the last if I notice that you once again prattled details to anyone else, understood? Not even the other D.A. members. It happened once too many that suddenly half of Slytherin knew more than they should.''

Draco huffed, clearly disappointed. ''Fine, fine. It better be a good story,'' he spoke, and gave Harry an expectant look, at which the teen raised an eyebrow.

''Instead of waving your wand around during summer, maybe ask your dad about political tact. I'm in the middle of teaching in a room that the Weasley Twins are clearly trying to burn down with their antics. I don't have time for a casual chat, Draco. It's too open here anyways. It'll be suspicious if I suddenly talk to you for an hour after avoiding questions this whole week. We both have a gap hour on Tuesday afternoon, right? How about I search you out then? I'll send you an owl with the meeting place.''

Draco grudgingly agreed, none too soon as a misfired spell broke down their silencing barrier and both teens needed to duck out of the way to not get burned. Harry could have stopped it with a shield, but his Seeker reflexes always opted for avoidance first from years of trying to dodge Bludgers. Malfoy did get hit, his sleeve catching fire, another sign that the pale blond really wasn't fit to be on the Quidditch field.

The rest of the evening was tiring but rewarding. Hermione, Ron and he snuck back to Gryffindor tower under the invisibility cloak after all the others had slowly left, shuffling slowly as it didn't quite fit three people anymore, mostly due to how much Ron had shot up into the air. Mrs Norris wasn't anywhere to be seen, and for the short trip to the other end of the floor, they relied on the darkness to hide the fact that three pair of sneakers now and then appeared out of nowhere. The usual scolding from the Fat Lady wasn't given, she hadn't given them hardship anymore since Umbridge had tried to question the portraits about the comings and goings of students. The Fat Lady had been rather offended and given a lecture about 'questioning integrity' and 'honour-bound secrecy'. Both pink ladies had left that conversation with their nose up in the air.

Harry halted for a moment as he entered the room, the sliver of white fog taunting him from beyond the window again. A shiver ran across his back, and he kept an eye on the thing even as he changed and got under the covers. The curtains finally blocked the view, yet could not chase the image from his head. Shining strands ran through his mind, and he imagined hearing soft whispers everywhere, which became even stronger as he closed his eyes.

_The whiteness thickened, and Harry was at the graveyard where Voldemort had been resurrected, low fog curling over the hill and between the graves. Light shone from somewhere above, and when Harry looked up, he saw four coloured moons slowly make their way through the sky. He tore his gaze away and started walking hurriedly to the exit. Only there was no exit, the graveyard simply repeating itself as white strands curled at his ankles mockingly._

''_Interesting meeting place.''_

_Harry halted his attempts to escape the fog and looked at Voldemort, who had been leaning against a large statue of a representation of Death to his right. The Gryffindor wasn't certain if such a statue had stood at the graveyard of little Hangleton. Last time he'd been here, Harry had been too busy worrying about the resurrection to pay much mind to the scenery. The man loosened himself from the shadows, inky robes fluttering as he took a step into Harry's direction. Two deep red eyes shone from underneath the hooded robe._

_The teen stumbled forwards, desperate for some familiarity amongst these depictions of his current fears. Voldemort's arms were cold too, but not the bone-deep chill that _ _ **thing** _ _ had left. Odd, in the waking world he would probably have been much more reserved after the way they'd last parted, but nothing felt more natural now than to seek closeness._

''_Sorry, I wish I had invited you to a more pleasant place,'' he answered after he'd gotten the hug he'd wished for. _

''_I regained my body and magic here, it's a very pleasant memory,'' Voldemort reassured him. ''Is it not for you?''_

_Harry jerked his shoulders. ''When looking at it like that, I suppose. But it's still a graveyard, and I haven't had the greatest experiences with death and the dying recently.'' He shivered slightly again when thinking about the bizarre sliver in the boy's dorms. ''You said I would have side effects from the Necromancy rituals… visions and such. I didn't expect them to be so strong.''_

_Voldemort walked to one of the flat graves and sat down, staring up at Harry. ''They shouldn't be strong. Ignore them and they'll go away in time. They aren't useful.''_

_Harry hesitated, wondering whether he should even talk about it then. ''There are these white moving things… they kind of look like mist, and move. What are they?''_

_Voldemort frowned. ''Remnants of the dead that haven't entirely crossed nor became ghosts. Usually they are of Muggle or Squib origin as those do not have the necessary magic to hold their soul and mind together long enough after death to create a ghost. It's unknown why they don't move onto the Black Cosmos and several Necromancers wasted their own lives trying to solve that mystery. Everything from outward circumstances to violent deaths has been theorised, none confirmed.''_

''_There is one in Gryffindor tower. Or rather, outside it? It goes in and out of the window. When I came close, it wrapped itself around me and… I saw Sirius. How he'd been before the resurrection,'' Harry whispered, disturbed. ''I know that he's alive, but in that moment all I felt was dread.''_

''_Gryffindor tower? There were rumours about one of the caretakers throwing himself from that tower, but that was so long ago that I'd be very surprised if it's from that. Usually these phenomena don't last long.''_

''_There was one in your house as well,'' Harry recalled. ''Near the fireplace.''_

_The other seemed to ponder on that for a bit, white fingers absentmindedly rapping against the rough stone. ''Still? It's been a year since I killed Bryce. My grandparents' remnants disappeared after a couple of days…'' Voldemort mused as if they were discussing the weather. ''Never saw my father, might not have enough humanity left to leave anything behind.'' Harry frowned, noting that this must mean Voldemort had not been much older than him when starting with Necromancy. ''But we're drifting off. They are curiosities of nature that have no direct purpose or use. If you let this affect you, if you fear it, you will only hamper your own progress. There's nothing you can do apart from shutting them out mentally.''_

_Harry had silently hoped that Voldemort would have more useful advice, but the words did not come unexpected. If even the Dark Lord said that there wasn't any more to it, Harry couldn't imagine that he'd come to a different conclusion. ''I'll try,'' he promised. ''These things are not dangerous, are they?''_

''_No. Most people can't even see or feel them. It's only because you are more in touch with the other side that you can see these leftovers of life, clinging to the outside of the Shroud. There are bound to be thousands more from other creatures that you can't see as you are not close enough to them. Dead animals, plants…'' Suddenly, Voldemort looked up critically at the moons that still circled above their heads. ''Enough of that now, we have other things to discuss that are more pressing. At the end of this month latest, I want to publish the Muggleborn article. For that, I still need to hear your thoughts so I can formulate it like you would.''_

''_You want to interview me? Here?'' Harry asked, astonished._

''_Would you rather I send an owl with a list of questions?'' Voldemort sarcastically asked. ''We can both speak to each other here without anyone listening in. Come, sit with me.''_

_The situation was pretty bizarre in Harry's opinion. Around them was still the threatening graveyard upon which the looming moons of the Cosmos shone. He felt like he was at the edge of a nightmare that could turn bad at any moment, and only Voldemort being here prevented that from happening. Now the other wanted Harry to sit down to have a possibly emotional talk about his opinions on and personal experiences with the treatment of mages who grew up with Muggles? And would they really leave all the baggage of their last meeting behind without mentioning it? Everything about this felt off and wrong. Sirius' words came to mind, but Harry pushed them away. He hadn't seen Voldemort in two weeks, breaking off the connection voluntarily now was out of the question._

''_Can we move to a different place?'' he pleaded. ''A different dream?''_

_Voldemort cocked his head and gave him a blank stare. ''This is your dream. We can if you wish it.''_

_But Harry didn't know how to manipulate his own dreams, it would be easy not to have nightmares anymore if he would. ''Not everyone has perfect control over their own mind,'' he glumly spoke, sitting down on the gravestone as well, leaning in close so they almost touched shoulders. The Dark Lord sighed audibly and turned to the side to face Harry._

''_I'll help you this once,'' he spoke, and placed a hand against the side of the teen's face. ''Close your eyes again.'' Harry did, and it was a strange experience to be aware that he was still dreaming even if he could not see it. It was the first moment that he realised people must never blink in their dreams. Before he could follow that thought, the pleasant deep voice continued: ''Take a step forward, let it take you to any place you have been before which you have positive connections to. Show me. Share with me where you feel safe.''_

_Harry breathed in deeply as he let his mind wander, and upon opening his eyes again, they were on the shore of the Black Lake. He'd dreamt of this exact place before… In the distance, the towers of Hogwarts shimmered, not entirely formed as he could not recall the shape or position of each one. Something tickled against his cheek, and Harry realised that Voldemort only now removed his hand. A pang of loss went through him._

''_Now, onto the interview…'' _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, this time Harry will not have an itnerview with the Quibbler, but instead with the Daily Prophet ;P Let's see how Umbridge will react to that...  
I hope you all like Harry being back at Hogwarts! I'll be more closely following the canon storylines again where I can, but by now so much changed that there won't be many details left to still put in there. For those who are reading along in Order of the Phoenix, I'm now at chapter 25 'The beetle at bay', but obviously, Rita is dead, Harry doesn't really have Occlumency anymore, doesn't have awkward interactions with Cho and the Death Eaters did not escape Azkaban X'D  
Instead, you can look forward to talks with Draco and a controversial newspaper article!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and especially to everyone who left a comment!  
xx GeMerope


	65. Muggle Musings

For the first time in weeks, the worst snow had melted and the sky above the ancient castle showed patches of blue sky. As Harry had longed to go outside to look at it, he changed the meeting place with Draco last-minute, sending another message over to the Slytherin at breakfast on Tuesday. At the moment, he was looking out over the lake, leaning against a willow tree stump on the shore, waiting. His breath was visible in the crisp air and owls circled around the familiar towers, casting shadows against the drifting clouds. He quietly observed the majestic animals as they soared around aimlessly, enjoying this moment in which he could let his worries briefly fly away with them. The moment was broken when he heard stomping and crunching grass as Draco arrived.

''Couldn't you have asked to meet somewhere warmer?'' the blond snarled, giving Harry a death-glare.

Slowly, the teen looked up. ''Not my fault if you don't cast warming charms,'' he replied. ''I'd have thought you to be more used to this weather than me. Don't you still have Quidditch training?''

''Not in **these** conditions!''

Harry shrugged. ''Not wonder that the Slytherin team keeps losing then. It's not even snowing anymore. Angelina was making a ruckus all morning about rousing everyone on our team to go fly.'' Draco grumbled in reply and inspected the spot Harry was sitting at critically. In the shadow of the tree stump, the grass was still frosted over, so Draco wiped some of the white crusts away with his foot and then draped a blanket over the area to sit on. Harry had to press his lips together not stifle a laugh. ''I didn't realise you were planning a picknick,'' Harry smirked. ''Is the ground too harsh on your royal buttocks?''

''Not all of us want to show our buttocks through ripped robes,'' Draco threw back, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes and instantly lighting one.

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes and drew his wand to cast a privacy ward and a warming charm in quick succession. ''You can be glad that Umbridge hasn't caught you smoking, I'm sure it wouldn't fit with her image of perfect students. Next thing you know, we have a new Decree.''

Draco hummed in agreement and exhaled a slow plume of smoke. Irritated, Harry wafted it away, none too fond of the smell. ''I'm wondering when the next Decree will arrive… and what it'll contain. We'll have to put up with her for about six more months, won't we? I hope she gets murdered at the end of the year,'' Draco remarked airily. ''She's a nuisance.''

Harry didn't protest, although he personally hoped for a political downfall rather than murder. That would hit her much harder. ''We didn't come here to talk about Umbridge,'' he impatiently said, wanting to get to the heart of the matter. While still reserved about Draco's loyalty, he was eager to finally have someone to share more of the story with who wouldn't judge him for trusting Voldemort's opinions. And they only had about seventy minutes before needing to pack up. ''What do you already know?''

Draco did not appear to be in such a hurry, leaning back as well. ''You and Weasley disappeared from school early, all the teachers were tight-lipped, and through father's contacts I got some pieces of info. First of all about Weasley's dad being in the hospital, secondly about the Dark Lord suddenly being unreachable to all but Crouch. Father wasn't incredibly happy, he'd wished to speak to the Dark Lord during this holiday about my future. Mother was pleased that he didn't get to it.''

''And are you? Pleased?''

The other gave a curt shrug. ''I'm eager to fight, to get recognition, but I don't know much of what is happening,'' he admitted quietly. ''So far, I haven't seen much action. Most of the Dark Lord's previous followers are locked up and whenever I did catch glimpses of him, he was busy with impossible amounts of paperwork. It's not nearly as glorious as father's stories of nightly raids and secret meetings. Mother wrote about those… creatures being in our house for a while. That was the most exciting thing that transpired, and I wasn't even home to see it. I'm only in fifth year anyways, stuck at school for two and a half more years, so there isn't much I can do right now.''

''That you can't see anything happening does not mean that nothing is going on,'' Harry countered. ''Voldemort is influencing the Ministry, the press, the public… both here and abroad. The 'glorious' time your father spoke of was filled with prejudice and unjustified murder.'' His voice was maybe a bit harsher than he'd intended. ''Much of the first war was based on misguided beliefs, strategies that proved to be unsuccessful. And I don't think it's a bad thing that they were! I realise that we grew up in different circumstances, but surely you don't think that what went on in the war was **good**? So much unnecessary bloodshed, betrayals, pain…''

''My family served a higher purpose, while giving Muggles what they deserved!'' Draco sharply said, turning towards Harry to stare him down. ''Did you just come here to lecture me, Potter?''

The Gryffindor stared back. ''From the moment it began till it ended, it was a war between light and dark, Muggles were only marginally involved, mostly in shock murders. None of you lot have ever been able to give me a convincing reason as to why you think they deserve to be subdued or killed in the first place. The witch hunts mainly hurt Muggles themselves, they caught hardly any of ours.'' In a twisted way, he could understand Voldemort's hatred for Muggles due to personal grievances, but most Pure-bloods, like the Malfoys, had hardly ever interacted with them in their lives.

He continued: ''Muggleborns have never been more than a potential threat either, with Obliviator Squads cleaning up after them. Yes, magical culture changed and became too much alike Muggle, but that was **our** doing, not theirs. Dark Pure-blooded families claimed the old rites to themselves and excluded light wizards, squibs and Muggleborns, who sought out different ideals to follow. Failed wars by people like Grindelwald pushed dark magic further away to the depths of 'stuff we don't touch anymore'. Much of this is a recent thing from the past century!''

''I'm sure you'll make yourself popular with those opinions,'' Draco sneered.

''I do not care about being **popular**, I want to see change without the mess around it that does not need to be there at all! There is a task at hand, a massive piece of work to balance out magic again, and it can be tackled from so many different angles, whereas you only see one. At least Voldemort has enough sense to realise that the way he tried it before didn't work and will never work! It would massively help if you'd stop repeating opinions based on absolutely nothing that you only agree to because your parents told you about them when you were a kid! If I'd have done the same then I'd be in a suburb of London now, washing a car and worrying about the neighbours.''

Draco hissed through his teeth and abruptly got up. ''I came here to find out what you've been up to, not to have my whole family insulted!''

Harry scrambled to his feet too, feeling frustrated. ''You said you didn't know what was going on. **This** is what has been going on. A huge shift in opinion that starts from the Dark Lord realising he went at it the wrong way. Voldemort is moving forwards, if you don't want to miss out on any action, you should follow instead of clinging onto what you think is right. I'm trying to **help** you here, Draco. There are so many opportunities out there, and 'I am stuck at school' is not good enough of an excuse to not remain informed. I left school early because I had a vision about the Dark Lord's familiar attacking Ron's dad. I then proceeded to free said familiar as she'd been captured by Dumbledore's men, watched my godfather die and brought him back from the dead and then had a ton of discussions with Voldemort personally about the state of things and how to move forwards, all in the span of **two weeks**. Change is not waiting around for you.''

''You brought someone back from the dead?'' Draco asked with an astonished expression.

Harry knew that the exasperation he felt to the core of his being could be read all across his face and exclaimed: ''That's what you get hung up about? That's not the point I'm trying to make here! Draco, you're fortuitous enough to have been born smack in the middle of politics, your parents allow you to practise magic at home during holidays and you have contacts and gold that most couldn't even dream of. Put it to **use**!''

Draco was so… passive, and it pissed him off. The Slytherin was all talk and whining, while being one of the few people their age who had all the means to do whatever he wanted. In a way, the blond was the exact opposite of Voldemort. Both had been Slytherin prefects in their fifth year with sway towards the Head of their house. However, Voldemort hadn't had a penny to his name, no family or contacts to speak of and **still** had gathered people like moths to a flame by talks and displays of brilliant magic, laying the fundament of his later rise to power. Draco had everything blown up his ass by the time he could walk, yet spent the evenings bragging, complaining, hanging around in the common room making snide comments to others. It was infuriating.

For a moment, it looked like Draco would shout at him or turn and walk away. The pale boy didn't do either, crossing his arms. ''Show me how, Potter,'' he spoke on rather commanding, determined tone. ''I won't be left behind.''

Harry nodded thoughtfully, trying to calm himself down. Any other reaction, and he'd probably have given up on the other. Now…

''Sit down again, and I'll tell you how.''

Over the next hour, Harry shoved his own issues aside, instead trying to inform Draco about every political detail he was aware of apart from a few secrets like Voldemort **being** Noctua instead of only working together with him, or the exact origins of the Hand of Magic that the Death Eaters were having 'command over'. He elaborated on many issues that he and Voldemort had discussed, made Draco aware of key problems within the Ministry and previous faults in the Dark Lord's plans that had cost him the war even before dying. During the talk, Harry realised a few things. For all of Draco's bragging, Lucius did not in fact reveal nearly as much to his son as expected, keeping the teen in the dark about pretty much anything apart from descriptions of major events and some harmless rumours. Furthermore, Narcissa tried her hardest to protect Draco even more and had for example cut off any possibility of interaction between Draco and Voldemort whenever the Dark Lord had visited Malfoy manor. Only at dinner she had not been able to prevent them from being in the same room. It had annoyed her son, but Harry thought that the woman was sensible in her decision. Draco still twitched each time that Harry spoke Voldemort's name.

After filling the blond in on current goals and plans, including the articles that were about to be published, Draco tried to get back on track about asking Harry about the holidays.

''Umbridge was almost frothing at the mouth at breakfast,'' Draco spoke with a faint smile. ''I don't think she liked being told that she can't stop students from leaving the castle. I had expected a new rule about that instantly.''

''I suspect that some of the Board members might take issue with children being taken hostage at Hogwarts even when parents want them home for emergencies like these.''

''Oh, it wasn't so much about Weasley as you, who had no blood relation to the victim. I think it just takes time until she pushes a regulation about that through. Say, how did Weasel senior get injured?'' Harry refused to answer, glowering darkly at Draco until the other groaned. ''Seriously? You even take issue with 'weasel'? You're in a stick in the mud, Potter. That is like… the least insulting name I can come up with.'' He sighed dramatically. ''Have it your way. **Weasley** senior. Better?'' he asked in a highly sarcastic voice.

''Better. Mr Weasley was… let's say, at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nagini hadn't even meant to attack him, but as soon as he saw a twelve-feet long snake slithering up to him in the middle of the night, of course he drew his wand. She registered it as a threat and retaliated.''

The blond clacked his tongue. ''How did you get away with saving him? I do suppose it was your hero-complex and **love** for that family that got him to the hospital in time? I can't imagine the Dark Lord was pleased about you getting jitters about offing his enemies.''

''It wasn't my doing. Sure, I intended to save Mr Weasley, but he'd already gotten help even before I had the chance to tell Dumbledore about the vision I had.''

''Why do you still insist on never really taking a side?'' Draco interrupted before Harry could continue. ''You follow the Dark Lord, you promote and practise dark magic, you oppose Dumbledore… yet you still refuse to cut ties with your buddies on the light side? I don't get how you do it. Do you think Weasley and Granger are gong to be thankful when they find out that you've lied to them for two years? Or that Weasley Senior will understand why you saved his life when you at the same time helped the Dark Lord?''

The words cut deep in a part of Harry's morality that he usually pushed aside. ''I know they won't be likely to forgive me,'' he admitted, staring at the ground. ''If it comes out what I did, they'll likely break off contact with me and feel betrayed, I know that. However, I can't shut off my feelings. I continue care for them, want them around, enjoy our friendship. Ron and Hermione especially, and also my other dorm mates or Cedric… they're great people whom I want to help and protect. It is frustrating to know that the chances are slim that they'll end up fighting for what I believe in now as well, but I'm still going to try. Look, if Voldemort would have acted the way he did in the first war, I wouldn't be here right now. It's only due to his changed attitude that I decided that his goals are worthwhile. That is also why I still have a glimmer of hope that my friends will be able to agree to those goals as well in time. That, even if they cut off contact with me for my deception, they'll still be able to cooperate in building this new society and live their lives. I'm trying to keep them **alive** for that, Draco.''

''If you're wrong, you might be weaponizing your enemies,'' the blond reminded him. ''The entire D.A… **Dumbledore's** army… they see you as their teacher and leader now, only because they don't know whom you really fight for. Only us Slytherins are aware of that. This whole group could turn on you in-'' he snapped his fingers, ''a **second**.''

''That risk is worth it. If they do, I at least know the weakness and strengths of each and every one of them.''

Draco nodded thoughtfully. ''True, you do know their entire repertoire by now, you're the one who trained them. So, back to the Dark Lord… you weren't punished?''

Harry gazed across the lake again now that this uncomfortable topic had been dropped, taking a few deep breaths before answering: ''Voldemort wasn't really in a great state of mind when I saw him again to return Nagini, and I was lucky that he took the explanation of me being only an observer as Mr Weasley had been taken to the hospital already, as enough of a reason to not punish me. He was also busy torturing me for something else I did,'' he grimaced. ''That might have played a role.''

With narrowed eyes, Draco mustered him. ''Full-on torture? What did you do?''

Harry strongly debated whether he'd speak about the diaries. Well, as long as he kept it vague enough… ''I found writing that described some personal details of Voldemort's past. I should have put it away but was too tempted and read all of it anyways. He found out and wasn't happy, to say the least.''

''I'd pay you good gold for those details.''

Harry laughed. ''No, no you wouldn't. While I don't regret reading it, I probably would not have if I knew the Cruciatus curse could hurt like that. It was… unlike anything I've felt before and threw my mind into disarray,'' he spoke in a small voice. ''There's a reason why it's an unforgivable curse. I wouldn't even wish it on you.''

''Not **even** on me? You wound me. So, how did you get to see the Dark Lord again?'' Draco's curiosity seemed to have only grown with Harry's previous non-answers. Having only a few minutes remaining, he gave a brief rundown on how he'd gotten Nagini out.

''And he believed that? Dumbledore believed that a snake would use floo powder? Is he truly senile?'' the Slytherin gasped, tears in his eyes of laughter. Harry gave a fleeting smile in return, still not entirely recovered from recalling in how much pain Nagini had been when he'd received that second vision.

''She's very intelligent, so I wouldn't put it past her to actually have done so. Dumbledore knows she is magically enhanced in some way as well, and that she communicates with Voldemort. I would have been surprised if he hadn't believed it, for he is not one to underestimate his enemies when knowing what side they're on. We have to cut our conversation short now though, there's less than five minutes left until class starts and I have to reach the greenhouses.'' Harry wasn't sure if he was happy or not about not getting to the part where he'd had to use Necromancy to save his godfather. To have the story be more coherent, he'd explained the way he'd covered up the breakout and brought Nagini to Voldemort before getting to the part of Sirius dying. Maybe it was better this way. Harry had initially wished to confide in someone about the experience, but throughout the conversation realised that he would get no new insight from Draco. On top of that, being reminded of Sirius' cold body, or the strange dimension he'd crossed over to, would not put him in a very productive state of mind for Herbology.

Shortly before they actually left, Draco amicably clapped a hand on his shoulder and spoke: ''Thank you. This was an… enlightening talk. I know where to go from here now, finally.'' Harry gave a strained smile, still unsure on whether he could believe those words. ''You still didn't reveal too much about your holidays apart from your dealings with the Dark Lord's familiar,'' Draco remarked. ''Maybe we can continue this talk another time.''

Not wanting to be seen together by teachers closer to the castle, they separated ways at the shore. It helped that Harry could take a long trip around Hogwarts to arrive at the greenhouses, whereas Draco headed inside. During the class, he felt distracted after all, thoughts constantly drifting off to mull over the previous conversation. Had some of his points truly gotten through to Draco's brain and erased the damage done by his family?

Ron and Hermione obviously noticed that something was on his mind. In the evening, when they were done studying for the day, they pulled him aside in the library and asked what was wrong with concern in their voices and eyes. Harry hadn't even realised that his behaviour must have worried his friends. Finally, he confided in them that he'd had a talk with both Draco and Astoria about the bigoted beliefs many Purebloods still had. ''It boggles my mind,'' he said. ''I understand that some people have a grudge against certain Muggles who hurt them or might even be wary of others after bad experiences. It doesn't mean that generalising is right in that situation either, but I can **understand**. Yet I don't believe that either Draco or Astoria have even exchanged a word with a Muggle in their lives! They didn't go to a Muggle elementary school like Ron, they don't go out to shop or whatever, they don't attend Muggle gatherings… nothing. And it's been like that for generations!''

Hermione pulled a sad face. ''I asked myself the same, the first time that I was called a Mudblood. I wondered what I'd done wrong, and why they hated people like my parents so much. The conclusion I came to back then was that it was V-V-Voldemort's fault,'' she said, stumbling over the name while Ron winced. ''You know, because he gave them all such a superiority complex and used fearmongering to convince others to hate Muggles as much as he did. After talking to Viktor about it, I don't believe that it true anymore. It's too wide-spread to be the fault of one person, and seems to be a world-wide problem. I spent some time researching and found that this all starts with the very human flaw that is present in both mages and Muggles: we live in groups.''

Ron looked confused, and Harry and he exchanged a look. ''Isn't living in groups a good thing?'' he asked carefully. ''For protection and such?''

They'd been on the verge of leaving the library when the two had approached Harry, but now Hermione walked away and started pulling books off the shelves, piling them up. ''It's a shame that we don't have much Muggle history available, so here you have a sample of some things in magical society. The Goblin wars, the anti-Muggle propaganda, the disdain against house-elves, the in-House rivalry at Hogwarts, the discussions about labelling beasts and beings, the Giant extermination…'' with each issue, she added more books to the pile. ''Humans live in groups, but more than that, we stick to these groups. Take pride in them, adapt our behaviour to the people closest to us, those who are **like us**.

In itself, it's a useful system of survival to take care of our own bloodlines first, but it becomes problematic in a world that is so densely populated. It creates an us-versus-them scenario where people will constantly be checking for who is in their group and who is not. Or in other words, who deserves to be treated like we'd like to be treated and who does not deserve it. Family or the enemy, basically, a system that is called 'othering'. We see this pattern strewn throughout human history in pretty much every country in the world, from battling tribes and clans to colonialism. On a greater scale, those with ill intent use this to create scapegoats, de-humanise entire groups and alienate even well-meaning people. Under Grindelwald, it even led to attempted genocide. In other times and places, this horrible mechanism **did** lead to exactly that. And this has been done with any type of group: between ethnical groups, races, classes, genders, members of different religions, citizens of different countries… the list goes on. In a men-vs-women debate it tries to highlight behavioural differences and erases both the causes and that we're all human. In a Giant-vs-human debate it highlights cultural differences and erases that Giants are very much sentient beings.

With Muggles, it is a mixed bag of of searching an easy enemy to blame for what actually are magical issues, and a superiority complex that has been supported by those who could profit from it. You are right, Malfoy might not have spoken to a Muggle even once in his life. That only makes it **easier** for him to see them as some kind of other race that does not require the same rights as he has. Without contradicting proof to go against what those he trusts and loves have told him about Muggles, why **wouldn't** he believe his parents when they say that Muggles are the scum of the earth and deserve to die?''

''The Dursleys also had screwed up ideas, I still didn't take to any of them!'' Harry interjected, remembering his conversation with Draco where he'd made exactly this point. ''And they spouted nonsense every single day!''

Hermione gave him a strange look. ''You hated the Dursleys. They treated you horribly, of course you would try to distance yourself from their beliefs. Not to mention that you were on the receiving end of their bigotry. You weren't miraculously immune to this, Harry, the Dursleys were never part of your 'us' group. Had they treated you like family, included you in everything without any kind of emotional abuse, I can guarantee that you'd have grown up with similar views. It does not mean that you'd have held onto those forever of course, people can change, but what you believe throughout your childhood especially is often simply whatever those closest to you believe, whether that's logical or not.

It's why most religions try to include children when they're as young as possible and push for entire families going to the same place of worship. Many beliefs or rites won't make sense to an adult who didn't grow up with it and doesn't have any other people to share it with. Not without major life changes or extraordinary circumstances that suggest evidence of a certain belief being true. If my parents had told me from birth onwards that magic was real without proof, I probably would have believed it. They didn't, so I thought it was all a bogus fairy tale until I saw it with my own eyes. I was sceptical until the moment I saw Diagon Alley despite casting accidental magic a few times. That's what I mean, humans are easily imprintable by their surroundings, and it's hard to break away from that.''

''So what, Malfoy just 'can't help it' that he's a prick?'' Ron loudly asked in anger. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Madam Pince flew around the corner and started yelling at them to get out of the library and clean up their mess. Ron repeated his question more quietly when they were in the corridors on their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

''Of course he can, don't twist my words,'' Hermione grumbled, irritated that they had been thrown out of the library. ''Othering is an explanation for why he initially was led to hang onto prejudice. As Harry said before however, that it is understandable does not mean that it is right or needs to be tolerated. If a belief hurts other people, it's wrong whether the person who perpetuates it could help it or not. Also, there is a difference between thinking something and acting upon it. I have no sympathy for him getting in trouble when bullying someone for being Muggle-born, that is his choice to actively harm another person. If he does not correct his views after being told how harmful they are multiple times, my sympathy also will start to run thin.''

''When I arrived at Hogwarts, I thought that this community was more accepting,'' Harry sombrely stated. ''The Dursleys may have hated me for my magic, but my peers at elementary school often only saw my darker skin and found that to be enough to distance themselves from me. Hogwarts was the first place where I saw people of all backgrounds mixing without much ado.''

Ron made a strange noise and said: ''I have to disagree with you there, mate. Just this morning, Angelina was fuming because Parkinson had once again commented on her 'worm-hair' to describe our Captain's braids. Lee told Fred and George as well that he's gotten comments like that on his dreads, which my brothers of course used to unleash hell on the bully.''

Hermione hummed in agreement. ''You're right in that it is **less** here, compared to a Muggle environment. My own theory is that it's due to the size of our community. There are only a couple of thousand magical people in Britain. We're already split up in groups of 'light' and 'dark', blood categories and even Hogwarts houses that everyone clings to long after school. People care more about prejudice that is tied to magical roots than 'common' bigotry. It's one more way to establish the idea that our society is so much above Muggles. The truth is, we can't afford that much infighting. Groups lose their meaning if they become too small, which is why racial equality and gender equality were achieved much faster here. Then there are also issues that stem in biological origins which don't apply to the wizarding world, such as homophobia. It's **different** and thus often still looked down upon, but the arguments against it are lacking when it doesn't matter for continuing family lines. As a result, there is no real institutionalised prejudice. Even for Grindelwald or Voldemort, who both followed a quite strict traditionalist view of typical Pure-blood families, that was a non-issue.''

Harry had to bite his tongue to not blurt out 'Maybe because they were both gay', but managed to hold himself in check. There was no way that he was supposed to know that, and in the case of Grindelwald it was only a rumour that Barty had hinted at and Regulus had written about. It did make him wonder if both men might have used it in their campaign if they wouldn't have been personally affected. It was a depressing thought.

That night, he dreamt of Draco standing on top of a hill, throwing coins at a wriggling mass of people below to try and hold them off. He woke up far too early and not rested at all. To have something to do, Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak and exited the common room to go for a walk. Almost instinctively, his feet led him to the tapestry of dancing trolls. Looking left and right, there was absolutely no-one to be seen on the floor. Not Filch, not Umbridge, not even the mangy cat. Staying in the Room of Requirement for a little while was probably better than hanging around in the corridors, invisible or not, so he slowly began to walk back and forth. Harry breathed in the comforting scent of wood upon entering, the fireplace flaring to life as he walked into the room that they always used for D.A. training.

It was a shame that the fireplace wasn't connected to anywhere, he thought, staring into the fire and warming his hands. They'd tried to see if it could be used to sneak out of school, to no avail. If there was any connection to specific remote places, they hadn't found it. That did not mean that Harry had absolutely no window to the outside world however. It was a long stretch that either Sirius or Barty would be up at this hour, but it was worth a try. Barty's last call had left him worried, and although Voldemort had mentioned nothing about his most loyal follower in the dream, Harry was antsy about getting an update on the situation. He'd tried to use the mirror a few times over the past days, but had received no answer. It could be that Barty had been sent on another mission and left the mirror behind again. It was frustrating to not know… Harry was mad at himself for not asking the Dark Lord when he'd had the chance.

He took the mirror carefully and studied the edge. It had never been something he'd noticed before, but the instructions that had come with Sirius' mirror had mentioned symbols appearing in the metal after a missed connection attempt. Indeed, he saw several scribbles etched into the metal, although he couldn't interpret them. Sitting down on the floor, he softly called out, seeing only darkness in the surface. Already resigned to not getting a reply once again, Harry put the mirror to the side and sighed, wondering what he was going to do with his time. It was then that a frantic voice spoke:

''You still there? Please don't say I missed out by a second! Evan? Evaaaaan!''

Harry scrambled to get a hold of the mirror again and raised it to his face with excitement. ''Barty! Merlin, it's been tough to reach you! How have you been?'' As he peered into the mirror, worry gnawed at him, seeing that the Death Eater had a bloodied lip and a few bruises.

''Don't look at me like that,'' Barty said with a faint, painful smile. ''I've been atoning for my mistakes.''

''Did **Voldemort**-?'' he started, irate, heart beating wildly in his chest at the rush of anger that faded only when the other quickly shook his head.

''It's not like that. He wasn't pleased with the mess I'd left and of course I did receive swift punishment, but that was only on that first day. No, you were absolutely correct, **our Lord**-'' he threw Harry a pointed look, most likely due to the casual use of the man's name once again, ''was instantly focused on erasing my errors.'' A few strangled noises came from the mirror that did not originate from Barty. The blond turned around and shouted ''Shut your mouth!'' over his shoulder. Then, he turned back again. ''Sorry, darn prisoner,'' he cheerfully spoke. Harry's stomach coiled uncomfortably as he realised that 'cleaning up messes' might well involve murder of people who were only marginally involved.

''Please don't tell me you are holding witnesses captive or such things,'' Harry pleaded.

Barty cocked his head. ''Alright, I'm not telling you anything then,'' he smiled innocently.

''No, I'm serious,'' he pushed, growing agitated. ''Voldemort said 'no unnecessary violence. Are you imprisoning innocent people?''

A few seconds ticked by as the stared at each other. ''The definition of unnecessary can be stretched,'' Barty finally spoke, all smiles gone now, from his mouth as well as his eyes. ''I'm not going back to Azkaban, I'm not taking any risk that would put me back in there, Evan.'' His breath quickened. ''Do **you** want to throw me back in prison?'' he accused.

''No! No, of course not! I just don't understand why you'd have to bring prisoners to Voldemort's place, because I highly doubt they're there for a memory wipe!''

''I don't have time to explain,'' Barty harshly cut him off. ''It's a long, long story that you don't have enough details on to judge. The man I took with me to interrogate is not innocent by the way, and would have me thrown in prison in a heartbeat. Not to do the right thing, but to have leverage so he won't be persecuted himself. Even if that was **not** the case though, I have our Lord's permission, and his word is law. Understand?'' he growled, a feverish light in Barty's eyes.

Harry swallowed down a biting reply. ''I understand,'' he reluctantly answered. If he wanted to argue about it, it was far more productive to take it up with Voldemort himself, as he was ironically more willing to listen to suggestions for change than Barty was. ''I'm happy that you are safe, truly,'' he added.

''Thank you. Hey, how's Black doing?''

The question came so out of the blue that Harry had to process it for a second. ''Err… good. Alive and well. Why?'' he replied, bewildered. This was already the second time that Barty asked about Sirius… he hadn't realised that the two had gotten along so well. They'd only really met that evening during the Yule ritual…

Barty nodded thoughtfully. ''He hasn't dropped by. I thought he'd want to visit to get some fresh air as he was promised as a sign of goodwill.'' It sounded almost offended.

''I don't think he **can** 'drop by' as you say,'' Harry frowned. ''I mean, many Order members are worried about Sirius' mental health and him possibly being spotted when outside. Dumbledore 'advised' Sirius to stay inside. Aside from that, there's no floo connection to Riddle house, apparition into that dimension isn't possible by anyone but Voldemort himself and he doesn't know enough about the location or entrance to show up at the Muggle side of Little Hangleton either. I took my godfather with me when activating the Portkey to get through the wards the last time, which is obviously not an option now that I am at Hogwarts. **I** can't even use the Portkey when here due to the damned wards here.'' Just in case, he'd tried it once in the Room of Requirement, hoping that it may have its own type of magic, but hadn't had any luck.

The other grunted unhappily. ''Shame. Maybe you can bring him along during the Easter holidays.'' Before Harry had a chance to inquire about it further, another strangled cry was to be heard. Barty sighed heavily and looked over his shoulder once again. ''I have to leave now, was great to see you kid. Work hard, get good grades, take over Hogwarts, the works,'' he smiled. ''You'll do us all proud.''

Harry tried to get a word in to say 'Bye', but the mirror turned blank already. What the hell had all that been about? Until breakfast, he used the room to clear his head a bit, practising the next spells he wanted to show the D.A.

* * *

The rest of January felt simultaneously like it flew by and as if it lasted two years instead of two weeks. Every minute of every day was filled with activities, from regular classes and homework to remedial potions and D.A. sessions. Harry and Ron used the early morning hours once to continue their Animagus training despite Ron's worries that the random storms that would hit Hogwarts as a result might interrupt Quidditch training. Sirius' confession to having simply watered the potion down to get enough during the brewing period had not eased Harry's mind in the slightest about maybe finishing the vial before managing the transformation. The Locket-Horcrux, who had helped with the potion's creation, was not here now either to iron out any mistakes Harry might overlook. If they messed up, they'd have to start all over again. It was not a very productive thought, which probably accounted for why it aggressively cemented itself in his brain anyways.

Even at night he hardly got any rest now. Voldemort kept his word about trying to be more available at night. Any attempt at conversing about personal topics was cut off however, in favour of overloading Harry with theoretical in-depth knowledge on areas he'd neglected before, from history of magic to the laws of transfiguration. Admittedly, the goblin wars had never been more interesting than when spoken about animatedly by a Dark Lord who was clearly invested in the topic of war and the political backdrop of those time periods. Still, things that Harry really wanted to talk about – from what had happened to the plans of promoting Barty to what Voldemort thought Dumbledore was up to – were glossed over. It was clear that the man did not look favourably on Harry's attempts to distract from the tutoring sessions.

Harry let it go only because he was impossibly stressed about passing his O.W.L.'s when half of the teachers at Hogwarts were incompetent. Even with those he really liked such as Hagrid, he had to silently admit that the Half-Giant's forte lay elsewhere than choosing subject matter or constructively preparing them for exams, instead usually rattling off fun facts about the creatures he brought and making them all pet and feed them. At least they hadn't been shown anything dangerous anymore since Hagrid had been put on probation, but class was far more tense as Umbridge and her blasted clipboard attended every single Care of Magical Creatures lesson now as well. Harry hated seeing her ugly face so much, which wore a constant smug look. She was present at all meals, walked the corridors, interrupted both Care and Divination, and on top of that, they were forced to actually watch her speak during the most useless Defence classes they'd ever had. Lockhart's teaching had been disastrous as well, but he'd at least been a tad funny and jovial before being revealed as the fraud he was.

During the very brief periods of time that weren't already crammed with education, Harry tried his best to maintain social contacts, mainly with members of the D.A. He spent quality time with Ron and Hermione, now and then chatted with Draco so he could keep an eye on the Slytherin and spent one evening in 'Broc Abode' next to the Hufflepuff common room with Cedric and Cho for an after-dinner chat. It was nice to set foot again in the pleasant not-quite-common-room and he fondly remembered the times when the Champion parties had been held there.

On the last day of January, a Wednesday that should have been just like any other day, Umbridge's self-righteous expression was at last wiped from her face, replaced by trembling lips and splotched cheeks as her Daily Prophet arrived. Harry thoroughly enjoyed the moment, ignoring the whispers around the table and Ron tugging at his sleeve. One blessed minute long, his entire body felt ablaze with rebellious joy. Then, Hermione's voice pulled him back to reality as she shoved the newspaper in his face and excitedly asked: ''When did you have time for **this**?''

He took the paper from her and stared at the caption:

'_Another cover-up revealed! Another Champion speaks out!  
__Harry Potter sympathises with tragic fates of Muggle-borns'_

Below it was a picture of his face. Wait, when did Voldemort get a picture of his face? The interview had taken place in a **dream**!

The chatter around him became louder, so he decided to skim the front page before he'd get bombarded by questions or Umbridge would shut the noise down.

_The new generation of witches and wizards leave no stone unturned. After Miss Delacour rallied for creature justice and Mr Diggory helped bring the secrets of our health system to light, we sought out the youngest Triwizard Champion to see what causes he supports. Despite being only fifteen years old, the Potter sensation already has a number of incredible feats to his name- _

Harry broke off there and read a few words back, hoping he'd misread. 'The Potter sensation', he mouthed back at the paper, horrified. What the hell was this punishment for?

_-incredible feats to his name. As our avid readers are undoubtedly aware of, Mr Potter uncovered the fraud Gilderoy Lockhart, defeated a Basilisk and captured long-thought-dead Peter Pettigrew, all before becoming a Triwizard Tournament Champion. Last year, we were horrified to read glimpses of his tragic childhood, which undoubtedly sparked his compassion for those with similar fates: other magical children raised by Muggles._

_As often as the topic of Muggles raising mages has come up, just as often is it waved away. The general stance of the Ministry so far has been that only blood-relatives can truly raise a child well. But is this true? New evidence suggests it may not always be the best option to leave a magical child with their unknowing family until the age of eleven. During the Christmas holidays, we spoke with Mr Potter about his personal experiences, and he shared not only his own story, but also alluded to other cases of mistreatment he has been made aware of for magical children in Muggle homes. _

_Naturally, it was our civic duty to research this. During the past month, we have uncovered previously unpublished articles and information about lawsuits about this exact topic that were hushed up by European magical ministries. Evidence suggests that some Muggle-borns and Half-bloods have even had their memory wiped before being placed with a magical home when authorities finally discovered their horrid home life. The parents or guardians were left to Muggle authorities, naturally unable to be convicted of any crime with both the child in question and memories of said child gone._

_Mr Potter did stress that he does not generally condemn Muggles raising magical children. In his words: ''I know of cases in which this worked out well too. One of my best friends is a Muggle-born witch and her parents are great. I wish to mainly raise awareness for how the current system fails those less fortunate. To shed light on how the Ministry once again covers up things to save face. They are so caught up in pleasing everyone and not taking responsibility that Muggles are not informed for eleven years, get no guidance, and no retribution even after discovery of abuse. This cannot continue.''_

_Read more:  
Harry Potter's home life: page 2  
Uncovered stories on child abuse: page 3 to 8. Parental discretion advised, may be unsuitable for young children.  
Full interview: page 9 to 12_

Honestly, Harry was shocked by that exactly those lines about him blaming the Ministry rather than Muggles had made the front page verbatim instead of being stowed away somewhere on the last pages. He **had** tried multiple times to get that point across to Voldemort, but hadn't thought that the stubborn man had actually listened. Harry supposed that it did make the entire story more believable as coming from him.

Leafing through the rest of the paper briefly, he already knew what he'd see: Grainy pictures of broken children looking into the camera, barely moving. A photo of the only article that had ever been published in a small Russian newspaper, accompanied by a translation. Letters with blackmail and bribes to shut up the journalists who'd researched this matter and the fine they had received two years ago. Many more unpublished articles and accounts of people speaking out. It looked like Voldemort had indeed gathered new material too in the past months. There were stories that Harry did not recognise reading before. Too many.

That wasn't going to be all, the Dark Lord surely had several up his sleeve to publish in later newspaper issues. As far as he could see when flying over the stories, there was no mention of the cases that the British Ministry of Magic had been involved in, such as the statement of denial when those journalists had found two Muggleborn children in Suffolk and Cornwall nine years back. Maybe Voldemort hadn't instantly wanted to piss off the British Ministry specifically.

He looked up, met by the impatient, curious faces of his house mates. Peering over Hermione's shoulder, he saw that many heads on the other tables were turned towards him as well. Cedric gave a brief salute and a nod, upon which the Headboy was instantly the centre of attention at the Hufflepuff table. Cedric looked a bit taken aback. While he had been a spokesperson too for the Daily Prophet, his article had not nearly been as aggressive. The Hufflepuff had spoken out about trying to take better care of the ill and called for improved funding to St. Mungo's. Only afterwards had the Prophet dropped a lot of bombshells about statistics having been faked, found cures not being released etcetera. As a result, Cedric hadn't stood much in the spotlight.

Harry disliked being cast in the victim role again and could see Parkinson's imitation of fake crying and her smirk from a mile away. This was not going to be pleasant. Whether peers would try to express sympathy or poke fun at him, it would mean unwanted attention. Voldemort had been right though: his fame gave the article more power than if this would have been published without his name in the title. It was for a good cause, he reminded himself.

''_Hem Hem_,''

Keeping that reminder in the back of his head became suddenly very difficult as he turned sideways and peeked over his shoulder to where Umbridge stood. Her face was still an ugly shade of pink that matched the rest of her robes. Harry's feel of victory faded as he saw her strained smile. ''Mr Potter. To my office,'' she commanded. The teen glanced over to the Head table, where some other teachers threw them concerned looks. They did not have the power to stop her, not even Dumbledore did anymore. Harry wondered if he imagined that the usually twinkling blue eyes looked infinitely sad behind their half-moon spectacles. He must have. Dumbledore put him with the Dursleys in the first place and had never believed his words pointing towards a less-than ideal treatment, even after Mrs Weasley had tried to speak up about it on Harry's behalf shortly after Ron and the Twins had broken Harry out of Privet Drive.

It was something he'd asked Voldemort to keep out of the interview and articles after careful deliberation. They could not focus on pointing blame at Dumbledore for Harry's specific situation as well as condemn the Ministry in one go. It was telling that out of the both of them, it was the teenager that had to point this out. Voldemort had agreed only after a few too many sneers.

Harry felt like he was growing up too fast, not even because of war or loss, but because he had an immature Dark Lord at his hands that he somehow felt compelled to take care of, and not in the way that the majority of the wizarding world wanted Harry to take care of him. Even as he was marching to his doom behind Umbridge's swishy pink robes, the thought brought a small smile to his face, which turned into a smirk as he imagined a few other ways to 'take care' of the stoic man.

''Do you think this is funny?'' Umbridge snapped in a high-pitched voice as she caught his expression. She primly pointed a finger at her office door. ''Inside!''

Resigned, Harry sat down on what had quickly become his least favourite chair in the entire castle, right in front of Umbridge's desk. Dread overtook him as he saw that the blood quill was already lying in position. ''I was unaware of that talking to the press is a crime,'' he tried. ''During my holidays even. Free time.'' Would she so obviously break the law herself? The woman's hands trembled as she sat down in her own chair, fingers steepled together firmly, perhaps in an attempt stop the twitching.

She stared at him for a good while until she had better control over herself again. With dramatic flair, she took the Prophet out of her pocket and shook the paper out, laying it flat on her desk. Interestingly enough, it was not the title page that she had placed in front of her. ''A cupboard under the stairs,'' she scoffed, followed by a ridiculing, girlish laugh. ''Bars on the windows. A cat flap on the door. Soup for you and your owl for weeks.'' With each word, she sounded more condescending. ''All which you claim the Ministry overlooked.'' She placed a stubby finger on the paper and leaned forwards over the desk. ''How dare you tell such **lies** again. Our system of supervision is perfect, even the school should have noticed if you lived in a **cupboard**. Did you know that the Hogwarts envelopes are automatically addressed to which room you sleep in, Mr Potter?''

''Yes, it said cupboard under the stairs,'' Harry flat-out told her, knowing it was useless. He still jumped when she slammed a flat hand on the desk.

''You good-for-nothing…! Where is the **proof**!''

Now Harry finally did get worked up by her ridiculous accusations. ''Proof? What, do you expect everyone to keep the envelope of the acceptance letter they got in their first year? That was over four years ago! Where is the proof that it didn't say that? Because yeah, letters are addressed automatically, and that's the problem! **No-one** checks them manually, do they? If that was the case, then **maybe** such things would get picked up!''

Silence followed, but Harry did not get the impression that it was the kind of silence used for contemplation. In fact, he'd be surprised if she registered a word he said.

''No more Hogsmeade weekends for you, Mr. Potter,'' she whispered, almost stumbling over her own words as they rushed out of her mouth. ''You get in too much trouble outside of the castle. Furthermore, fifty points from Gryffindor for spreading lies and chaos. Oh, and another week of detentions to curb your enthusiasm over succeeding in your little stunt.'' She decided, nodding along with her own words frantically.

Harry just shook his head in disbelief and astonishment. ''You always only hear what you want to hear, don't you?'' he asked.

''Your detention starts now,'' was her only, snarled reply to that. ''_I must not tell lies_. Until it sinks in.''

With a look filled with loathing, Harry picked up the quill and started to write, clenching his jaw as the skin was once again torn open and healed, over and over until it didn't heal anymore. During those hours of torment, Umbridge was frantically writing too, a bunch of letters in pink envelopes that were all sealed and put into a pile. Harry would have given anything to know who she was writing that bunch to. Was Umbridge contacting the Ministry? Trying to do damage control? Beyond the windows, the sky had turned pitch-black by the time that the evil witch finally signed for him to stop. Snape would probably lynch him for missing remedial potions this evening... even if hadn't been by Harry's choice.

''Let me have a look,'' she spoke, all sweet smiles again. She grasped his hand painfully, digging in her nails in the wound for good measure before putting her wand to it. She looked down, and only when Harry saw her smile make way for a frown, did he realise that something was wrong. Umbridge held his right hand. His not-quite-human-anymore hand. As not a single soul had noticed the difference in three months, not even his friends, Harry had slowly gotten more careless. After all, the difference was marginal as long as people didn't hold it up to their face… like Umbridge was doing right now. ''What is this?'' she sharply asked. ''What happened to your hand?''

Mind racing, Harry plucked out the first explanation that his brain provided. ''I had detentions so often here that my hand changed,'' he lied through his teeth while looking down at the red 'I must not tell lies'. From the woman's dark look, she didn't believe a word of it. ''It's like scars,'' he tried to explain as if speaking to a two-year-old. ''The more damaged skin gets, the stronger it heals over,'' he spoke, thinking of some facts he'd read when looking into healing. ''It's a natural reaction to prevent further damage. As a result of the cu- **spell** on this quill, my whole hand strengthened.'' For good measure he added rebelliously: ''That's what happens when people try to break something down. It always comes back stronger.''

''Down to your nails?'' she hissed, gripping his index finger and bending it backwards painfully. ''Very likely. No… no, you are hiding something from me. Whatever you have done, I will **get** you for it.'' Suddenly, she released him and got up from her chair. ''I'll be back in five minutes with an **expert**. Be a good boy and stay exactly in that spot. Otherwise, you'll have one **more** problem.''

She swept out of the room after that threat, leaving Harry frantically wondering who she would come back with. Dumbledore and Snape might both recognise what had happened to his arm, but not tell Umbridge if he was lucky. Madam Pomfrey perhaps wouldn't instantly know what was going on as she did not have as much experience with dark magic. However, she had seen his arm in its previous state and declared that it couldn't be saved with regular healing. Plus, Harry was not entirely sure where her loyalties lay. She'd insulted Umbridge before, but her oath as a school nurse might compel Madame Pomfrey to tell her findings when asked directly by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. If Umbridge instead came back with a different Healer or curse expert whom Harry didn't know at all… he didn't want to think of what could happen.

After a minute of fretting, Harry tried to calm himself down as he realised that one way or the other, it was out of his hands now. His eye fell on the pile of envelopes that he'd been so curious about before. Hesitantly, he glanced at the tacky pictures of cats on the walls. Were these sentient in any way? Could they communicate with Umbridge? To not be too obvious, he stood and paced back and forth a bit as if needing to only stretch his legs. Then, he leaned down and cast a glance at the envelopes. The topmost address read:

_David James Noctua  
Daily Prophet Ltd.  
56 Diagon Alley  
London_

Harry stared at it for a couple of seconds for a few reasons. Umbridge tried to directly write her complaint to the Head Editor of the newspaper? Did she think that he hadn't seen the article or something? Surely the Daily Prophet had a complaint department. On the other hand, it was really typically Umbridge that she'd instantly stomp to the highest person in charge whom she could find instead of dealing with lowly subordinates. Her status as Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Senior Undersecretary of the Minister for Magic fed into her belief that she was exempt from normal rules.

Secondly, was the middle name of Voldemort's fake persona seriously **James**? Talk about irony.

He tried to see if he could read the address of the envelope below it, but like a real neat-freak, Umbridge had stacked them meticulously on top of each other, not even an edge poking out from below. No chance there… Harry sat back on his chair, just in time as well as suddenly, he heard footsteps and the door opened not a few seconds after. He wasn't sure if a sigh of relief was in order yet when Madam Pomfrey stepped over the threshold. She didn't look happy in the slightest.

''What did you do this time, Potter,'' she barked, stalking over. The way she grasped his arm was soft however, and he could see real concern in her eyes as she knelt down. She turned his hand over and her eyebrows almost shot to her hairline. ''Well, something is definitely wrong with it,'' she pointed out, looking at Umbridge over her shoulder. ''It's all bloody, for one.''

''Then wipe that away,'' Umbridge impatiently spoke as if she hadn't been caught inflicting wounds on students by a Healer. ''What I care about is what he has done to his arm. It doesn't look **normal**.''

Harry pressed his lips together to prevent himself from blurting out anything. Let Pomfrey draw her own conclusions. The witch grabbed her wand and cleaned up the blood with a spell first, healed the wound and only then turned her attention to what Umbridge wanted. In the candlelight, the teen could see her badly-concealed shock as she inspected his hand. She tapped on the nails, measured the length of his palm and stroked over the stubble at the base of his wrist where he'd shaven the coarse hair away.

''Hmmm,'' was her only comment after a few minutes. She pushed back his sleeve and tapped on the skin. ''Hmmmmmm.''

''Well?'' came the agitated question. Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath and stood up to face Umbridge.

''It looks to be cursed, as if something dark simmers beneath his skin. One moment…'' she waved her wand far more dramatically than she was known for. ''_**Inprecatio Indagato**_!'' she shouted, making a complex loop-movement around his arm. A sizzling stream of magic appeared in the air, blue and purple like a bruise. It curled around in the air, then connected with the blood-quill that was still on the desk.

''It appears,'' Madam Pomfrey spoke with a disapproving tone in her voice, ''that the origin is that quill over there. You might want to get that checked out for possible curses, Dolores. It's festering under Mr. Potter's skin, changing his biological make-up.'' She pinned the woman with a look.

Umbridge was not satisfied with this explanation, planting her hands in her hips. ''Surely,'' she said with a sweet smile. ''There must be another cause? Otherwise, several students would…'' she trailed off, leaving the implications hanging in the air without explicitly stating that she'd used a blood-quill more often. Her preferred form of punishment was known throughout Hogwarts, but that wouldn't mean that she would openly admit resorting to dark artefacts in front of other adults who might have the means to record a confession.

Slow seconds ticked by as Madam Pomfrey calmly put her wand away. ''Mr Potter already has a curse scar on his forehead, that possibly alters the way his body handles other dark magic trying to affect him,'' the nurse countered. Now Harry **knew** that she was lying as much as Harry was. At first, he thought that Madam Pomfrey had simply drawn the wrong conclusion, yet if that had been the case, the woman would have considered other causes as well instead of blatantly grasping in the dark for an explanation that sounded logical. ''Naturally,'' she continued, ''I will take Mr Potter to the hospital wing for a few more tests with potions and other tools I have at my disposal there. If I find different results, I shall inform you straight away.''

Harry tried to not look comically back and forth between the two women. Both had a completely relaxed smile on their faces and the hardest glare he'd ever seen. ''I expect your report tomorrow morning,'' Umbridge smiled, knowing she'd lost, even if she wasn't sure how badly. Exceptionally relieved, Harry gathered his things when ordered to and followed closely behind the school nurse. The witch slowed down her pace a bit in the corridors so they were walking side-by-side.

''Can I go now?'' Harry hesitantly asked, flinching when pinned by another stern look. No further words needed to be spoken, they reached the hospital wing a few minutes later. It was completely empty, the lack of Quidditch games in January likely accounting for that.

He sat down on one of the beds while Madam Pomfrey summoned a stool to sit on. Once again, she rolled up his sleeve, now inspecting it for longer and tracing the line across his elbow where the flesh merged. ''Where on earth,'' she started with a tremble in her voice, ''did you get someone to attach a centaur arm to you, Potter?''

* * *

Members of his Hand of Magic shouted back and forth in excitement when he swept down the street. A few seconds ago, Voldemort had completed an exceptional piece of work, temporary spherical wards that encased the single house he'd wanted to cut off from the outside world. It was closer to a mansion, perched on the side of a hill and looking out over the Mediterranean Sea. Rage bubbled up in him as he looked at it. From inside the sphere, he and his followers could see the well-lit street of this Muggle town stretch to the left and right while hearing the sea roar as waves crashed into the harbour behind them. From the other side, none could notice them. He let his gaze drift over the scenery once more. A picturesque town straight from a Muggle travel guide, where the rich dwelled in their summer homes. Yet even the richest Muggles did not provide basic necessities for their children if they were magical, it turned out.

The issues of the Daily Prophet and Nouvelles du Monde Magique that had been printed yesterday evening had not covered even a fraction of the real problem. He'd mostly recycled stories that had been unpublished and which were years old, stories he'd had his hands on already before taking control of the papers, more than half a year ago. He'd let everyone believe that his reporters had only found those this very month, which would lead the Ministry to believe that he'd only been able to find isolated cases. Let them scramble to come up with explanations and try to deny still having a problem. He was already five steps ahead. There was a reason for why he'd let Lucius handle most business with the magical creatures they'd saved, and why Barty had taken over the hospital project. Voldemort had been busy for months, scouting all over Europe for current cases of magical children that needed saving. Muggle-borns, Half-bloods, even one orphaned Pureblood that no extended family had known about as it had been a result of an affair. Before anyone could react, the hand of Magic would start uncovering these cases one by one, 'inform' the press with evidence and punish the Muggles responsible instead of waiting for official justice.

He'd been conflicted about how much to get involved personally. Back when Séraphine Delacour had expressed her sadness over the fate of her people, he'd had no compassion to give. Now as well, he did not emotionally care about the children who'd been harmed. However, it was not entirely out of principle that he wished to save them either. A deep-seeded hatred against Muggles and a desire for vengeance drove him to tirelessly work on this project. Each time they found a new target, Voldemort was reminded of his own childhood at the orphanage, especially of the various expressions Mrs Cole and several teachers had given him. Fear, disgust, hatred… He'd never had the chance to burn down the orphanage behind him. It had caught fire by itself when he'd been working at Borgin and Burkes, as he'd found out many years later. None had died, unfortunately.

A small part of him also kept being reminded of that Harry's abusers were very much alive as well. He'd laid eyes on them once, and that had really been one time too many. It had taken an astonishing amount of self-control to not fill the hallway with their innards for what he knew they'd done. He'd almost given in when they had insulted their nephew in his presence. Yes, maybe part of this was also for Harry.

He signalled for his followers to surround the large building and head in. He himself went straight for the front door and cast a Bombarda on it for good measure. The door cracked, the glass around it splintered and the floor quaked under the force of the spell. Voldemort smiled darkly as he heard screams coming from upstairs.

''Let's see what the Italian Ministry will do when we drop off this child in front of their doorstep with two dead Muggles and some convincing pictures,'' he muttered, heading straight for the stairs. It was time for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised that I never explained very much about ow the Hand of Magic operates. They have a lot of overlap with the Death Eaters, but aren't quite the same. Voldemort runs both organisations separately, although quite a few Death Eaters like Lucius and Barty joined both. While practically all Death Eaters are British and know they answer to the Dark Lord, the Hand of Magic focuses on recruiting members from mainland Europe, many of whom consider themselves vigilantes and rebels without knowing who exactly leads them. There are a few splinter cells, and only the cell leaders know who is really in charge for now. Whenever Voldemort goes on a mission himself, he is only joined by the upper rang who is 'in the know'. Voldemort's plan is to operate it like this for as long as he can still stay in the shadows as the government does not believe he has returned.
> 
> Also, I realise that detentions for another week, no Hogsmeade visits for the rest of the year AND 50 points is pretty extreme even for Umbridge, but that's actually his canon punishment for the Quibbler article so I went with it anyways. *helpless shrug*
> 
> Thanks so much for your continued support :) i always get very excited whenever I hear everyone's thoughts on this story, so please leave a comment!  
Next up, a thorough grilling by Pomfrey and some new Decrees...


	66. new Decrees and rising ire

_''Where on earth did you get someone to attach a centaur arm to you, Potter?''_

At Madam Pomfrey's wide-eyed expectant look, Harry realised a few things.

One: if the nurse had already figured out so much information that she could tell the arm was created from a centaur of all beings and had been attached by someone else, she probably knew even more that she wasn't telling.

Two: Harry had found out over the years that he really was very bad at outright lying. Omission was one thing, he could do that, he'd had much practise with that at the Dursley's and had to do that every single day now too. Twisting the truth was also not too much of a problem as long as he could lean it on something. Lying in sticky situations like these however, had more often than not led to trouble. One only had to ask Snape… Harry's excuse for Malfoy seeing Harry's head at Hogsmeade had been to suggest that Malfoy maybe wasn't right in the head and had hallucinations. That that would not go over well, anyone should have seen coming from a mile away.

So, he swallowed down any ludicrous lie his brain might have provided. ''You said that St. Mungo's wouldn't be able to help me,'' he started, hesitantly looking down at his arm. ''So just in case, I had it checked out by someone I know. To my shock, I was told that it was far more severe than I'd thought, that it might only have lasted a few months more at most and would have affected my ability to properly cast magic unless I learned very quickly to switch wand arms. I was scared, Madam. Of losing my arm, and of people having one more reason to stare at me. It's bad enough with everyone scrutinising me because of a scar on my forehead. A wooden limb would be a bit much. I was offered an alternative and… it worked.''

She sighed deeply, wrinkles appearing in her forehead as she traced the dark line across Harry's elbow. ''I cannot deny that this is solid work, but…''

''But?''

Her green eyes pinned him down. ''This is dark magic, Potter. Blood magic at the very least. Which you should know if you were awake for any part of whatever ritual they put you under.'' The teen tried not to move to not give away any obvious signs of guilt. She seemed to catch something after all. ''As I thought. In any regular situation, I would try to undo this foul magic, as it could have more effects than you signed up for. In this case, the result of that may be a worse alternative than leaving it as is.''

He sat up a bit straighter. ''What do you mean with 'more effects than I signed up for?'' he warily asked. Voldemort had not mentioned anything… which was unusual. If there was a risk of danger, the Dark Lord typically told him straight.

Pomfrey solemnly shook her head. ''Blood magic has a steep price and even after paying that, it doesn't always turn out well. Unless the person whose aid you sought has absolute control over their powers-'' she broke off the sentence and raised her eyebrows, at which Harry realised that he'd completely relaxed again upon hearing her last sentence.

''I have utmost confidence in their skill,'' Harry diplomatically spoke, inwardly amused by what Voldemort would think of anyone doubting his work - if the nurse would know who had cast these spells, she probably would not.

''I see,'' she only said, her tone indicating that she had no faith in Harrys judgement of a stranger's healing abilities. Fair enough.

''This puts me in a tough position, Potter,'' she started, clasping her hands behind her back and pacing back and forth. ''I would like to point out that I am not here to judge you. I am a medical professional, not an Auror, and I generally do not care about what you do to your body as long as it does not affect my job. I am honour bound to patient confidentiality in nearly all cases.'' Harry raised his eyebrows, thinking to himself that this was something that the rest of staff clearly did not wish to become widely known. Otherwise, Ron could have been much more open about what exactly had bitten him when Norbert's fangs has spread its poison and Ron's hand had looked a nasty green. The 'nearly all cases' did prevent him from asking about that, not wanting to throw his friend under the bus before having all facts. And indeed, Madame Pomfrey continued with:

''**However**, if the safety of other students in this castle is at risk, I have to put the majority over a singular student. You willingly underwent a ritual that clearly isn't legal, aided by people who, even with this act of helping you alone, would be labelled criminal by any standard. Either by possible side effects from blood magic or by your contact to these people, there could be a realistic possibility of others being endangered. If so, at least the Headmaster and your Head of House should be informed.''

Harry felt all blood drain from his face. Shortly after receiving this arm, he'd had good reasons for doing his best to hide it from anyone. Those were still just as valid now. When it had just been about fooling Umbridge, he could remain rational and calm about this. Dumbledore and McGonagall finding out however… that could lead to anything from getting expelled to his connections with Voldemort being found out. Within a few seconds, many different possible outcomes flashed in front of his mind's eye. If Dumbledore would catch onto who had cast this magic, what was to stop the Headmaster from deciding that Harry should be the first Horcrux to murder after all? No, that absolutely could not happen! He needed to say something, convince Pomfrey otherwise. The alternative… Harry didn't want to think about any alternatives. He knew that all of them would lead to the choice of his and Voldemort's life against Madam Pomfrey's. And while Harry didn't care much for his own, the thought of Voldemort being erased from this world for good constricted his throat.

This was possibly one of the worst moments to get a panic epiphany about how skewed his morals had become, so of course Harry did. As clear as day, he could see the path that opened up in front of him: he would become the murderer of an innocent person if it meant protecting Voldemort. Suddenly, Harry could see why Barty could so easily commit the crimes he did in his quest for the Dark Lord's approval and safety.

Knowing that prolonged silence was not effective, he forced himself to croak out: ''I don't see how there is any risk. I've had this replacement for a while now, nothing happened. And I sought this person out, it's not like they're at Hogwarts or have access to the castle!''

Panic increased as Pomfrey shook her head. Tentatively, Harry curled his stiff fingers around the handle of his wand. ''That may be so, but you still have contact to mages who practice illegal magic on minors. According to Professor Dumbledore, the Dark Lord himself is after you, I cannot fathom why you would risk catching the attention of any dark witch or wizard. This person may betray you, lure you somewhere, perhaps convince you to bring other students with you.''

Harry shifted his weight to hide the movement of withdrawing his wand to get it in position. ''I refuse to believe that everyone who practises dark magic is automatically evil,'' he declared, hoping desperately that this new turn could bring her to see reason. ''Nor that they all work together with Voldemort somehow. I went to them because I thought they might have a different perspective instead of only information on regular healing, and I was right. I didn't care about what kind of magic would be used as long as no-one got hurt for it, and no-one did.'' Let her believe that he was naïve and too trusting, it was a better alternative than her thinking that he'd actively sought out someone who'd know the darkest and most powerful pieces of magic because he was aware of that light magic wasn't going to be of any use.

Her features softened, and she hesitated. A huge weight fell off his chest as he saw it, and Harry loosened his grip slightly, feeling that the handle of his holly wand was covered in sweat.

It was working, he could do this… Quick, something to distract from the topic… ''How do you know that I had help, by the way?'' he asked, something he was genuinely curious about, or had been until he was gripped by the adrenaline that rushed through his body still.

Madam Pomfrey chuckled in disbelief. ''Excuse me, Potter. For all of your shown aptitude in magic of… various obscure branches during last year's Tournament, you are only fifteen. **This** would take decades of dedicated practise. No matter my personal thoughts on the type of magic, I cannot deny the perfection of it. The previous curse has been removed, this new limb connects seamlessly, and it was even altered using your own gene sequence to blend in. Apart from a few oddities, it passes for your real arm when not inspected closely. This was the work of a genius… which is not to say that I can judge it to be perfect. Hardly any dark mage can exercise **control** over their creations, as it is magic that tends to overwhelm one,'' she trailed off, her tone becoming almost… nostalgic.

''You sound as if you have experience with it,'' the Gryffindor couldn't help but point out. Her unfocused gaze instantly turned sharp again, almost angry, before it smoothed out and her lips pressed into a thin line. The teen's heart jumped a bit at the realisation of that indeed, Pomfrey had experimented with dark magic at some point. That made everything a lot easier, especially now that she knew that he'd caught onto something.

''Do not try to divert this conversation, Potter,'' she coolly spoke. Impatiently tapping sounds of her wand against her thigh followed. ''You are certain that your contacts' sphere of influence does not include Hogwarts?''

Worded like that, he of course was not certain. Through various other people like his Death Eaters, Voldemort would be able to reach other students easily, especially from Slytherin. None of that was linked to this particular incident with Harry's arm though, so he said: ''Through me they won't be getting into the castle, and I won't bring anyone else to them. I promise.'' He didn't have any plans to right now, at least. That was the best he could do.

Pomfrey stared contemplatively out of the window for a while before nodding stiffly. ''I will keep silent about this to Professor Dumbledore as well as Professor Umbridge, on one condition: for your own safety as well as everyone else within this school, you need to tell me as much as you can about your new arm, so I can more accurately estimate the involved risks.''

Uncertain whether he could trust her stance not to shift when revealing more details, Harry asked for good measure: ''Nothing I say will change your decision?''

''No, but if you refuse to cooperate or I find out that you lie to me, I'll march straight to the Headmaster's office,'' she warned.

Left with no better alternative, the Gryffindor drew a deep breath. ''So first of all, it wasn't exactly blood magic, so much as **death** magic…'' he fessed up. To her credit, Madam Pomfrey did not look overly shocked or horrified. Encouraged by the lack of a negative reaction, Harry started describing the ritual to her, of course without ever mentioning details of who had performed it or the place and timeframe. When he'd finished speaking, she professionally summarised:

''An anaesthetic charm, an elemental ritual that may have been combined with blood magic to kill the curse with your arm, and Necromancy to replace it by centaur bone and human skin… gruesomely effective.''

''I only said 'straps of leathery stuff', I didn't mention human skin.''

''It would have had to be human skin for this result,'' she replied, dashing his hopes for remaining ambiguity about the origin of Voldemort's other ingredients. ''So, that was all within the span of… what, twenty minutes, as you describe it?''

Harry shrugged. ''I didn't exactly time it. The actual ritual felt much shorter than that, but there was a lot of cutting and prodding involved during the examination beforehand. So I'd guess anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour.''

The nurse nodded thoughtfully, not giving away any conclusions she may be drawing from his information. ''Where is your arm now? Your biological one?''

''I left it there, not much use for me anymore'' he said, not wanting to admit that Voldemort had specifically requested to keep it. That turned out to be a good decision as her calm demeanour vanished instantly.

''You **left**…? Are you INSANE, Potter? Do you have NO regards for your own SAFETY?'' she yelled, going full fury-mode ''You went to a person of whom you know that they dabble in the darkest of magics, necromancy even, and you let them keep a PIECE of you? Do you have… do you have **any** idea how much control you gave them over you with that? Disguise potions, golems, tracking spells, binding and control curses! They could make a copy of you, pretend to be you, hurt you from a distance… even imitating your magical signature is possible as it was your wand arm!''

At the words, an uncomfortable feeling coiled in the pit of Harry's stomach. Would Voldemort really…? Yes, yes he would. Maybe the man had not planned on doing anything like Pomfrey described with Harry's former arm, but he'd absolutely kept it as a backup plan in case Harry was succumbed to doubt or fell into enemy hands. In either case, Voldemort would not hesitate to use it against Harry if he deemed it 'necessary'. All feelings and connections between them aside, the Dark Lord was a very practical man and would not let emotions ruin any of his plans. Harry had no disillusions about that. ''Are there any positive possible uses for it?'' he hopefully asked, not wanting to think too hard on the man he was so intimately connected with keeping a piece for nefarious purposes.

Pomfrey calmed down somewhat and smiled wryly. ''The same. I'm not saying that the ability to track, control or copy you has to be used to harm you, only that it could. As long as you cannot know for certain of their intentions, it was a blatantly neglectful move on your part to leave your arm behind.''

''Would have been a bit weird to keep a shrivelled arm hidden in my trunk,'' he declared defensively. ''Should I have kept it next to my pickled brains and rabbit corpses?''

The look he got in return made him shut up rather quickly. ''You need to be taught sensible thinking, Potter.'' He was about to mentally roll his eyes and say a monotone 'yes Madam Pomfrey' before going on his merry way, when she pointed her wand at the office door on the opposite side of the room. ''As no-one seems to have succeeded in that for the past five years, I might give it a try. I like challenges.'' Her smile was honey-sweet, in stark contrast with the sharp daggers her eyes were throwing at him. ''Methinks that you need something to distract you from running off, chasing dark mages and **death** magic of all things unholy.''

It was in the middle of the night when Pomfrey was finally done chewing him out and sent him back to Gryffindor tower, accompanying him so he wouldn't get into more trouble. He managed to get only few hours of sleep in before the morning alarm sounded already. Harry washed and rubbed his face frantically to try and wake up, not succeeding terribly well. As he changed into a pair of clean robes, his eyes fell on the stack of books he'd been given by the nurse, which he'd simply dumped on top of his trunk as he'd been so dead tired yesterday. Harry picked them up and sorted through them, seeing titles such as _'the Healer's Helpmate'_ and _'The wizarding families' health guide'_.

Healing… even though Pomfrey knew nothing about Harry's previous attempts -and successes-, she had insisted on loading another project onto his shoulders to keep him on the 'straight path', as she had worded it. The teen wasn't even sure what that meant, healing spells could be just as dark as any other type of magic. For whatever reason, the nurse was certain that getting into healing would somehow keep Harry away from more dangerous magic though. From her reaction yesterday, maybe that was what had happened to herself… Putting it out of mind and glad that he now had some material to sort through to use in his planned D.A. healing sessions, Harry joined Ron and Neville on their way downstairs. They didn't get much further than the end of the boy's dorms' staircase.

Several seconds after arriving in the common room, Harry's blood started boiling again. At fault was, as usual now, Umbridge. Not one, but two new Decrees were plastered on several sections of the common room walls. The first, as he saw upon moving closer, banned teachers from giving students any information that was not related to class – going so far that each teacher was only allowed to speak to students about the specific subject they taught. It had been an expected move, though that did not mean Harry or anyone else would take it without protesting.

And then Harry read the next one.

''She's banning the newspaper?'' Hermione shrieked before he had a chance to close his gaping mouth. ''Preventing access to information is censorship! She can't **do** that! I would have imaged her maybe banning magazines or so, but the **national** **newspaper**?''

It was an extreme, aggressive move that showed just how openly Umbridge was willing to battle all of them. Having given the interview to the Daily Prophet, Harry had been reasonably certain that, while she may punish students unfairly for discussing its contents or maybe ban them from possessing this one issue, Umbridge would not be able to create far-reaching consequences. After all, it was the only real newspaper available in Britain. How else would teachers and students alike be informed about the world around them? How had she gotten Fudge to allow even this? As Hermione said, it was censorship, which surely wasn't legal.

It was Ron who put things into perspective for both of his outraged friends, pulling them aside before Hermione went into the rant she clearly wished to deliver.

''Dad's been complaining about the Ministry having an iron grip on the news for as long as I can remember. There was always lobbying and censorship going on, mostly to have the news be in favour of the Ministry. Now they are publishing articles that paint the government in a bad light…'' he mimicked pointing a wand at his head and shooting. ''Forbidding minors from reading the news at Hogwarts is not illegal as far as I know. There's a law about students not being allowed to be cut off entirely from the outside world at Hogwarts, but as long as there is still a single other piece of available media that reaches here, that is enough to them. The radio is still very pro-Ministry and so are several other magazines. That the main audience is middle-aged to elderly there doesn't matter. With the current stance of the Prophet, I'll bet what little money I have that the Ministry will do everything to prevent the ones in charge at the Prophet from buying up anything else now, so we'll be stuck with Ministry-positive news only.''

''I really dislike the Wizarding world sometimes,'' Harry growled. ''being in such a small community gives way too much power to a few people. Umbridge being one of those and abusing her power is a prime example of why it's a horrible system.''

''It can't be changed overnight, but it **can** be changed,'' Hermione resolutely said, crossing her arms and glaring at the board. ''We are the next generation of witches and wizards, we decide what the future will look like.''

''By the time we're all sixty, yeah,'' Ron guffawed.

Harry frowned and looked at all the angry people around them. ''It might not take that long,'' he predicted. ''Precisely **because** the official paper is willing to print such controversial news, we know that there are also people out there who are already fed up with the current situation. More than that, there have been two wars this century where major factions fought for very different ideals. Our world is split, not even into dark or light, but into a multitude of factions that all want something else. We are bound to find allies if we really want to do something about being treated like two-year-olds who cannot make proper decisions.''

''You're right, Harry,'' Hermione added thoughtfully. ''After this, the press will be on our side. Even if we won't be able to read the newspaper anymore, we can try to get the Daily Prophet to write about what is going down at Hogwarts to make adults aware of what we're going through. Unless the Ministry shuts down the entire company, the dubious rules we have to abide by will stir up people far beyond this castle's walls.''

Ron gave her a suspicious glance. ''That somehow sounds like activism…''

Brown eyes flashed dangerously. ''Is that negative to you? Is activism not exactly what we need right now?''

Looking back and forth, Harry wondered if he should intervene. Then, Ron spoke: ''I'm not against activism, far from it. However, last time you tried that, you forced people to give you money just to not hear anything more about house-elves. Plus, you still leave scarves and hats around without ever involving the elves that you want to set free.'' He held up his hands as Hermione turned scarlet in anger. Harry remembered Dobby telling them how offended most of the Hogwarts elves were by her attempts. ''I'm just saying that you maybe need a better plan this time than jumping straight in and spreading your opinion, thinking everyone will agree right away. We should think about this strategically, have a plan first. You make it sound as if you are going to bombard the Prophet with letters.''

The girl calmed down slightly and pursed her lips. ''I thought about that,'' she admitted after a while.

''Ron is right,'' Harry agreed. ''We can't act rashly. It depends on a lot of factors. If we reach out to reporters, we'd better make sure that others will back us up. I'm sure that, while people like Parkinson also won't like these new rules, Umbridge will try to pull them on her side anyways. Perhaps with privileges, or plainly by buying their silence. If we tell one story and the next day another student says everything is fine, that won't make for a very convincing tale.'' Although they were already standing a ways to the side, he pulled Ron and Hermione even further away and said in an as low voice as possible: ''What we need is a meeting, and probably also an expansion, risky as that may be.''

Both of his friends looked surprised. ''You want to expand the D.A.?'' Hermione hesitantly asked. She looked around, seeing the heated discussions that were in full swing in the entire common room, then turned determined. ''Good idea, Harry. Banning the Prophet was not a great move on her part if she wanted people to stop believing you. You are certain to get a lot more support now.''

''Exactly,'' he agreed. ''We'll of course be careful, but surely our current members will be able to make some recommendations for additional people we can trust who maybe believe in our case now. At the start of this all, I'm sure many did not show interest because they thought Umbridge was just another mean teacher like Snape, not that she was trying to turn this school into her own private playground.''

As the day progressed, Harry's words were undeniably confirmed. During class and on the corridors both, he was swarmed by people who all tried their hardest to make it known that they were on his side: against Umbridge and against the Ministry's attempts to hide their mistakes. It worked in Harry's favour that Umbridge's newspaper ban went hand-in-hand with an attempt to purge all copies that were currently in the castle, a mighty task as over half of the students had a subscription and pretty much every person had read yesterday's issue. As this was a whole castle of often lazy and messy teenagers, most students actually still had a pile of old prophets stashed away. It backfired completely on Umbridge as everyone tried to hide and salvage whatever they could, reading everything again in the process as she could hardly erase everyone's memories - for now.

By the end of the day, not only was everyone quoting parts of Harry's interview and discussing the latest article, the connection between this and previous Ministry cover-ups had also been picked up. Cedric was approached more than once to elaborate on the hospital situation even though it was a topic that had not turned many heads before, and Harry even saw a line of students trickling to Hagrid's hut. Probation or not, as their Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Hagrid was the only one allowed to give information on creature rights in accordance to Decree twenty-six and could thus say his piece about the first wave of critical articles. He must have done so enthusiastically, as by dinner, conversations flared up about how badly the Ministry had handled it, giving more details about each involved species than had even been in the newspapers.

Harry, Ron and Hermione showed their appreciation by showing up at Hagrid's doorstep under the invisibility cloak shortly before dinner, promising him that most students they knew had his back. It had been a while since they'd seen the Half-Giant outside of class, Hagrid was paranoid that he'd really lose his job when seen the three of them after class hours. They thus downed the offered tea quickly, gave the man another thumbs up to lift his spirits and left in a hurry again.

Throughout all of the chaos, Umbridge was walking around head held up high as if she'd won. In a way, she had: her goal of putting her claws into more and more Hogwarts affairs was working splendidly. However, she either did not want to see or did not care about the wave of hatred that she gained in return. It wasn't only Hagrid who was against her ban: other teachers like Sprout and McGonagall tried to covertly show their support as well, awarding points for ridiculous things Harry did, like catching a Ravenclaw girl who'd stumbled over her untied shoelaces just as McGonagall happened to walk by. The usually stern woman awarded him twenty points in a chipper tone for 'inter-house support and cooperation', which Harry knew to be a code word for 'sticking together in the face of tyranny'.''

Not wanting to lose too much time and finding it important to speak to the D.A. members about these new developments, Hermione called an emergency meeting. Unfortunately, Harry still wasn't off the hook with the toad and he headed for her office. After another few gruelling hours of having to scratch into his own skin, which thankfully did not take up the entire evening this time as she apparently had other matters to handle still, Harry rushed to the room of Requirement in hopes of still being able to participate in the last hour before curfew. Ron saw him enter first and filled him in on the previous discussions. ''The only thing that we can't figure out is how she got this Decree so quick,'' he spoke. ''The first one, we've seen coming for a long time. But the anti-newspaper one? It was put up in the night, so not even a full day after she saw the article. How did she contact and convince Fudge so quickly?''

''With her time-turner, probably,'' Harry shrugged. ''During last evening, she was writing a whole bunch of letters. I imagine that she went back into time as much as possible to post them. While it would have been too late to stop the Prophet from publishing this article as she had a twenty-four-hour limit, she could do some early damage control. If she dropped a letter by Fudge's office the day before yesterday in which she warned that exposing us all to horrid news or whatever is bad for our education, you can bet that the Minister would sign her new Decree the moment that Prophet dropped onto his desk yesterday morning, as it would only have affirmed her statement. I'm only guessing as to what reasoning she used of course, but it probably was along those lines. She's used the 'protect innocent children from the bad outside world' rationalisation before. Wasn't that also how she even get this position?''

Hermione, who had spotted Harry as well and joined them, nodded along to his words. Her expression turned dark as she possibly word-by-word recalled Umbridge's original speech. ''I wonder why she waited till the evening for that…'' the girl mused.

''Can you go back in time while already back in time?'' Ron asked, to which Hermione shook her head.

''No, otherwise one could simply do that to bypass the magic that only allows for one full day. Time-turners go into statis as soon as they are used until the original point in time has been reached again. She could, however, have gone back in time a full day in the morning to reach out to people personally, waited for time to catch up, and then went back once again in the evening of that day to distribute letters if her first attempts hadn't worked. The risky part is that it meant three Umbridges would have been running around for a while. Using a time-turner is dangerous enough as is, so I don't know if she would have done that.''

''What would be so dangerous about three versions running around versus two? Apart from the increased risk of 'seeing yourself and maybe attacking your future or past self' as you've explained before,'' Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip. ''Pretty bad stuff. Memories of past and present selves merging incorrectly, magic being siphoned off when getting too close to one of your versions, even creating local time loops and distortions if done more often on one place. I received a whole list of instructions when I was granted use of a time-turner. Maximally using it once per day, never seeing myself and avoiding walking by closer than ten yards of my past self, scheduling the uses so that I did not excessively turn back time in one spot… I somehow don't think Umbridge is someone who uses it responsibly…

''So we have to destroy her time-turner then!'' Ron enthusiastically spoke. ''That would be a start, right?''

''As Undersecretary of the Ministry, she'll just ask for a new one,'' Harry glumly reasoned. ''They're issued by the Ministry, so that would not be a smart move. It would only let her know that we're onto her little secret and thus make us lose an advantage. By this point, everything short of destroying every time-turner in the Ministry won't help us,'' he spoke, giving a humourless laugh. ''And that's impossible even for us. Not even sure where they're created or kept.''

''A place called the Department of Mysteries,'' Hermione readily said, eager to share her knowledge. ''I naturally looked into time-turners when I received one. There was hardly anything to be found on the topic of creating them - it's a well-guarded secret -, but that fascinating Department came up a few times. Without details, sadly. I suppose it is not called a mystery for nothing.''

''I've heard about that!'' Ron exclaimed. ''Dad said that the employees there are not allowed to say a word about their work, so they're called 'Unspeakables'. Only the high bosses know what goes on there. Rumour has it that they try to research various magical topics and invent new stuff. It makes sense that something advanced and valuable like time-turners is created there.''

Harry had also heard of that department before, but kept his mouth shut. The image of the large stone room with the ominous arch swam in his mind's eye. Having never read a word about this department, it would be odd for him to know that they researched even death magic there. Why did every conversation he have always somehow link back to this topic?

''Harry!''

He nearly jumped up in joy when he was saved from more uncomfortable memories by Seamus, who beelined towards him.

''Harry,'' Seamus spoke again, now in a gruff voice. He stopped shortly in front of Harry with crossed arms. The way that he swayed a bit back and forth on the balls of his feet betrayed that he was trying to cover up some nerves by overcompensating on his stance. ''I… I just wanted to let you know… my mum believes you now.''

Harry scratched his head. ''Uhhh... okay. Good?'' he said, trying to rake his memory for any instance where Seamus' mum hadn't believed him. Then, it hit Harry. On the very first day of school, Seamus had tried to start an argument, which Harry had quickly shot down by declaring that he did not share Dumbledore's views and ignoring Seamus for the rest of that evening as he'd been too tired to deal with any drama on the first school day. His dorm mate had not given Harry any real grief afterwards, and had even come along to the first D.A. meeting, prompted by the fact that every other Gryffindor student of their year was going, even the girls. Over the months, Harry had forgotten about Seamus even having had a problem with him in the first place. ''What part does she believe, exactly?'' he asked.

Seamus pulled a bunch of Prophets out of his bag and held the latest one up. ''She finds it great that you can finally speak out about such a large problem in our community. To be honest, she'd been really afraid to tell dad that she was a witch, and she only confessed after she'd married. I didn't know about this up until a while ago, but dad wasn't very happy when it turned out that I was magical as well. Never showed it towards me, thankfully, but my parents definitely went through some bumpy phases where my mum wasn't sure if he'd stay or not. This article really shocked her, because it… it hit quite close to home. If dad had been a bit more like these other Muggles… or if my mum wouldn't have been there and I'd been raised only by Muggles…'' Seamus made a helpless gesture. ''So yeah, I fully support your idea of making sure that non-magical parents have a system of support and information to back on. It's nuts that there isn't yet. It also made her reconsider her stance on believing you about Death Eater activity and such. I as well was still sceptical about Professor Moody really having been a follower of You-Know-Who… But sometimes crazy things just happen, I guess.''

Happy that his interview with the Prophet was already having an effect on people outside of Hogwarts, he accepted the pat on his shoulder from his dorm mate. ''Glad your family is on board,'' he simply commented. ''To have any sort of influence however, we first must focus on combatting Umbridge. With her banning the Prophet, she's the bigger problem for us right now than anything waiting out there, be it Muggles or Death Eaters.''

More people in the room had seen that Harry was there now and had stopped their practise, either coming closer to hear what was going on or simply standing there in wait of instructions. On his request, all people present quickly gathered round. His suggestion to go over some Herbology fell on deaf ears, and everyone instantly launched into voicing their thoughts on the latest Decrees and the article. Harry sighed, resigned, and did his best to listen to everyone instead of once more giving his own version, only answering direct questions about the interview. Even when the last people -the Slytherins- finally felt comfortable enough to join in with the rest, the discussion showed no signs of slowing down despite a lot of people here often not wanting to speak to them. Terry wished for Harry to say more about the Dursleys, whereas Cho was more interested in his ideas on how to solve the current issues. At long last, Harry really had enough.

''Guys, this is not what we are here for!'' he forcefully spoke, giving everyone a harsh look. ''I said my piece on this, I tried to answer your questions right now, but that'll have to be it! There are some things that we can't change while at school. All of these matters: creature rights, fraud, mistreatment… they're all relevant, but not right now for us. Cedric and I both helped shed light on these topics, we lent our voice as Champions, and now it's up to others to fix it. We have nil influence on the actions of politicians while we're still students. We can't vote, we don't have access to the Wizengamot. It's out of our hands, do you understand?''

''So why this? Why speak up in the first place?'' Colin asked, rightfully angry.

Harry started pacing back and forth. ''For a number of reasons. We realised that, deserved or not, our voices matter. The Prophet purposefully sought Triwizard Champions out to ask about causes we care about. If they'd published anything anti-Ministry without that, it would have been easier to cover up again as Fudge could have simply dismissed the reporters for being biased or whatever. Coming from the mouths of teens and then backed up with evidence, made for a much stronger argument. Also, I knew that it would tremendously throw Umbridge off, so that was a huge plus for me. She is the only arm of the Ministry that we **can** reach. It's our duty to ensure this castle gets taken back and doesn't see political influence anymore. So, I want to focus on that. Defy her, roll back the ridiculous rules she's made us put up with, fight against her intended separation of the houses. Once we get rid of her, we can start thinking about the bigger picture. Until then, Umbridge will shut down any of our attempts to reach the outside world. Post is already being controlled, she has the fireplaces under her watchful eye and her banning me from Hogsmeade trips to prevent me from contacting the Prophet again, will likely extend to anyone else who tries the same.''

''Like all other teachers, she won't last longer than a year though,'' Draco spoke up.

''Do you want to wait six more months to see what else she can do to make our lives more difficult?'' Harry challenged the Slytherin. ''I don't. We'll need plans and a more organised network than we have now. We're only thirty-nine people. If we want to have any real influence, more people need to be made aware of our underground battle. I know what I said before about being careful and staying undercover, but I've realised that Umbridge has only just started. We need support to weather what's to come.''

''The reactions to Harry's interview today were promising,'' Hermione took over. ''And these last two Decrees went too far. A lot more people might be open to joining us.''

''We signed a secrecy contract though, how are we supposed to advertise?'' Ginny pointed out. ''Besides that, there's some negative points about getting more members. It means more risk of exposure, and new students would have to somehow catch up to all the spells we've learned so far!''

''Not necessarily,'' Harry shrugged. ''It was their loss that they weren't part of the first group. I try to teach new spells of various fields each month, I suggest that we all scout for possible new trustworthy members in the coming weeks, and once they're here, simply start a new topic. Sure, they won't know some of the spells that we've all practised before, but I don't want to hold the rest of you back, and they'll still be able to learn extracurricular magic, plus join in our homework sessions. Regarding the secrecy spells, just bring them to this room without explicitly saying what it's for other than 'a way to defy Umbridge's rules'. If they don't agree in the end to what we're doing, Hermione can use her secrecy line again.''

Cedric cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. ''While I agree with your reasoning, Harry, I do think that we'll have to consider whether we can handle having more members in the first place. Depending on how many others join, it will be a massive task to properly teach everyone. This group is indeed also about escaping Professor Umbridge's rules, but we should not lose focus on that the D.A.'s true intent is to counter her inept teaching. We are a study group first and foremost. Unless we can convince some more students in higher years, to have more teaching staff, we can forget about inviting a slew of new members. Practicality first.''

Harry clacked his tongue in displeasure. He really wanted to just go all out and create a massive force that would drive the horrid woman out of Hogwarts screaming. Cedric did have a point though. ''Alright, maybe our current older members should go on a lookout for new blood first?'' he suggested, looking at Cedric, Adrian, Alicia, the Twins, Lee and Angelina, who were all in their seventh year.

''I could maybe check if Davies is interested,'' Angelina pondered. ''He's in seventh year as well and Quidditch captain like me. We hang out occasionally to talk about sports, he's a decent guy.''

Harry remembered him, both from matches and from the Yule ball. Fleur hadn't especially liked having Davies as a date, but the Ravenclaw had at least been able to overcome her charm enough to not act like a stuttering idiot, and it also showed that he hadn't cared about her 'mixed' status. He might be a good ally to have against Umbridge, who had detested Fleur for that very reason.

''Good call. Anyone else?''

''Warrington was interested in you before.'' Adrian said.

At the name, both Daphne and Astoria scrunched their noses, yet didn't say anything. Finding the reaction odd, Harry asked about it. The sisters looked at each other, until Daphne said: ''He's not exactly a gentleman, if you know what I mean,'' with a strained smile. ''If Warrington comes to this place, both Astoria and I are leaving, and I can guarantee that no other female student from Slytherin will join. Adrian, how about trying to ask Ursa Saeth? As the Head Girl, she could execute influence over other students and teach. She may be a bit… frosty, but she's fair and not openly against inter-house connections.''

Adrian grumbled a bit under his breath. ''I don't know,'' he admitted, red creeping on his face. ''She is not very approachable.'' At this, a few of the Slytherins exchanged amused looks. Seeing the direction in which this was heading, Harry decided:

''I never had an issue with Saeth. If Adrian doesn't feel comfortable asking, how about Draco does so? He is a Prefect, she might listen to him as well despite being younger.''

The blond agreed, and they went back to brainstorming for a short while until Harry found that they'd already used enough time talking. Curfew was approaching fast. ''Who wants to blow some shit up and let out steam?'' he finally exclaimed, drawing his wand to give a demonstration. Under loud cheering, he rolled up his sleeves and walked to the targets to show just how effective a cannon curse could be. This one was for Barty, who loved explosive spells.

* * *

_Tap, tap tap._

Fingers stilled mid-air as Voldemort realised what he was doing, and after a quick analysis, the man realised that he felt nervous of all things. Growling under his breath, he tried to dispel the feeling. He was a Dark Lord, and in this office, he was the boss. There was no need at all to be jittery, no matter whom he'd have to speak to.

Despite that very rational thought, he glared a hole into his calendar. A few more minutes… He hoped that the other would be late, so he could feel better about himself and would be able to belittle-

A short rapping sounded. His secretary opened the door and stuck their head through the opening. ''Are you ready for the next appointment, Sir?''

Voldemort smoothed the few crinkles in the otherwise pristine notebook in front of him and dipped a quill into ink just to have something in his hands. How long had it been that they'd been face-to-face? Decades, surely. While inhabiting Quirrel's head, he'd never directly interacted with another human being apart from Harry at the very end. ''Bring him in,'' he spoke, trying not to sound too unfriendly. The door opening widened to let his visitor through.

Voldemort fought the urge to grab his wand and hurl a Killing curse through the office when a high-heeled boot with silver clasps stepped over the threshold, followed by the rest of Dumbledore.

''David, it has been such a long time,'' the Headmaster greeted with a smile. Voldemort had an even harder time keeping himself from grimacing. What was it with Dumbledore's insistence on being so impolite to use the first name of every student he'd ever had? ''I admit that I hadn't expected your career to be so glowing when seeing your N.E.W.T. results.''

Voldemort forced his lips to form into a polite smile. ''Thankfully, this job requires more than magical proficiency. The only transfiguration I need to perform nowadays is turning words into a good story,'' he replied. One of the annoyances of playing Noctua was exactly what Dumbledore had just pointed out. The head editor of the Daily Prophet had never been a strong wizard. While decent at his job, Noctua hadn't received the best grades at Hogwarts and hadn't even very strong-willed either, pushed around by the Ministry and his own staff quite often. Voldemort had naturally mended the latter parts, but he could not suddenly claim that this change in attitude granted him more magical power. So, he had to play an average wizard while in this office. Another reason why he preferred working in the field or at home. ''I was surprised upon receiving your letter to say the least, Professor,'' he spoke, wanting to get this conversation over and done with as quickly as possible. ''You never were a fan of the press, as far as I can recall.''

''No, I wasn't,'' Dumbledore sighed, sitting down even though he hadn't been invited to do so. From his out-of-fashion shoes to the pointed, purple hat, he looked incredibly out of place in the prim office. At Hogwarts, the eccentric look fit among the many ancient artefacts and odd instruments. Here, in Voldemort's quite impersonal working space, which lacked any chaos or oddities, it was as if someone had cut out the figure of a children's book and glued it into a newspaper. He tore his eyes away from the outfit and finally looked into bright, blue eyes to concentrate on what the other was saying: ''The delightful articles in your paper labelling me as senile and insane didn't give me a very positive image of the press,'' Dumbledore remarked with a disturbingly cheery voice, ''nor your reluctance to print anything regarding news of Voldemort having returned.''

Knowing exactly what reaction his own name provoked, Voldemort acted his part to a T, snapping the quill in half and blubbering something incomprehensible. He hated having to do so, but it was also oddly satisfying to witness Dumbledore's concerned frown. ''There is not a single scrap of evidence that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back,'' Voldemort bit. ''His followers maybe, as was accurately and appropriately reported. The delusional ramblings of an ancient Death Eater are not enough to make grand claims about the darkest wizard to have ever lived being risen from the dead! It is ludicrous!''

''I also gave my statement about Barty Crouch Junior having been spotted, as well as my opinion on Pettigrew showing up at the Auror office,'' the old man insisted calmly, as if he wasn't being shouted at. ''Besides that, there have been several mysterious disappearances…''

''There were no official witnesses, nor a trial for either of the people you mentioned. You will not be able to convince me to write about this. If that was all, Professor…?''

Dumbledore released a soft, possibly frustrated, noise, and shook his head slowly. ''That was not what I came here for at all. Granted, I was not the greatest fan of your work before, but have been keeping a close eye on your interesting newest articles these past months. Cornelius isn't very happy with you at the moment, I imagine… I, however, am very much so.''

The astonishment in the Dark Lord's voice did not need to be acted out when he asked: ''You are?'' Of all people he'd expected support from after releasing that last article… Dumbledore had not been on that list. He'd been the one to decide on leaving a baby with Muggles for no other reason than that they'd been **family.** Sure, the old man had tried to justify it with a vague theory about the blood sacrifice maybe being able to protect Harry through Lily Potter's sister, but Voldemort still fully believed that that had only come secondary in the man's considerations. Dumbledore had also been the one pushing for more accommodation towards Muggleborns for ages. Everything that Voldemort wished to achieve went against what the old goat wanted! So why?

''You have shown that instead of continuing to prey on innocent people to milk out stories, you went into a direction to show support for the downtrodden. Your research has set a precedent for many to follow. In the end, victims of cover-up schemes even managed to get some justice… perhaps not in the way that I agree to, with this vigilante group popping up, but that is not **your** fault. Truth be told, Cornelius stuck his head in the sand so often that he deserves losing an ally in the press. Seeing it all come to light is refreshing. Even I hadn't heard about any of this.''

''Surely you heard of some,'' Voldemort spoke frostily, not giving a damn about the raised eyebrows that reaction earned. ''Mr Potter specifically asked me to leave your name out of the last article to not shift the focus and intention of the issue at hand, but I know who caused him to land in that situation. That he had to **stay** there.''

''Ah, I see,'' the old fool only said, steepling his fingers together. ''I cannot say much about Mr Potter's situation, other than that I had more reasons to give him to his family than merely the fact that they were Muggles. I could have never imagined the degree of cruelty he was met with and it pains me that-''

''So will you remove him from that house?'' Voldemort brusquely interrupted. Something dangerous was happening, he realised too late. His chest felt oddly constricted and red spots danced in his vision. A surge of anger that he hadn't felt in a long time consumed him. It was different from the usual, ever-present need for death and violence that was a cold gnawing at his bones. It was also very different from when he blew up in frustration about the incompetence other people. No, he wished to unleash white-hot rage onto the wrinkled face that he hadn't needed to see for dozens of years, wanted to melt the skin off and pummel it with his bare fists into an unrecognisable mess.

He didn't. It would bring forth too many questions if the corpse of Albus Dumbledore was found here under mysterious circumstances. The want to wipe this stain off the earth increased tenfold though, when the reply was a simple: ''I can't.''

''You read the second page yesterday?'' he asked through gnashed teeth.

''Regretfully. Still, I can't. For reasons that I cannot disclose for Harry's own safety, he needs to return to that house, to his family. The alternative is unthinkably worse. However, I did not visit you to speak about Harry either, or discuss this latest article. I am far more here with information for a possible new story that will rattle the public. There are… some problems at Hogwarts that concerned parents need to hear of.''

It took Voldemort a while to calm down, but that did not mean that he was any less attentive towards Dumbledore's words. As soon as they'd left the Headmaster's mouth, the Dark Lord opened the upper drawer of his desk and plucked an envelope from it. He held it up in the air between two fingers, the pink paper gleaming in the light. ''The problem of Dolores Umbridge?'' he asked, having a good idea in which direction this conversation would go.

* * *

_Water sloshed over cold stone, washing his feet clean of any sticky blood that may have still been smeared on them. Voldemort knelt down, uncaring about his robes getting wet as he lowered himself into one of the pools. These hadn't always been here, or at least not so deep. Slowly, he came to the awareness that he must be dreaming. Odd that the image created of the Chamber of Secrets was one that he'd seen in Harry's mind instead of with his own eyes. It wasn't even Harry's dream, the teen hadn't arrived yet. He let himself float, gazing at the intricate details on the ceiling. Intertwined, carved snakes spanned the entire Chamber and curled around the towering pillars in each of the four corners. The green light that filled the room reflected from the water to the stone, creating a clever illusion of the entire ceiling moving. He wished that the Basilisk would be here too, but it looked like he'd accepted its death. At least there was no carcass._

_The feel of weightlessness was something he very much liked about dreams. Life was burdened with duties and other people. Here, at least for a while, he could let himself relax, float away. The only person he ever spoke to during the night was allowed to be there. Voldemort took a few more moments to enjoy the silence before rising out of the water and drying his clothes again. It wouldn't do to look like a drowned corpse, and he was the first to admit that his body was not very flattering when wet fabric showed the outline of each bone. When ready, the Dark Lord conjured a throne and sat down. Concentrating, he let all mental barriers fall away and reached out until connecting to the presence that he'd extended an invitation towards. It had been a while again, a bit more than a week. He'd been too busy with organisation and the Hand of Magic to sleep regularly at night in the past days._

''_Not exactly a stimulating learning environment,'' an amused voice spoke as Harry materialised in the middle of the Chamber. The teen looked as he always did in these dreams, just as Voldemort knew he himself had a different appearance. The blue robes complimented Harry's complexion, and the curse scar was more strikingly visible, less a sowilo rune and more an image of an actual lightning bolt that spread its branches all over one cheek, down to the chin. The Gryffindor looked around with a strange expression. ''Hadn't thought I'd ever see this place again. Are you trying to scare me for some reason?''_

''_I happen to be fond of this place,'' he simply stated, leaning forwards, extending a hand._

_Harry did not react to the gesture, instead crossing his arms and gazing at the statue of Salazar Slytherin. His tone was harsher when speaking again. ''I'm not. You realise that I almost died here? Annoyingly, I have to be truly grateful towards Dumbledore for this moment in time. Had he not sent Fawkes… I wouldn't _ _ **be** _ _ here anymore.''_

_Having had enough of Dumbledore for the next fifty years at least, the name grated on Voldemort's nerves, yet the words also made him think. He'd seen parts of what had transpired here in Harry's mind, yet had not bothered to register more details than Harry destroying the diary and killing his precious Basilisk three years ago. Now, he tried to form a less biased view, recalling the memory again in more detail. The Horcruxes were dangerous, and the diary-horcrux had opened the Chamber again, lured Harry down here and made the Basilisk fight the boy… _

_Suddenly, he wasn't getting enough air. A Basilisk fang had been enough to destroy the diary. The king of serpents had bitten the stubborn Gryffindor before that. If its venom had spread without being cured… ''It was between you and him, wasn't it?'' he reasoned, cursing that he hadn't seen that sooner, focusing so much anger on the boy about the destruction of the diary instead as he hadn't known that Harry also was a Horcrux. Thinking back on it, one piece of soul would have been lost one way or the other during that struggle. ''Why did you go after it and descended into this Chamber?'' he demanded to know, trying to find a way to pin the blame on Harry instead of himself. ''You must have known the dangers!''_

''_That was three years ago, does it matter?''_

_Anger further rose at the dismissal. ''We are talking about my soul here, and your life! Yes, it matters!''_

_Infuriatingly, Harry shrugged and sat down on the floor to stare at one of the snake statues. ''It tried to kill someone close to me, couldn't just let that happen. No one else was going to make a real effort either. I still put my faith in teachers back then actually. Yet when I wanted to give some vital information to the only one who declared that he would attempt to save Ginny, our Defence teacher Gilderoy Lockhart, Ron and I caught him packing up in a hurry. Hogwarts was going to close, my best friends' sister had been dragged down to the Chamber. Not a single person could give us something better than _ _ **condolences** _ _ before she was even dead. I knew I could get into the entrance, maybe me alone due to this Parseltongue ability. Of course I went.''_

''_You could have left again, as soon as you realised that I-''_

_Harry gave a menacing glare over his shoulder. ''I didn't even know that the diary had anything to do with it then, or that it was _ _ **you** _ _! Only when I tried to take Ginny away and it interfered by revealing its plans, did I notice that I was in danger. Had it allowed me to leave, nothing would have happened, but no, your Horcrux found it necessary to get the basilisk on my tail! Now can we stop talking about this?''_

_Voldemort snarled and pushed himself out of the throne, towering over Harry. ''I don't think we have talked enough about this! _

''_If you think that was __**my**__ fault, screw you!''_

_At the words, any thought of their careful new friendship flew out of the window. He hissed and dove towards the boy, hauling him to his feet and shoving him harshly into the stone statue. ''_ _ **Don't** _ _ talk to me like that!''_

_Harry only laughed mirthlessly. ''Oh, excuse me, my liege, do you suddenly not want me to speak my mind anymore?''_

_A twinge of discomfort went down his spine, and he carefully stepped away again. ''I'm not your liege anymore,'' he murmured, putting more distance between them. ''What is the matter with you? This is not… this is not how these meetings are supposed to go.'' No, Harry was supposed to be agreeable, look up to him, learn from their talks. It had gone so well these past few dreams, where he'd focused on teaching to prepare the teen for both his upcoming exams and for life after Hogwarts. Right now, Voldemort was entirely out of his depth, unable to understand what had happened to make Harry so hostile. Was it something he'd done and overlooked? Was this like one of those turning points that he'd completely missed with Regulus?_

''_You're not the only one who is afraid of death, you know,'' Harry finally replied, refusing to meet his eyes. ''I mean… I don't mind giving up my life for a good cause, theoretically. I don't freak out to my core when I think of that one day I must leave this earth. However, when I was here last time, that was the closest I ever got. My arm felt like it was on fire, everything was blurry already while I lay at the floor of this cursed Chamber.'' His voice dropped down to a mere whisper, and the often so carefree face crumpled into a grimace. ''I was so sure that I was done for. And you stood over me and watched me go with a smile.''_

''_Not me,'' he quietly tried to reason._

_The Gryffindor made a jerking motion. ''It's odd. I know you don't even have memories of it as it was a piece of you that split off, but that does not change the reality of that it was still a version of you. One that would have killed me then and there, happily. Ever since you convinced me of your cause, I tried to forget about it…'' the whispers trailed off into a deafening silence, the Dark Lord being lost for words, which happened seldom enough to come as a shock. Knowing that Harry usually came closer when feeling distraught, Voldemort slowly approached again, taking a much smaller hand in his. Harry made a few odd noises, then grabbed onto his robes to bury his face in Voldemort's chest._

_Long moments passed until Harry spoke again, with a much calmer, almost tired tone: ''I don't understand why it had to be you.''_

''_That I had to be what?'' he asked in frustration, unable to make sense of any of the teen's words and gestures without being able to analyse his magic and emotions at the same time. A revision of nonverbal communication was probably in order, he was slipping._

_Arms snuck around his torso, which he allowed with a hint of discomfort. This wasn't right. During other dreams, he'd tried to focus on only teaching magic, keeping their relationship strictly professional so he wouldn't have to think about the meaning of all the unfamiliar feelings he got tangled up in during their last real-life visit. He wasn't any closer to answers now than he'd been back then. Life got in the way, and he'd had too little time for self-analyses. The few minutes he had to himself had been spent focusing on the positives of that day. The book that the teen had gifted him was already worn by now after barely more than a month. _

''_We need to talk. In person, not through a dream,'' he decided. Clearly, both of them trying to work through their conversation on their own hadn't worked. He felt further apart from Harry than ever, which he'd come to detest._

''_I can't exactly slip away from Hogwarts without Umbridge noticing,'' the other protested._

''_There should be a Hogsmeade weekend coming up.''_

''_She banned me from going to Hogsmeade recently, due to the article. Doesn't want me to have an opportunity to talk to the press again…''_

_Voldemort arched an eyebrow, gently taking Harry's chin to make the boy look at him. ''Excuses. It wouldn't be the first time that you sneak out while not allowed to, and unless someone actually spots you in Hogsmeade, which they won't, you'll be safe. Make your way outside of the castle wards and use the Portkey shortly after the other students leave. There is much we should speak of.'' Memories of Harry's skin burning beneath his lips pushed to the forefront, but instead he said: ''I am still trying to work out the details of my planned promotion for Barty, it's complicated now that he got into such a mess, which still hasn't been entirely cleared up. Also, Dumbledore paid my office a visit. Suggested some sort of alliance between Hogwarts and the Daily Prophet.''_

''_Oh wow,'' Harry commented, finally looking up again without needing to be persuaded to. ''That has got to be a weird feeling. On my part, I'd love to get your opinion on my newest plans for the D.A. We're expanding.''_

''_It's settled then. Now, to not waste the rest of this night, I suggest we get into our usual rhythm. We left off on the topic of transfigurative equations, did we not?'' Harry made an unenthusiastic noise. The Dark Lord could understand, as it wasn't the most fascinating piece of magical theory, but one that was absolutely necessary for higher transfiguration. _

''_Can you please change this dream to a less dreary place first?'' the other pleaded_

''_Somehow, I feel like our opinions on dreary couldn't be further apart,'' Voldemort chuckled. ''This room, the graveyard, the department of mysteries…'' The other threw him a sharp look for some reason, which he sadly had to ignore for now as time was running out. He snapped his fingers to make the Chamber around them dissolve into fog that whirled around and settled down into new shapes, forming the Hogwarts library. He grabbed the nearest book and opened it on a random page, knowing that it would show the diagram he wanted to explain before even seeing it._

_Without giving Harry an opportunity to address any new topics, he launched into the lecture: ''So, as you must know from McGonagall's teachings, base transfiguration is influenced by variables such as body weight, viscosity, wand power, concentration and movement. While in your first years, formulas are largely ignored in favour of trial and error, there _ _ **is** _ _ an exact way to measure all of these and figure out the ideal combination. Most don't bother until N.E.W.T. level, but that does not mean that you should do the same. Also, substitute wand power with core power, it is better to rely on your own core magic than only the result of what you cast with a specific channeler. It would make it much more difficult to cast transfiguration with a new wand like that. Make your own power level the centre of this equation and adapt the other variables accordingly. Now, to measure this…''_

The rest of the night passed far more peacefully than the start had, Voldemort concluded when he opened his eyes again, feeling well-rested and energetic. The prospect of seeing Harry in person again in ten days from now also lightened his mood. The house was empty apart from his familiar, so he quickly threw together some food, gave Nagini a bit of attention and activated the tattoos that spiralled across his right arm to slip into Noctua's skin. Ready for a new day full of schemes and possibilities.

As he walked into the office, people ran around frantically in a way that was abnormal even for his most zealous reporters. The regular urge to dish out some curses returned rather quickly upon noticing that his good mood wasn't shared by anyone here.

''Sir! Oh thank Merlin you are here, Sir,'' Belby spoke, running up to him, the few grey hairs the man had left sticking out. ''There's been a triple murder! Harry Potter's family was found dead thirty minutes ago!''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lots of different scenes this chapter, I tried to make it a bit more compact but it eh... obviously didn't work.  
Tell me your thougts of the new measures from Umbridge, the Noctua-Dumbledore alliance, the DA expanding and of course your speculations on the who offed the Dursleys! -spoiler, it was me, who is totally not sorry for the cliffhanger this time-
> 
> Please read and leave a comment!  
xx GeMerope


	67. Murder Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments, it was very entertaining to read everyone's conspiracy theories on who killed the Dursleys.  
Sorry for not answering all comments, especially with those that were mainly guessing at the culprit, I didn't want to influence anyone's opinions one way or the other.
> 
> As a note for this chapter: this is one of the points where I am unfortunately forced to switch from adhering to a regular calendar from 1996 to Rowling's calendar, which doesn't match up in the slightest. However, a certain date needs to fall on a hogsmeade weekend. I'll try to get back to a regular calendar once there's a time jump or something, but until then we all got to deal with the mess that is the canon timeline. I hope that the missing/additional days won't give too much trouble, I should have sorted out a work-around so it won't be too noticeable that January/February aren't a regular month-length.
> 
> Enjoy!

Days at Hogwarts somehow seemed to get progressively worse. This Thursday had crept by slowly. The whole day, he had not been able to look forward to the approaching weekend as the last classes were Defence Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge. Thankfully, the week of detentions had been over yesterday, and the hand that Voldemort had crafted for him was slowly healing. It helped that Madam Pomfrey was now aware of what it was, and applied healing techniques normally reserved for centaurs. It had done wonders. After only a day, the previously ghastly wound had become but a throbbing red mark again.

In addition to his hatred being constantly fuelled by Umbridge's presence, the teen also simply could not concentrate due to anxiety about the prospect of sneaking out to meet up with Voldemort in person again soon. He'd admittedly lashed out a bit too harshly last night, not able to properly cope with suddenly being dropped in the place he'd almost died in.

Right after a full day of stressful classes, another worrisome thing had been added to the list as Harry got an ominous note with the evening post, Sirius asking to talk as soon as possible about an 'emergency', which Harry could only do very late evening as he'd been swamped in tomorrow's homework, which Hermione wouldn't stop talking about until he'd finished it, and another fast D.A. training session to keep everyone in shape. As soon as he'd called his godfather's name, Sirius had shown up, indicating that he'd been waiting for a while already. And then...

''_Your family is dead.''_

Harry stared at the mirror. The sensitive skin on the back of his hand ached as his grip tightened on the handle. Although Sirius' words somehow filtered through, it was as if he couldn't grasp their true meaning.

''What?'' he asked, incredulous. ''What do you mean?'' he asked, as if a repetition could make him comprehend what had been said.

Sirius' gaze was steely. _''Did you ask __**him**__ to kill them?''_

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, producing no sound

Still in slight disbelief, Harry managed to shake his head. ''It wasn't me... I didn't… I don't know what to say,'' he stammered. The Dursleys had been downright horrible and Harry had often wished they'd just drop dead, but they'd still been a part of his life. Hearing that they were gone felt so unreal that he couldn't focus on the fact, needing more information instead. ''What happened?'' he asked, seeing that Sirius relaxed minimally at his confusion.

The man took a deep breath. _''I got a letter this morning, from Gringotts.''_ A nasty feeling coiled in Harry's stomach. _''It held the information that your Muggle guardian passed away and that all legal matters regarding your bank account went to your magical guardian… me.''_

''Ah,'' was Harry's only reaction. Now, his brain was battling with the shock over Petunia's death **and** the fact that Sirius was now fully aware of his position.

''_You knew, then. That I was your magical guardian,''_ Sirius spoke with slight disappointment. _''Why didn't you tell me? I was so worried about Dumbledore using his power over you. You led me to believe that it was him!''_

Somehow, Harry didn't think that they should really be focusing on that right now, but still tried to defend his reasoning: ''I thought he was when we last spoke about that topic. You recommended that I go to Gringotts to check, which I did. I just… didn't tell you the results of that visit,'' he tensely spoke. ''This was in July, I didn't truly know what side you'd be on then or if you'd stick with me when you would eventually find out about everything I'd done, about Voldemort… And once you finally did, you were still very reluctant about my connections to him.''

Sirius briefly closed his eyes, looking ten years older. _''You thought __**I'd**__ misuse my power over you?''_

''I tried not to think about that at all, which was easier if you didn't know about it in the first place.''

''_And your favourite Dark Lord told you to keep your mouth shut about it as well,''_ Sirius snapped, glaring a hole in the glass now.

Harry looked away. ''Basically,'' he admitted. ''Can we get back to the Dursleys? How did Petunia… And was it just her or also…'' he stammered, unable to form full sentences, as if saying the words out loud was physically impossible.

''_All three were found dead last night. It looked like a Muggle break-in and murder at first, but as they had ties to a magical child, there was a routine check of the crime scene by the Ministry this morning. They found very recent magical traces. All Muggle authorities were pulled from it right away, memory charms were dished out and the corpses were reclaimed. As they are your family, there was no way it'd stay secret for long, of course. I heard that the press got wind of it barely half an hour after the Ministry check, which got the ball rolling. Nothing has been printed yet of course, it's too soon for that, but the goblins have ears everywhere. Due to their efficiency, they made the change to your accounts and informed me right away._

_After I received that letter, I told the news to some Order members who were in the house, to see if I could get information faster. Dumbledore was contacted around noon and spoke with the Ministry, which is why I have at least basic information about the investigation. I suppose he did not yet want to bother you with this news until things are clearer. Harry… are you okay? I still wanted to talk to you about last week's article too once the other order members would finally leave me alone with 'Great advice' on what to say to you. I suppose I should not have waited after all, I realise that the death of the family you spoke about isn't the best moment but…''_

''It's fine,'' Harry reassured his godfather, giving a wry smile. ''I already wondered if you'd lecture me on it.''

''_Lecture you? Quite the opposite, I commend you. Coming out with your story was a brave move. Helping Muggleborns and other Muggle-raised children through that is also something I fully support. It did leave me somewhat confused, admittedly. I can't really see how this fits in with your support of Voldemort's antagonization of Muggles. The whole interview centred around helping Muggleborns and giving Muggles better ways to cope with taking care of magical children.''_

Harry smiled. ''It fits in better with his ideals than you maybe realise. Also, regardless of his views, I'm still my own person and I happen to care about this issue. If I can do something to improve lives by speaking of my experiences, I'm happy to. I'm fine… or at least I was fine until right now. I didn't want to Dursleys to get killed for it.'' Harry was silent for a moment, brooding over his own words, as they didn't feel right. He recalled talking with Sirius about feeling like wanting to murder the Dursleys himself and never looking back. ''Not like this at least, when it's not on my terms,'' he decided.

Instead of disgust, he was met with an understanding look. Apparently, Sirius remembered the exact same conversation_. ''The big question now is who did it. Do you think that Voldemort was the culprit after seeing your story in the newspaper? As an attempt to get you even more on his side?''_ Sirius speculated. Harry was puzzled for a moment until realising that he hadn't spoken about Voldemort's day job, which he still shouldn't do either.

''Voldemort already knew about how they treated me,'' Harry said. ''He also knows that I didn't want to see them dead yet. It wouldn't make sense. Unless…''

''_Unless what?''_

Harry didn't answer, getting a sinking feeling. Voldemort had made Harry's home life public only a week ago. Was killing the Dursleys the next chapter of this story? Did the man want to use it as another publicity stunt to gather attention for the topic? The Hand of Magic's judgement being swift where the Ministry was lax? No, surely he'd at least inform Harry… right?

''No, never mind,'' he finally firmly spoke, throwing away his doubts. Even if he couldn't be certain about the Dark Lord honouring Harry's wishes, it wouldn't fit. According to Sirius, the murder had taken place last night. The teen had spoken to Voldemort after that, in their dream. If the Dursleys had found their death by his hand, Voldemort would not have kept silent about that one way or another. And if killing the Dursleys **had** been his intent, Voldemort would have wanted to do so personally instead of delegating the execution. He could not be the culprit. Nevertheless, this was news that he instantly wanted to contact the man about, if only to hear what information he already had about it. Thus, he announced: ''I need to go now, have another call to make. Sorry.''

''_Just another minute, Harry…''_ Sirius pleaded, and the teen really couldn't say no to that tone, distorted as it was through the connection. '_'I know that with everything going on in your life already, you surely could have done without this additional drama, but it's important to speak of a few issues still. With me being your only guardian now, we have to figure out what to do. It'll be strange if I don't inform Dumbledore about this, for one. Also, I'm in a tight spot because while technically your legal guardian, I'm a wanted man. The Ministry of Magic will try to give another custody of you until you're seventeen. This is going to be incredibly complicated and possibly messy.''_

Harry hadn't thought about that at all yet. Whether Sirius wanted to or not, his upbringing was showing by thinking several steps ahead in the political ballet. ''Maybe this is why Dumbledore hasn't told me yet,'' Harry suggested. ''He should know that you're still my guardian and may be making plans about my custody as we speak to get ahead. Honestly, I am not sure what the options are. It's not possible to clear your name. If it was, we'd have done that ages ago. So, you assuming custody of me isn't going to happen regardless of our wishes or technicalities. That leaves the question about who gets to decide about it.''

''_You'll be appointed to an employee from the Magical Minor Welfare Office, who will handle - under restrictions - some of your legal matters. They can't make many decisions for you, but would for example co-sign contracts until a suitable guardian has been found. It's more of a formality than anything else, really. Last time I had anything to do with that department, there was a grand total of two overworked employees.''_

''When was that?''

Sirius pulled a face. _''Summer 1976, when I ran away from home and my parents officially disowned me. As it was only a couple of months before I'd turn seventeen and the Potters already agreed to keep me over the last summer when I was a minor, they didn't try to search a new guardian for me. I quickly agreed to that, found it to be a bit senseless to be placed with another family when I already had people willing to take me in for those two months, after which I'd go to Hogwarts until I'd turn seventeen anyways._

''That's not so different from my own situation,'' Harry protested. ''If I say that I'll spend summer with the Weasleys or so… I also turn seventeen soon and am at Hogwarts for most of that time!''

''_You only turn seventeen in one and a half years, kiddo. That's not soon enough. I get that you want to simply live as you have now, spending your summers wherever and the rest at Hogwarts, but you can't forget that you are a celebrity. A celebrity whose family, whom everyone now knows mistreated you horribly, just got __**murdered.**__ That's a bit different than the black sheep of a family running away to a friends' place. The summer holidays had already started when I was placed in Ministry custody. For you, they have months to figure out what to do. Also, after that whole story came out, people will be lining up to take you in, I'm sure. It'll less be a matter of searching for someone willing to be your guardian and more sorting through the chaff to pick the best one.''_

Harry groaned, not knowing what to make of all this. ''What do I **do**?''

''_Find someone who has a better claim than others and whom you trust to not go against your wishes in important decisions,''_ Sirius recommended in all seriousness. '_'Preferably someone who is good with money too, you don't want to get the nasty surprise of having been robbed blind.''_

''Right. I… I'm sorry, but I really want to contact Voldemort right now about all of this,'' Harry confessed tiredly. ''First of all to ask if he knows anything more about the Dursley situation and to see if he has a solution to this guardianship problem.''

''_I don't really share your optimism that it wasn't him, so be careful in how you word your questions,''_ Sirius said. _''I'd love to hear about you ripping into the big bad Dark Lord, but don't forget that he's incredibly dangerous. If he did kill the Dursleys after all, there's a whole slew of possible reasons behind that action. You might offend him if it turns out that he did this as a… you know…''_ Sirius fidgeted nervously.

Harry had no idea what his godfather was getting at. Although he was certain by now that it simply could not have been the Dark Lord's doing, he was interested enough at what had thrown Sirius off to wait for the man to finish his sentence. It didn't appear to work, so he cautiously asked: ''That he did this as a what?''

Sirius looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. _''As a courting present,''_ the other at long last ground out. Harry released a startled laugh, which quickly disappeared when Sirius said: _''It's not uncommon in dark families to give blood sacrifices as courting gifts, to symbolise dark magic or whatever. Sacrificing those who hurt you would make for a powerful gesture.''_

''Oh man,'' Harry simply answered. ''Thanks for the warning, but can you please never speak of me and Voldemort and courting in the same sentence ever again? Speaking with my friends about my feelings is already bad enough and they don't even know who I like. This is somehow… much, much worse. Please?'' he begged. He really was not up for another discussion about his insane crush on the Dark Lord with his **godfather**. ''We said all that needed to be said after New Year's, can we leave it at that?''

''_I'd love to,''_ Sirius sighed in relief. _''Take care of yourself kiddo. Don't let anything get you down.''_

The mirror got hazy, then blanked over, so Harry only saw his own reflection staring back. Despite his confidence in Voldemort's innocence regarding this murder case, Harry still felt nervous when switching it out for the other two-way-mirror to make his next call. Not a second after calling out, he got an answer, but it wasn't Barty as expected. Instead, the ghostly white face of Voldemort himself appeared. The shining surface gave his skin an even more otherworldly look than usual.

''_I have expected your call,''_ he stated. _''To answer the question that is undoubtedly on your mind, I did not kill them.''_

Harry blinked rapidly and raised an eyebrow. ''I know you didn't,'' he responded, which appeared to bewilder the other. ''You would have said something yesterday evening if you had.'' Mentally, headed: 'cause you usually like to brag'.

Red eyes narrowed. _''To be entirely clear about this, I had __**planned**__ on killing them eventually. Someone else simply got there first, to my fury.''_

That was not really information that cheered Harry up right now. ''I told you I didn't want you to kill them.''

''_Yet,''_ Voldemort spoke, lips curling into a cruel smile. '_'You did not want to see them dead yet. I've sorted through your mind enough times to know your true desires, Evan. And when the time would have been optimal, those poor excuses of Muggles would have perished by my wand.''_

Not liking to admit that the other had read his mind a bit too accurately, Harry asked: ''What made you think that I'd want **you** to kill them instead of doing it myself?'' After all those years of torment, it would feel very cowardly to not face them by himself. If he would have, that was. Harry still wasn't entirely sure if he could have gone through with hunting down his family for revenge.

Languidly, the Dark Lord leaned closer, until Harry could swear that the man's forehead rested against the glass. _''I didn't particularly care,''_ he admitted, causing Harry to frown in displeasure, an exasperated retort at the tip of his tongue. The other continued speaking before he could fire it off. _''I had plans for them. There are certain rituals that could have made even their deaths meaningful. I could have used their lives if you'd have accepted it as… a gift.''_

All of Harry's rising anger screeched to a halt and plummeted into nothingness as he put two and two together. A **gift**? Sirius had been right in his ludicrous assumption of that Voldemort wanted to dump a corpse at Harry's feet as a courting present? That was both disturbing and charming at the same time, in the absolute worst way possible. The image of a white cat with red eyes dropping a fat mouse at Harry's feet swam in his mind's eye. ''I'd prefer flowers,'' he blurted out, as he couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment. Voldemort frowned and leaned back again.

''_What kind?''_ the man inquired in all seriousness.

The teen stared at the other for a couple of seconds, wondering if Voldemort had really just asked that. ''I don't care what kind! As long as they aren't dead or family of mine!'' he spoke in agitation. ''Can we get back to the murder case? Who did it? Why? Why did you expect me to call about it when there's not been any official news about it? You know papers don't reach Hogwarts.'' Besides, Sirius had just mentioned that no newspaper had been printed about it yet.

''_Papers are not the only source of news. Much to my dismay, there is competition. About an hour ago, one of the involved Ministry workers - from the involved obliviator squad, I believe - made a press statement over the radio. Were you not informed about this?''_

Harry tiredly shook his head. ''I was busy all day. When dinner was finally done, I did homework and then had another training session with my defence group. The others left not long ago. I keep this mirror in a safe spot away from the common room or the boy's dorms where others could find it by accident, and went straight to the hiding spot after.'' Technically, he hadn't even needed to leave the room for it, only wait for the rest to clear out with the excuse that he wanted to train a bit on his own still. Great, so if the news had circulated, his friends were probably waiting now, anxious about why he wasn't returning from the Room of Requirement even though they had news to break to him. In the worst case, they might come back and find him speaking to the Dark Lord of all people. ''This means I can't stay long, we have about ten minutes until I need to sprint back to the common room to not get caught.''

''_We can talk longer soon, either in a dream or next week Saturday,''_ Voldemort reassured Harry. Then, the tone turned to business. '_'To give you a quick briefing: it appears that your family became the victim of your fans. The article about your home life caused ripples of anger throughout the country. Evidently, some vigilantes decided to follow the example of my Hand of Magic and broke into your families' home. They were no experienced killers if Aurors on a routine swipe found magical residue, possibly enough to trace it back. There's been talk of doing another, full check at the house with an expert who can uncover the recent spells used and magical signatures. By the time they truly get a team together for that, it may be too late however. Bureaucracy is time-consuming. With the speed at which magic fades, I doubt that it'll bring clear results. As the place is under Ministry scrutiny, I also cannot go there myself. Press is not welcome at the crime scene. Therefore, the exact culprit remains a mystery for now.''_

''Thank you for that information,'' Harry spoke with sincerity. ''That was more than Sirius could tell me about it. And far more than Dumbledore did, as he told me exactly zero. Nada.''

The jab at Dumbledore was ignored for once. _''Black contacted you with information?''_ Voldemort asked sharply. _''When?''_

''We talked shortly before I called you, but he already knew this morning. Gringotts wrote him about bank matters right after they found out that my Aunt died. I suppose that they have spells in place to register when someone connected to their clients dies?''

The Dark Lord seemed confused, but only for a brief moment. Then, his face morphed into a stormy expression. '_'I hadn't realised the full consequences of this before,''_ Voldemort muttered. _''As much as I wanted to see your family dead, it does have many unpleasant effects. Your guardianship is contested now, and the faith that Dumbledore put in his theory of protective barriers against me is gone. Black is aware now that he is your legal guardian, then?''_

Voldemort's quick brain jumping to the right conclusions was something Harry allowed himself to admire for a few seconds before answering: ''Yes, although he instantly agreed with me on that that doesn't mean anything anymore in this situation. He's a convict on the run, the Ministry won't recognise his claim on me. He advised me to actively search for a suitable new guardian myself, before the Ministry does. Or Dumbledore. How long do you estimate this to take?''

''_Usually, about a month with all of the paperwork. Yet you are in a precarious position. After reading your story only recently, half of the wizarding world will wish to take you in, if only for the status. Whether that will slow the process down or speed it up depends on how fast the Ministry wants to get their hands off you, and who works on your case. It won't matter too much while you're at Hogwarts, but latest by the Easter holidays, you'll have a new guardian.''_

''Who will then also be able to decide where I stay during those holidays if I don't insist on remaining at school,'' Harry concluded, a sour taste in his mouth. ''I understand why Sirius insisted on my active participation in looking for someone fitting. The point is though, that I can't do much from here. Even letters I would sent out might be blocked by Umbridge for all I know. Plus, I can't simply pick anyone, there's still the fact that I would need to convince the Ministry that my choice is better than anyone else.''

''_It would be best if you'd make them believe that you haven't been involved at all,'' _Voldemort answered. '_'With your current animosity towards the Ministry, they might not choose someone you strongly approve of openly. You also have to consider the same factors they do. 'Optimal' choices for them are people who already have experience with raising children, who have a partner to reduce workload, and who are financially stable. Added to that comes of course who they're connected with.''_

''I really could have done without this,'' Harry faintly spoke, rubbing his forehead, throwing Voldemort a desperate look. He realised how vulnerable he was right now, stressed to the core. ''I wish it was next week Saturday already,'' the teen admitted. Maybe being close to the Dark Lord wouldn't make everything in his life perfect again, but at least the man could make him forget his worries for a moment with overwhelming rushes of magic. ''Do you think I have that much time to think it over before discussing my options with you?''

''_I do. They won't be able to get through the entire selection and guardianship process in a week. I cannot predict how far they'll get though, or if Dumbledore will interfere during it. You should watch the old man, he'll surely pounce on this opportunity to get you more tightly under his wing. Also, I hope you ordered your godfather to stay quiet as long as possible about any sensitive information?''_

Harry tried his best not to send a death-glare at Voldemort. ''I told you before and I'll say it again: I will not order Sirius around or experiment with the control I have over him. I am very careful about my wording to ensure that I formulate any requests as questions.''

The metallic hiss that came from the mirror told him everything Harry needed to know about the Dark Lord's opinion on that approach. Not up for any tiring discussions, Harry said a quick goodbye and de-activated the mirror. For a minute, the teen allowed himself to sit back and stare into nothingness in an attempt to process everything. Maybe the information was still too fresh, for he felt absolutely nothing but fogginess. Opening his bag, he withdrew the invisibility cloak, which shimmered white and silver in his hands before he donned it. Harry could do without being flooded by worried people who'd either heard the news personally or rumours about it. Still, he returned with a heavy heart to the common room.

As expected, it was still full, and his own name echoed from various corners. As silent as possible, Harry crept up the stairs to the boy's dorms. His gaze flickered almost automatically to the window in front of which the ghostly strand usually danced, only to discover it wasn't there. Feeling immensely happy about at least something good happening, Harry took off the cloak to head straight to the shower, only to freeze when mid-air, the sliver appeared as if it hadn't been gone at all.

Before Harry could ponder on what had happened, the sound of loud footsteps on the stairs caught his attention.

''Knew it was you when the portrait hole simply opened!'' Ron spoke two seconds after barging in, closely followed by Hermione. ''Harry, you won't believe what happened! It was on the radio!''

Harry halted their concerned speeches before they could properly start and laid down the details he'd learned of - listing Sirius as his only source.

He ended with: ''So I can't pretend that I'm sad about their passing, but it did open a whole can of worms that I wasn't prepared for at all. Most adults whom I like don't fit the Ministry's standards of an ideal family to take over custody.''

''That's tough,'' Ron whistled. His face lit up for a moment, then fell again, lips turned downwards. ''I'm sure mum and dad wouldn't hesitate at all to take you in, but they'd surely not pass the financial tests required.'' The admittance clearly hurt.

''And mine are Muggles,'' Hermione sighed. ''Even if Muggles are considered generally in these processes, which I doubt, they certainly won't be for your specific case after your interview and history with your family.''

Reluctantly, Harry had to agree with them both. ''I'm pretty stumped at what to do at the moment,'' he confessed. ''Somehow, I wish that Sirius would miraculously get cleared and I can spend the rest of my holidays at his place… we all know that's not going to happen though, is it? Regarding any other adult I was ever slightly close to… Lupin's a werewolf and any of our teachers would be weird due to school. Not to mention that all of them are single and don't have experience raising their own kids as far as I'm aware.''

''Throw it in the group, maybe?'' Hermione suggested. ''We're not your only friends, Harry. The entire D.A. has your back. Maybe Cedric would know what to do, or even one of the Slytherins who has some better connections.'' She pulled a face at the last sentence, asking Slytherins was probably not something she'd have considered some time ago.

Harry shrugged, not as enthusiastic about that idea as they maybe expected, not wanting to lay this burden on others. ''I'll see about it.''

Ron and Hermione shared a knowing look, which he did his best to ignore. They left him alone when he ended the conversation by expressing his wish of wanting to finally take a long shower and sleep early.

Honestly, he just wanted to be alone for a moment. Before having been able to properly process the news, he'd already heard the input of Sirius, Voldemort, Ron and Hermione… he was thankful for their information and support, but it didn't make him understand his own emotions, or lack thereof. The brief moment of silence in the Room of Requirement had done nothing, which was slightly worrisome. Having the space to think without having to speak about it might help now that a bit more time had passed.

He had not lied to either Sirius or Voldemort… he hadn't wanted the Dursleys to die yet, didn't know if he'd ever have really gone through with actively getting revenge on them. Most likely, Harry would have shut them out completely once turning seventeen, he mused while undressing and stepping into the shower. He stood there for a while, letting cold water hit his face in an attempt to wake up from this bloody stupor.

Yes, he wouldn't have searched them out anymore, content to never see their faces again. But now it had happened, now that they **were** dead…

Harry took a deep, gasping breath, which turned into a coughing fit as he stupidly breathed in water. He turned the handles quickly and slid down the cold wall to sit at the floor, trying to control his breathing. The Dursleys were really dead. All three of his tormenters, gone. As if a veil had lifted, the implications of that finally unravelled one by one.

Never again would he have to walk into that hated house again with its perfect garden and perfect porch and perfect carpet that no spot of mud was ever allowed to touch. Never again would he pass through the corridor, with its perfect pictures _-without Harry_\- and perfect mirrors -_which he'd avoid looking at_\- and perfect cupboard _\- where he'd spent so many scared nights hoping for the nightmare to be over._

Harry curled up into himself, fingers desperately grasping at his hair as he tried to hold back the laugh that threatened to bubble up and slip past his lips. The thoughts wouldn't stop coming now, bursting forth from all dark corners of his mind.

No more swinging frying pans or fists, no more running from Dudley's gang. To never hear his uncle calling him a freak again or be chased in a dark street by his cousin. No more snide comments or ridiculing sneers from the people who had been supposed to _love him_.

All of that was in the **past** now. That realisation hit like lightning and brought forth a maniacal grin and tears of relief. The people who'd tormented Harry with their hatred and fear, were dead, and he couldn't muster up even a sliver of grief. Wobbly, he managed to get to his feet again and slammed the handle of the shower once more just in time, hoping that the falling water drowned out his uncontrollable laughter.

He was free. Whatever would happen after, whoever would get custody of him, it would never get worse than it had been.

It took a long time to calm down, longer than it should have. Once he'd pulled himself together, Harry stepped out of the shower and took a few gasping breaths, guilt nagged at his insides. Should he not feel anything for them? Despite everything, the Dursleys had still given him a place to stay, food, clothing. He'd been better off than some Muggle-borns who'd been found in much worse conditions. They'd never shown him care or love, but there'd been a base line of humanity that even the Dursleys hadn't dared to cross. They could have hidden Harry away in that cupboard forever. Instead, they'd even sent him to school.

Then again, he did not know their motivations for that. Perhaps they'd known Harry would one day be sought out by other wizards and witches, that he'd go to Hogwarts. Petunia had only been scared by the letter, not surprised.

Instead of grabbing a towel to wrap around himself, Harry went to the bathroom mirror, which was just large enough to see his entire body. Carefully, he turned around and looked at his back. It wasn't exactly a mess of scars, and a few injuries must have been from Quidditch games or accidents, but there were a couple from his uncle and cousin. Petunia's attacks hadn't left visible scars, mostly bumps on the head or emotional wounds. He traced a white line at his side from where he'd been pushed into barbed wire by Dudley.

Having enough, he quickly turned away and dried himself with a spell instead to change into pyjamas quicker. It was time to move forwards, Harry decided. Instead of dwelling on the fact that they were dead, he should focus on what to do now. As he didn't know how to even start searching for guardians to propose, he concentrated instead on how to act in the coming days. After reading what the Dursleys had done, surely no-one would expect him to be heart-broken about the news, but cold indifference or revealing that it made him even happy would not be smart either. Showing that he was just as confused as everyone else as to who'd been the culprit might be the best way to go at it. Otherwise, new rumours might start flying around about him ordering this murder or something equally ludicrous.

The mystery surrounding these deaths really did make him wonder. If it hadn't been Voldemort nor the Hand of Magic but instead his 'fans' as the Dark Lord thought, that did make Harry re-evaluate his stance on that usually faceless group. He'd always thought that most people who liked him because he was the Boy-Who-Lived were moderate light mages who were relieved that the times of darkness were over. While that could fit the profile of someone who'd enact vengeance on those who'd hurt Harry, it didn't make much sense when he considered that his cousin had also been killed. Murdering a minor in cold blood for bullying behaviour wasn't something he'd expected. Not that Harry wasn't grateful, Dudley had done just as much damage as his parents and had never shown a single shred of sympathy for his cousin. In the eyes of many though, this would probably be unacceptable justice. It was surprising that some of his 'fans' could be so vicious without having personal ties to Harry.

On the other hand, he'd gotten cursed post from those same fans on several occasions he'd fallen into disgrace, so who knew how far anyone would really go. As frustrating as it was, Harry would have to wait for the investigation to be over. It helped that he could probably ask Kingsley and Tonks about it through his godfather. Harry was immensely grateful for Sirius' Christmas present, especially now that he might be faced with not being allowed back at his godfather's house. Life would get very complicated if he'd be shoved off to a family who didn't have ties to either the Death Eaters or the Order. This outcome was too likely to Harry's tastes. Maybe he'd really have to follow Hermione's advice and involve other people, as much as he hated the idea of that. He probably wouldn't until at least having spoken to Voldemort in person. Only one more week…

* * *

Like the entirety of second term, said week also crept by in the span of an eternity. During a very awkward hour, Harry was called to Dumbledore's office and finally told about the Dursleys' fate, with even less information revealed than Harry had already gathered before from his own sources. The Headmaster then tried to continue showing Harry memories about Voldemort, but the teen flat-out refused, being truthful about needing time for other things without having to think about a possible upcoming war. It may have been too rude, but the Gryffindor really could not deal with trying to indulge Dumbledore's illusions about a Horcrux hunt that was doomed to fail before even having started.

He threw himself into catching up once again to ever-increasing homework piles, attended remedial potions with Snape and held another D.A. session, during which he refused to answer further questions. The seventh-year members had carefully inquired about an interest in possible rebellions from their house-mates, but hadn't made any final decisions yet about who was safe to actually bring to a meeting.

On Thursday, Ron and he finally found time for another attempt at training his Animagus form. A new pair of ears and a deformed face was the result in addition to his wings, whereas Ron got more and more covered in fur. It wasn't the great step forward that either had been hoping for, but if they kept this up, then **maybe** they would both be able to manage the full transformation this term still. There were only a couple of sips left of the potion for each, and two months until Easter holidays.

During the entire week, Umbridge was relentless in enforcing her new rules, showing up left and right when someone even dared to breathe a whisper about the newspaper or any covered topics. She also doubled down on teachers, giving Trelawney and Hagrid an especially hard time, loudly interrupting classes to make snide comments. Several more students got punished for talking back at her and appeared with bandaged hands, a sight that made Harry's blood boil. He was careful about not to catching the toad's attention, he couldn't let her ruin his escape from the castle on the weekend.

It appeared though, that he wasn't the only one who couldn't attend this particular trip.

''Angelina reserved the field for an entire day of training,'' Ron complained, crestfallen. ''If it wasn't bad enough that I'm rubbish on the field, now I can't even cheer up with relaxing at the Three broomsticks with some Butterbeer… I wonder what Hermione will do all on her own.''

''You're not rubbish,'' Harry spoke in encouragement. ''You just need more training and a bit of confidence. Don't let Parkinson get to you. You've only had one actual game!''

''During **your** first Quidditch game, you caught the snitch with your **mouth**, and you were only eleven,'' the other grumbled.

Seeing that Ron was in one of Those moods where nothing anyone said could brighten him up, Harry gave up, shaking his head and finishing the first book on healing that Madam Pomfrey had given him. It wasn't your usual textbook, instead a guide with handy tips and tricks to improve healing spells. He'd already tried out a couple of things and found that the spells he already knew came a lot easier to him.

''Do you think that you could maybe be there and watch the training or so? Could use some support,'' Ron hinted.

Harry hesitated. ''Notwithstanding that Angelina isn't allowing me on the field after I quit, I actually won't be in the castle. I'm not going to let Umbridge's stupid ban stop me from leaving.''

Ron's frown deepened and his ears reddened slightly. ''So you're going to Hogsmeade with Hermione then? Cosily drinking together while I'm making a fool of myself on the playing field for a team that you left?'' he snapped.

Fed up with Ron's attitude, Harry shut the book with a loud snap. ''As a matter of fact, I won't be going to Hogsmeade at all!'' he exclaimed. ''I was **planning** on telling you about it before leaving but you know what? Maybe Hermione does make for better company right now!'' Without waiting for an answer, Harry jumped up from the bed, pulled the invisibility cloak from the trunk and already stuffed it in his school bag. He could not handle Ron feeling sorry for himself and his own choices at the moment. Without another word, Harry stormed down the stairs in search of Hermione. It didn't take long. After seeing that she wasn't in the common room, his next best bet of 'library' paid off. She was in her favourite spot, reading.

''Is Ron being insufferable?'' she asked without looking up, flipping a page as he dropped down on a chair opposite of her.

''How did you know?''

The girl sighed and made brief eye contact before her eyes drifted towards the text in front of her again. ''Ginny told me at breakfast that the entire Gryffindor team is staying here for a full practise day. He's always in a foul mood nowadays when Quidditch comes up. I'm torn between trying to encourage him and telling him to quit. Being at the team has always been a big dream of his but…''

''He isn't that bad when he gets his head in it,'' Harry defended.

''Maybe, but from stories of the Twins and Ginny, his head hasn't been in it since the try-outs. And even there, Angelina only didn't pick Frobisher or Hooper over Ron because of their attitudes and busy schedules. He's not exactly… a star player. I want him to succeed, I really do! But I also want Ron to be happy and I can see that Quidditch is nothing at all like he imagined it, only a large additional stress factor. The only reason he's really playing is because all of his siblings made it to the team and were excellent at it. Ron loves the idea of playing, not the actual practise and matches. It's our O.W.L. year and I'm worried he's going to keep putting this before more important issues such as exams or the people who care about him, and all for the wrong reasons!''

Harry understood the girl's concern, but he knew Ron. Critique would push their friend away further. None of them could use that now that it was so vital to stick together.

''I suppose you're right,'' Hermione agreed after he voiced those thoughts. ''On another note, anything I need to bring for you from Hogsmeade? If you make a list that isn't too long, I can surely smuggle in some sweets and a butterbeer.''

''I appreciate that,'' Harry answered, cheering up a bit. He'd tried to avoid the topic of the Hogsmeade weekend as much as possible, not wanting to be constantly reminded of the fact that he wasn't allowed to attend any further visits to the quaint village for the entire year. He rummaged through his bag and withdrew quill and ink. As he put it on the table, he caught Hermione's quirked eyebrow as her eyes were trained on his opened bag. Specifically, the bunch of silvery fabric he had stuffed in it.

''You're not planning on sneaking out, are you?'' she whispered. ''Harry! You cannot afford disobeying Umbridge so openly!''

''It's not openly if I'm invisible and no-one catches me,'' he hissed back. ''Also, I'm not directly defying my punishment. I'm not going to Hogsmeade.'' This appeared to catch her interest, for she finally shoved her book away. Harry nervously licked his lips. ''I've been invited by… by my friend. You know, the one I like,'' he stuttered quietly, feeling his heart speed up a little bit. ''I have a Portkey with me, but it will only work outside of the wards, so I'm going into one of the tunnels and seeing how far in I need to go for it to activate. I'll be back before dinner.''

''Harry!'' Hermione whispered back, although she didn't look very worried anymore. ''You have a date? **Today**?''

Quickly, he shook his head. ''It's not really a date… I think. I mean, he just invited me over for tea and talking. He picked the Hogsmeade weekend as everyone will be busy, including teachers, so no-one will search for me during that time.''

She gave him a knowing smirk. ''Sure he did. Does this mean that the birthday visit went well? You were so secretive about it before and I didn't want to push, but if it went well, tell me everything! Did he like the book?''

''Instantly started reading upon unwrapping it,'' Harry chuckled fondly. ''I was a bit surprised about that.''

''Oh, I've driven my parents insane by doing the same,'' she grinned. ''If I'd get a book - which usually was the case as I asked for nothing else – I didn't care about anything else apart from reading it as soon as possible. That must have caused a few awkward moments now I look back on it. Funny that he's similar. And other than that?''

He scratched his head awkwardly. ''We had cake and talked lots afterwards. Erhm… he admitted that he doesn't really know what he feels or how to deal with it. Despite that, the evening was incredibly nice and he let me stay in the guest room overnight. I suppose it's improving and maybe we might actually get somewhere? There's also a problem with the whole age gap issue that he isn't really comfortable about… we had some talks about that.'' Then, Harry had an epiphany. ''Hey, how did you and Krum get around that? I mean, he was already an adult when you got together last year and you were only fifteen, right? As an international Quidditch star, didn't he get bad press for dating a minor? Not… not that I'm judging,'' he hurriedly added. ''But you are official and all, right?''

Now it was Hermione's turn to get flustered, going beet red as she twirled her already frizzy hair. ''Well, yes, but we haven't done anything… or much anyways, besides kissing,'' she defensively said. ''And he made that clear to both his Quidditch team and his family. They seem to all be fine with it as long as it doesn't cross certain boundaries. I honestly prefer it like this. I can enjoy his company without having to worry about being pushed into anything, because I know he completely agrees that the limit lies at a bit of snogging. He's really a gentleman. Maybe his reputation preceded him, for there hasn't been negative media about our relationship, only some articles in a magazine similar to Witch Weekly, but that was more an attack on me for taking away the spot at his side instead of painting him in a bad light.'' She rolled her eyes. ''We're only a few years apart in age, so we didn't find it too big of an issue ourselves. I'm meeting with him today actually, he's coming to Hogsmeade for a date.''

''Viktor is coming all the way here from Bulgaria? That's really nice of him. Any special occasion?''

Hermione looked at him funny. ''Harry... do you pay attention to anything?''

Affronted, he replied: ''Of course! That's why I'm asking! I know you're together… do you have your anniversary or so? You never told me when you became 'official', only that it was sometime after the Yule Ball that you decided to be a couple.''

Hermione giggled a bit. ''You're not far off with that, but our anniversary was mid-January. So, I hope I answered your question a bit?''

''I suppose, but he really is a fair bit older, so I'm not sure if the same applies to us. He is even hesitant about anything beyond friendly hugs,'' Harry said in frustration. ''Truth be told, he kissed my forehead on his birthday, but then freaked out about it.''

To his surprise, Hermione's smile only widened. ''You know what, Harry? I think you have nothing to worry about. Last year you said that you were afraid of what you felt, that it could never work… But honestly, if this guy is in emotional turmoil over giving you a kiss on the head, then he cannot be as bad as you described before. I would be far more worried if he instantly gave in to your pushing and completely threw the fact that you have some complications to work through out of the window. Go on, don't wait longer and hurry up to your date.''

'''Itsnotadate,'' Harry managed to mumble, already packing his bag again, shoving the hastily scribbled list of sweets to Hermione.

''Maybe check a calendar before leaving,'' she cheerfully called after him, causing Madam Pince to stick her head around the corner and shush her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me your thoughts on how Harry handled the news on the Dursleys, it was a bit tough to figure out his emotions.  
Now the poor boy has a whole new set of problems due to it though.. consequences are a B.
> 
> Next up, a meeting that many of you have been waiting for ;P Plus the mandatory 'addressing a ton of issues by unloading on Voldemort'.
> 
> Actually, this and the next chapter had been planned as one chap... but then it became 16k and the second part addressed some things way too soon.  
SO, the second part will be chapter 68 now, but as it was technically supposed to go in this one and I would feel as if I'm just cheating you guys out of content otherwise, I'm making the compromise of uploading the next chapter as soon as my beta gets around to checking it, which will hopefully be within the next two weeks somewhere :)


	68. Not a Date

Harry did not, in fact, check a calendar before leaving, not wanting to miss another minute. Hermione's claim that this was absolutely a date didn't calm his nerves at all, even though he knew that most of their talks would be focused on practical topics, such as what to do about Harry's guardianship situation and Voldemort finally elaborating on why Dumbledore had visited the office of the Daily prophet.

As he descended into the tunnel beneath the one-eyed witch statue, Harry kept worrying about stupid, inconsequential things, such as his tie being crooked, or his clothes being covered in dust by the time he arrived. Realistically, he knew that Voldemort had never expressed any care for such trivialities and had seen Harry covered in grime and blood. Often been the cause of it even. Still, he felt very conscious of his looks at the moment.

That feeling did not fade in the slightest when he disappeared from the Hogwarts grounds in a flash of blue and landed in the living room of Riddle house, where Voldemort was already waiting. The Dark Lord was wearing elegant, green outer robes over his usual silk black ones. Harry could swear that his mouth dried out entirely as soon as he laid eyes on the wizard, although whether it was the unusual look or the familiar magic that possessively wrapped around him, the teen couldn't say. His brain was too busy trying to catch up.

''You are early,'' Voldemort noted, not unpleasantly. He stood and took a step forwards, which Harry happily took as his cue to give into an embrace that lingered longer than technically necessary for a mere greeting. His tongue was too twisted to answer, so he let Voldemort guide him into a seat and looked at the table in front of them, impressed.

The dining table bore a variety of foods and was decked for two. A bit to the side stood a glass vase with blue and purple flowers of various types that Harry recognised from the many Muggle gardens in Surrey. Though breakfast hadn't been long ago, Harry hadn't been able to eat a single bite due to nerves and he was grateful for having the opportunity to indulge here. A gust of wind tousled his black hair even more than usual, upon which Harry realised that the doors towards the orangery were open wide, which in turn was open to the rainy garden. The fragrance of coffee, flowers and wet grass pleasantly mingled.

''Thank you for wanting to meet,'' Harry said, still trying to calm his stomach enough to actually think of putting anything on his plate. It helped that Voldemort's magic settled down a bit until it was no more than a pleasant background hum that resonated through the room without being overwhelming. ''It doesn't feel like it's only been one and a half months. So much happened in that short amount of time.'' He rolled his shoulders, feeling more able to relax here than he'd been able to in a while.

''On both our ends,'' the man agreed, inclining his head. Then, he waved broadly over the table. ''None of this is poisoned, I will have you know.''

Harry chuckled nervously. ''Your explicit statement about that makes it sounds **more** suspicious,'' he pointed out, though he did take a croissant and began to butter it. ''Did you make this?''

Voldemort made no move to start eating himself, steepling his fingers under his chin and simply watching Harry's movements. ''No, I went to check on my office in France yesterday and put in an order at an excellent bakery that I have come to eat breakfast at more often.''

''I find it hard to imagine that,'' the Gryffindor faintly smiled. ''Even knowing how you look as Noctua, I just envision you sitting at a Parisian café as yourself, while chaos erupts around you.''

Voldemort shared the amusement through their link, at which Harry noticed how much he'd missed that. The man was in a rather atypically light mood today, which was a good sign for how their talk could go. After their last shared dream, Harry had worried his head off about having been too callous. He knew how much the Chamber of Secrets and the creature it had inhabited had meant to Voldemort. Harry felt justified in his own dislike of the place as it had nearly become his tomb, but he **had** killed the Dark Lord's pet in there…

''Evan,'' Voldemort spoke in a slightly chiding tone, and Harry realised that the other must have felt his returning dread.

''Sorry,'' he mumbled, biting into the buttered bread, chewing on flakes of pastry. ''As you're not eating, do you want to continue speaking about how you came to meet Dumbledore?''

The Dark Lord hummed low under his breath. ''I might as well get that out of the way. It appears that you and your Defence group are not the only ones who wish to oppose Dolores Umbridge. Dumbledore believes she is a danger to the school and is planning on taking over. It turns out that he was impressed by how defiant my articles have been, judging the Ministry instead of printing propaganda. He believes that we share a common goal of uncovering injustices. In short, the old man wants me to expose how ineffective and harmful Umbridge's actions are to the student body.''

Harry was quite shocked by that. Although Dumbledore had acted on behalf of students against Umbridge on several occasions, such as when he'd purposefully not informed the High Inquisitor before sending Harry away with the Weasleys before the Christmas holidays had started, the teen had not thought that the Headmaster would involve press.

''Are you going to work together with him then?''

''When I first got his message about wishing to meet, I thought it was about the refusal to print his claims about my return and had already made up my mind about rejecting any ideas that came from his mouth. Although he did address that, I hadn't anticipated this turn of events. I harbour a deep hatred for the old fool, but I can use this. Dolores Umbridge sent me a note too. It was a carefully worded letter, the core of which suggested that my job is not out of the Ministry's reach.''

Harry laughed: ''She **threatened** you?''

''Quite. And she isn't entirely wrong. While banning the national newspaper country-wide would lead to protests, they could force me to step down as Head Editor. In the end, all companies rely on the Ministry one way or the other. Even small businesses and freelancers need Ministry approval. If they perceive the people losing faith in its government as a direct result of my writing, they could revoke my license on base of treason, or, if they wish to settle matters quietly, pay me handsomely to resign. If I'd refuse to take that bribe, they could charge me with acts such as defamation of character and seditious libel.''

''Which are?'' Harry asked, unfamiliar with the exact meaning of those terms.

''With defamation of character, you would try to damage the reputation of a person with false statements. Seditious libel is similar but has a broader meaning. Instead of a false claim about a person, this is the term for malicious writings that defames, brings into contempt or disrepute, or excites the hatred of the people against the government. With our current judicial system, it's less a matter of whether it's true than how many people they can convince it to be true. Fudge would need only to persuade just over half of the Wizengamot to vote against me.''

All of it sounded rather precarious to Harry, especially as Voldemort's articles **had** been aimed at exactly that. ''Even if your writing itself held no falsities, was your whole outset not to make people doubt the Ministry?''

''Of course, I absolutely published those articles to turn people against our government,'' Voldemort replied with a sharp smile. ''Yet even if they discover that and sentence me for it, my main purpose has been fulfilled already. I will see how far they'll go, and how long it'll take. Also, the most interesting question for me right now is whether the French government will react the same. I could potentially have 'Noctua' move to France and continue publishing only in _Nouvelles du Monde Magique_. Alternatively, I resign from the press altogether and disappear. That would leave me more time to focus on the Hand of Magic, which is growing rapidly and in need of more structured leadership. In any case, there are enough options.''

''Right,'' Harry said, moving onto some interesting cookies which reminded of round granola bars. ''What would be your preferred option?''

The Dark Lord heaved a sigh. ''As interesting as running newspapers is, the environment is annoyingly hectic, and as I have to hide my identity, I need to keep up an act all the time. I'd prefer to quit it and move onto something else. I haven't had nearly enough time for research, political manoeuvring or for my duties as a Lord of Magic. On the other hand, I do have a foot in the door with this, can speak openly with people I wish to gather information from… losing that would be a setback.''

''So have one of your followers replace you if Noctua is forced to resign,'' Harry suggested. ''Surely some of them will love a job like that. Well-paid, with people to command… The Ministry won't be able to suddenly have a replacement ready, especially not when they don't know who on the current staff shares your views.''

Voldemort was silent for a while, simply staring straight at Harry, who tried not to feel too intimidated. Knowing the other, the staring wasn't actually meant to be impolite. The Dark Lord was simply too used to not having to take note of social etiquette any longer. ''That could work…'' the man answered at last. ''I shall consider it. First, however, I wish to see what I can do against Umbridge. I'll surely be able to defame **her** before getting pushed out of office.'' Harry doubted that it was going to be an easy or short process, but wisely stayed quiet. Voldemort's tone and feelings were incredibly determined.

''Do you need another interview from me?'' Harry asked. ''I mean, Umbridge would kill me for that, but it'd be worth it.''

Voldemort nodded. ''Having a more detailed list of the effects she's having from a students' perspective is valuable. To avoid your untimely death, I will not be putting your name under it this time. '_Several students who wished to stay anonymous out of fear of repercussion_' sounds much better. I'll most definitely also mention that last time someone spoke up against governmental policies, they were unjustly and disproportionally punished. Now, any other questions about this?''

Harry thought about it for a while, then asked: ''Does this mean you will have to meet Dumbledore more often? How would you handle that?''

Voldemort sneered. When not directed at Harry, even that expression looked quite attractive, the teen noted. ''I hope for it to remain at written correspondence. As Headmaster, Dumbledore is not subject to the same mail checks as the rest of the castle. He does have that much power left still. For how long, I can't say. Speaking of Dumbledore, if discrediting Umbridge does not work out as fast as hoped, I can perhaps drag him down with me to make him lose the titles he has at the moment.''

''That sounds good for me personally, but wouldn't that mean Umbridge would take over Hogwarts in that case?'' he worried. ''I can't imagine how much worse everything would get if she did. Not to mention that if she quits Defence, the curse on that position might not activate.''

The Dark Lord gave a thin smile at that. ''Oh, I can assure you that it will. When designing that curse, I wasn't too certain of the exact framework, but after trying to circumvent it with Barty last year, I discovered that only a few months of being a Defence teacher is sufficient for it to activate. She's been there long enough that something awful will happen to make her leave the castle at the end of the school year, no matter if she'll try to switch positions within Hogwarts by now.''

''That's something at least,'' the Gryffindor muttered. ''But did you just admit to creating a curse without knowing every last detail about it?'' Harry noted, raising an eyebrow.

Voldemort flared his nostrils. ''I admit to doing so when I was barely thirty and inexperienced,'' he stiffly answered. ''It is not as if access to source magic suddenly made spell creation a breeze.''

Moving on to not offend the man, Harry continued: ''In the meantime, I guess I'll do my best to counter her teaching methods with my Defence group. Funnily enough, your Horcrux approved of the name 'Dumbledore's Army' for it, **also** to throw Dumbledore under the bus if it would ever be discovered.''

''Great minds think alike,'' Voldemort commented dryly. ''I always was a genius.'' The wafts of arrogance that reached Harry were undeniable. He didn't want to fan the man's ego, but neither could he objectively oppose that statement, so he bit into another cookie instead. ''Speaking of your army, you mentioned expansion plans?''

Harry instantly got excited and told Voldemort all about it, going into detail on what they'd been practising, who they were considering getting on board and how civilised the whole group was now despite all being from different houses. The man listened attentively and commented a few times on Harry's teaching methods and chosen curriculum. Then, he asked about the relations between the members. To Harry, it felt a bit like Voldemort was fishing for information on whether or not Harry was building up his own Death Eater circle. Which he wasn't. Totally not.

''I still don't really know what most of them are to me,'' he pondered. ''Some are my friends, but only those I already considered such before. Others are only acquaintances, I suppose. Hermione told me to ask everyone in the D.A. for help in my guardianship dilemma, but I feel like I'm not close enough to most members to throw that in the group. Not even sure if it would be helpful.''

''You won't need to.''

The declaration was so decisive that it took Harry aback. ''And why would that be?''

Voldemort rose from the table and started to pace back and forth, the light from outside catching on the shimmering material from his robes, making it look as if he were clad in liquid. ''Yesterday, Dumbledore contacted the Ministry with a suggestion for a family that could take you in. One of my people happened to be present when the news reached the responsible department. The rather overworked employees at the office responded enthusiastically to the proposition.''

Instantly, the teen sat up straighter. ''What? Who did he put forwards? Do I know them?''

''I doubt you would know them personally, although they are of your blood. Andromeda and Ted Tonks.''

Harry blinked. Tonks? The only Tonks he knew was the young Metamorphmagus Auror in the Order, who insisted that her mother had been mad to name her 'Nymphadora'. Was this Andromeda that same mother perhaps? Or another relative? Then, he truly registered what Voldemort had said, and tried to remember if a Tonks had been connected to the Potter line on the only family tree tapestry he'd seen. He couldn't recall. ''My blood?'' he carefully asked.

''Andromeda Tonks used to be known as Andromeda Black. You are related through your grandmother Dorea. It's not a close connection, but family ties are worth much in the Ministry's eyes. Apart from your godfather, the rest of your remaining family all originate from the Blacks too. The Tonks' fit nearly all the required boxes. They're not short on money, have raised a child who became an Auror in record time, and are married. The only flaws are that Ted Tonks is a Muggleborn, and that both are public supporters of Dumbledore, who is not very popular at the moment. For you as well, it would not be an ideal option, as I'm sure this means you will basically be under the old man's thumb instead.''

Frantically, Harry stood too, unable to sit still. ''So what do you suggest? This claim sounds so solid that randomly picking a wizarding family I agree with isn't going to cut it!''

''No… and that is where your relatives come in. You see, Andromeda was the youngest of two sisters. The oldest was Bellatrix Black, who is now in Azkaban. The middle one was Narcissa Black. Who married a certain Lucius Malfoy.''

Now, Harry really could not uphold his composure. ''You are telling me that all this time, my closest living relatives in the magical world have been the **Malfoys**?

''Together with the Tonks' and Lestranges, yes. Just like your grandmother, the Black sisters can be traced back to line of Cygnus Black II, whereas your godfather is from line of Sirius Black II. Of course, neither of them are direct family, it's all removed cousins and such, and the families they married into and the spawn two of them got is even further removed from your bloodline.''

''Still, the Malfoys are my best chance.''

''No, I'm saying that they are your **only** chance,'' Voldemort corrected.

This was not a turn of events he'd considered. His head spun. He could at least stand Draco now that the Slytherin wasn't being a constant prat and Harry had technically given the blond a hand of friendship, but they were far from bosom friends. He wasn't sure if he could manage Draco as a sibling. An older sibling at that.

Besides his issues with his former rival, he didn't know Narcissa and Lucius too well either. Draco's mother had been civil the few times he'd seen her, but that hadn't been more than a few minutes in total. Lucius on the other hand, had almost caused Ginny's death, tortured his own house-elves and tried to seriously harm Harry at the very least at age twelve. Harry truthfully still wasn't entirely sure what the spell had been that Mr Malfoy had tried to throw at him before Dobby had interrupted his former master. The only time the Death Eater had spoken positively on Harry's behalf, had been an attempt to suck up to his Lord once it became obvious that Harry had ended up on Voldemort's side. Having the slimy man as a father…

But it beat the Dursleys by miles. It also beat being under Dumbledore's control.

''Lucius is your follower though,'' Harry spoke slowly, narrowing his eyes at Voldemort. Somehow, this all was a bit too convenient. ''If the Tonks family would get me, Dumbledore would probably dictate what they tell me yes… but wouldn't you do the same with the Malfoys?''

''Very likely,'' Voldemort openly admitted. ''But consider this: my ideas of what is best for you more often aligns with your own views than Dumbledore's ideas, don't you think? I won't make them try to control your magic or preferred place to stay. You will still be able to visit your godfather and friends now and then… Most importantly, we can negotiate terms if you disagree with restrictions. I can guarantee you that the Headmaster won't give you that option.''

He was glad to have eaten when a lighter topic had been discussed. He'd lost all appetite, feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place. So, Voldemort was planning on getting control over him again?

''No,'' he whispered.

The other blinked rapidly. ''Pardon?''

''No,'' he repeated, louder this time, coming closer till they stood chest to chest. Stubbornly, Harry unblinkingly stared into Voldemort's crimson eyes. ''If I agree to the Malfoys getting custody of me, I don't want you to get involved. Any restrictions Lucius and Narcissa put on me, I will negotiate with them, not with you. I realise that Lucius is your follower, but I ask you this as a friend. Don't take back control of me through your minions. It's **not** appreciated. Suggestions about my safety are welcome of course,'' he added in afterthought. ''Your insight and experience are something I highly value, I simply don't like if it's used against me to take away power from myself.''

Voldemort cocked his head and held a concentrated expression. It took a moment until Harry realised that the man was trying to analyse his feelings over the bond. Good. Let Voldemort know exactly how persistent he was about this.

Finally, the man moved again, walking back to the table, patting Harry's head as he passed. ''I concede. Have it your way.'' A faint hint of pride flitted over, startling the teen. ''You're such a Gryffindor.''

''Speaking of control,'' Harry threw in before losing his confidence. ''Madam Pomfrey told me what exactly an experienced dark mage could do with a shrivelled arm.''

''Did she now?'' the Dark Lord airily asked. He took a sip from his coffee, eyes slowly sliding over Harry's form. ''Is there a problem with the payment you gave me for saving you?''

The way it was worded made the teen shift uncomfortably, but he pushed through. ''Did you ask for it to have a way to influence me again?''

With a clinking sound, the cup was set down firmly on its saucer. Emerald and ruby bore into each other. ''A useful tool can be a weapon. It doesn't have to be,'' the man cryptically answered. ''Usually, it is still only a tool. There are many uses I thought of before asking that price. That is all I have to say about it. Now, what I am most curious about, is why your **school nurse** knows anything about this matter.''

Not having planned on hiding this information in the first place, Harry told Voldemort about Pomfrey discovering the centaur arm and her method of showing him a 'better path' through healing education. The Dark Lord was hesitant at first about Harry's confidence in the nurse's silence, but eventually agreed with Harry's judgement after being shown the memory through Legilimency - a painful affair for Harry that he deemed worth it if it could save the nurse. It was bad enough that he himself had thought of attacking Madam Pomfrey, Harry didn't accidentally want to sic a Dark Lord on her who'd most likely not get second thoughts.

Afterwards, other topics were carefully breached as conversation turned more relaxed. On his part, Voldemort elaborated on the plan to appear at the Ostara Ball and filled Harry in on new details regarding Barty's promotion, which was to be a small affair between the Inner Circle before revealing Barty as his right hand during Easter as well to instantly establish a hierarchy. Upon further inquiry about the Death Eater, Harry found out that he was technically still staying at Riddle house, but Voldemort had sent him away for the day to 'not interfere', whatever that may mean. For the remainder of the hour, the Dark Lord told engaging stories about his trips abroad for the Daily Prophet and complained about his employees in a very human way that made Harry grin more than once.

When it became clear that neither of them would continue eating, they went into the rainy garden on Harry's suggestion, as he wanted to briefly pay respects to his parents before going back inside. The air was chilly still, but the past month had brought wetter and warmer weather, all frost gone by now. The field in the back garden was fresh and untamed, much in contrast to the front where Voldemort had meticulously planted useful flowers and herbs for potion-making. All the way in the back, Harry stopped and kneeled in front of the simple headstones.

''It is still surreal that I was able to speak to them. I never properly thanked you for that, did I?''

''If you call holing yourself up in your room and yelling about it 'properly thanking me', then you absolutely did,'' Voldemort snarked.

Harry rolled his eyes at the petty tone and looked over his shoulder at the Dark Lord. ''Well, **thank you**, then. I doubt that Necromancy is ever going to be my favourite field of study but… I have come to accept that it is useful, and I could save Sirius due to it. Maybe I should appreciate it a bit more.'' He sighed deeply as his eyes rested on the graves, from which he could hear faint whispering. ''If only I would stop having these side-effects,'' he muttered darkly. ''I still hear the dead every now and then, and see those soul pieces just as clearly as on day one.''

Voldemort kneeled down next to him, fingers trailing over the earth. It was indiscernible what exactly he did. Harry registered a spike of magic. ''Perhaps there is some lingering connection. Attempting another Necromancy ritual might fix that. There are plenty of students to quietly kill in Hogwarts,'' Voldemort suggested. Nothing about the feelings Harry received through their link hinted at it having been a jest.

''Does your moral compass point down the drain?'' Harry exclaimed, exasperated.

The Dark Lord furrowed his brow. ''I am attempting to help you,'' he frostily replied. ''Your connection to the cosmos is stronger than I have seen in anyone else. As I aided you in reaching it last time and you were emotionally involved regarding your godfather, you might not have entirely separated from it as should be the case. Going through a ritual by yourself from start to finish could be the only way to get rid of these side-effects. Of course, it could be that you are naturally weak against outside influences. You told me that your own attempts at Occlumency weren't brilliant either until my Horcrux tutored you.''

The assumption stung despite having been said in a casual matter-of-fact manner, mostly because Harry felt that it was likely correct. He wasn't good in shutting things out or ignoring anomalies. Willingly jumping to the extreme of murdering someone for the purpose of bringing them back to life, however? Out of the question. Voldemort made it sound like it was a quick case of 'kill and revive', but Harry knew by now that it didn't work like that. Sirius' resurrection had been pretty unique: Harry would not be able to lock up someone's mind and soul into their heart right before the body gave out. And reviving an actual corpse would give an Inferi at best… Even when under extraordinary circumstances, Lily and James had truly come back to life using the correct bodies, minds and souls, they hadn't lived for more than a few minutes.

''Couldn't I try it with an animal?'' he suggested. For some reason, all texts he'd read by now about the Art focused on human remains. While slaughtering some innocent animal wasn't ideal either, Harry certainly was less squeamish about that, having killed animals to eat, for potions, and in some other rituals before.

''That depends on what you'd like to do with it. Look at it this way: any mage can see ghosts. You as a Necromancer can even see the wisps of Muggles and Squibs that haven't passed on yet. However, even you cannot see dead animals. Like Muggles, regular animals are not close enough to us to effectively find their souls in the cosmos. The Art heavily relies on bonds and blood. The most you can do with an animal is taking the essence of life from the Cosmos and pouring it into a carcass. Unliked with human Inferi, of which you can still summon and bind the souls so you can make them do your bidding, you'll need to use external spells to command them. If your sole purpose is completing a ritual, I suppose that would do. Personally, I am of the opinion that it would be a waste of what could be interesting practise.''

Harry bit back a choice swear word. With more patience than he thought he had, the Gryffindor asked: ''You haven't mentioned magical animals yet. Would that change anything? There are plenty of non-sentient ones like Grindylows or Redcaps.''

''I have never seen the need to attempt a necromancy ritual on a non-sentient magical creature,'' Voldemort admitted. ''It'll be fascinating to see if that makes a difference. I know that Necromancy on sentient magical beings and beasts is possible even though they are genetically not even as close to mages as Muggles are. Tricky, but possible,'' he commented with a pointed look at Harry's arm. ''We don't quite have enough time for it today, but I can lend you Peverell's work so you can study the basics again until Easter.''

Harry grimaced, not very fond of the book. While _'Studies of the Art'_ was no doubt an interesting piece of literature, Peverell's writing style left much to be desired, as well as his handwriting. Deciphering the paragraphs took long and was near impossible without plenty of light. It would be difficult to sneakily read at night with a Lumos spell under the blankets as he'd done with Regulus' diaries. Sirius' younger brother had had a very pleasant handwriting, thankfully. Nonetheless, Harry agreed and was glad when they headed inside again in silent agreement.

Voldemort led him towards the comfortable drawing room upstairs, where Harry only threw a few stealthy glances at the white sliver of fog near the fireplace. Voldemort instantly lit the wood and basked in its warmth, which made Harry experience echoes of bliss. Noticing a familiar shape, Harry approached a rolled-up, sleeping Nagini. ''How is she doing now?'' he asked, eyes raking over her sleek form. The skin had all healed up by now, he was pleased to see. He felt a much deeper connection with her now he'd been in her head twice, sharing her terror.

''Better, although unfortunately not as talkative as she used to be and she sleeps much longer than is regular. It's only been two months since her kidnapping, so I mainly let her rest.'' The teen really wanted to give her a few reassuring pats, but didn't wish to wake her, so he retreated and sat left of Voldemort on the couch, facing the fire. While the Dark Lord summoned the aforementioned book from a shelf, Harry studied the vase with flowers that had mysteriously relocated itself from downstairs to the coffee table.

''What's up with that?'' he asked, ignoring the thick tome handed to him in favour of gesturing vaguely to the bouquet, which he identified to consist mainly of irises, statice, and purple lisianthus.

''Did you not mention preferring flowers?'' Voldemort asked. ''They're a gift.''

Harry opened his mouth a few times without producing any sound. He didn't have the heart to say that he hadn't **actually** expected to receive flowers, or even liked plants very much. Well, he guessed that this was a lie he'd now have to take to the grave. It's not as if he was opposed to them, per se. ''They're lovely,'' he thus spoke. ''Not sure if I can take them with me to Hogwarts.''

The Dark Lord didn't appear to think of that being a hindrance. ''I'll send them through our next dream,'' he decided. Harry sincerely hoped that if Voldemort made good on that promise, he wouldn't wake up in a bed of crushed flowers. That would be cause for some explanation…

''You don't look too pleased.'' The words were accompanied by a waft of disappointment and irritation.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. ''I think it's because… because I hadn't really expected to get gifts from you. Not so randomly anyways. Birthdays or some special occasions, I can understand, but I thought you just invited me today to talk? What are you expecting of me?'' he bluntly asked. Most of what had been on his heart, he'd already been able to speak about and it wasn't even noon yet. Only the murders of the Dursleys had been left untouched apart from the custody aspect. Harry preferred it to stay at that, at least for today. Voldemort was the last person he'd ask whether it was okay to not feel guilty over being pleased with the death of other people. He already knew the answer and wasn't keen on sharing an opinion on that particular topic with a murderous Dark Lord.

''Do you remember why I invited you here in the first place?'' Voldemort asked all of a sudden, unusually quiet.

Harry frowned. ''You only said that we need to talk in person instead of through dreams. That there is 'much we should speak of'. I figured that, because we never have enough time during the night as you also still want to tutor me, you preferred to do so here where we can accurately measure time.'' He didn't voice the wild hopes and fantasies he had about other reasons why Voldemort wanted to meet up in person, stamping them in the ground for fear of overreacting.

''Ah, Evan… I should have known that subtle efforts are wasted on you.'' Harry turned towards the other, feeling a bit offended. Voldemort raised a hand, thin fingers hovering in the air for a moment before splaying themselves across Harry's cheek and brushing the skin carefully. The teen's breath caught, all movements halted as that single touch sent a trail of shivers down his face. Voldemort smiled wryly. ''We both left in a rather… turbulent mood at the turn of the year. I believed that it would get better with time, when I could pick apart and analyse… all of this.'' The man admitted with some difficulty.

'All of this' crashed into Harry with full force as Voldemort let go of the control he had on himself. The background hum turned into a thrumming that would have been ear-shattering if it had been translated into sound. Magic rose like a tidal wave, a heavy weight numbing the teen's entire body as it captivated him. Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing. In addition, a whirlwind of feelings passed through their mental bond, too fast to identify. Vaguely, Voldemort's voice filtered through: ''Now, more than a month later, I have concluded that that was a foolish attempt. To be frank, I don't know where to start. Nothing prepared me for my own mind betraying me with such complexity of emotion. The answer on how I could solve this mystery leads back to you each time.''

''How so?'' Harry asked warily, prying open his eyes again to look at the other. ''I don't know how to deal with this any more than you.'' Okay, so he had a few ideas, but Voldemort had made his boundaries clear, which Harry didn't want to thread upon.

The Dark Lord shook his head. ''You do. You **must**.'' Frustration was added to the already confusing mixture. ''I wasn't like this before you came here. Our blood bonds is why I changed. And if you are the source of origin, then you can also tell me why this controls me so! You are the catalyst of my erratic behaviour, surely I can only find the answers with you.''

Harry swallowed heavily. What did Voldemort want him to do, exactly? Analyse the man's feelings and describe back to him what it was? The idea sounded laughable in his head, but it appeared to be exactly what the Dark Lord was thinking of. ''We share a soul and a mind, you can feel what I feel. If I could only have names for this, perhaps that would be a start,'' the older wizard spoke in all seriousness. ''Are you able to do that?''

Harry merely nodded mutedly, not trusting himself to speak. What if he would misinterpret anything? Or add wishful thinking to his explanations? Already, Harry could feel plenty that made him doubt the severity of his own crush in comparison. The teen balled his fists. No matter, if he couldn't even help the man he'd come to fall in love with, then he would make for a lousy partner. So, they were really doing this then.

Calming down enough to think clearly was pretty much impossible, so Harry went with his own gut feeling. He took one of Voldemort's hands in his own and tried to untangle the various feelings from the man's foreign yet familiar mind. ''Try… try to concentrate on a single thought at once if possible, please.''

Voldemort complied, and one by one, certain emotions strengthened. Trying to concentrate on what he'd been asked to do instead of the deep embarrassment he felt, Harry first started listing the feelings that he could clearly classify -contentment, frustration, jealousy- , and after several attempts, tackled the more muddled ones too. It was odd to feel such a train of emotions run past with the knowledge that they weren't his own. Contentment over acceptance, fear of loss, eagerness for something in the future… He was simultaneously thankful and annoyed about not being able to see which memories caused each feeling in Voldemort, as Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to know which ones exactly were directed at himself.

Harry tried to recall times where he'd felt similar emotions to cast them back at the Dark Lord in an attempt to show the wizard the subtle differences between their own variations. Time flew by faster than it had during all of their conversations. At one point, the chime of a clock caught his attention, and he looked up to see that the old Muggle wind-up clock showed that it was nearly two o clock. They continued, and Harry felt more and more drained from being subjected to such a rollercoaster. He peered into the most vulnerable parts of Voldemort's soul, uncovering both self-hatred and narcissism, serenity and passion. At several points, Harry almost tried to break the connection, dragged under by obsessivity and longing.

The emotions became less and less frequent until they stopped altogether, and Harry imagined he'd run through the entire spectrum of possible human emotions. For some reason, Voldemort did not look happy. ''Was it… what you expected?'' Harry tentatively asked, reaching out again for the hand that had slipped from his grasp before. The Dark Lord tensed up, yet allowed it.

_~Expected, yes. Hoped… not so much. Even after everything I discovered now, the old fool was still right,~_ Voldemort hissed, barely audible over the crackling fire that the man was glaring at.

Puzzled, Harry waited for an explanation that didn't come. _~Can you elaborate?~_ he asked after a while.

Slowly, the man turned towards him again and carefully took Harry's face in his hands. Feelings of defeat and depression touched his mind. _~There was still one missing~_ he replied. _~One that I know comes easily to you. Evan, in much the same manner as you did before, can you show me what love feels like?~_

Speechless, Harry finally understood. He nodded wordlessly at the request. Pushing the awareness away of what this meant for him and the possible future relationship he so wished to have, Harry concentrated with every fibre of his being on the various types of love he felt: for Hogwarts, for flying, for his friends, for Barty, for Sirius, and lastly for the one in front of him. Voldemort's nails dug into Harry's face as the man took in the overwhelming force of it.

''It is beautiful,'' he rasped, clearly conflicted. ''I never thought…''

''It's okay,'' the teen muttered, wincing as he took Voldemort's hands and pried them off his face, feeling something wet slide down his cheeks. ''It's okay not to feel it,'' he tried to reassure. ''There is already so much that you have and-''

''Don't, please.''

The Dark Lord was turning away now, shutting him out. Harry's heart bled as he realised that this new onslaught of uncontrollable emotions had awoken hope in Voldemort that he was maybe able to love as well. Green eyes wandered to the flowers again. Oh Merlin.

Before any permanent damage could be done, Harry decided that he wasn't just going to let the other get away. He repositioned himself on the couch, leaned closer and wrapped his arms tightly around the man, who was as unresponsive as a brick wall. It didn't deter the Gryffindor at all. ''No, listen to me,'' he spoke in a tone as firm as he could muster. ''From the first moment that I realised what I felt, I knew what I was getting into. You told me multiple times before that none of this comes naturally to you. That did not stop me from wanting you. It's enough, it's plenty enough to know that you are willing to give me a chance.'' As Hermione had said, not every relationship was a perfect fairy-tale love story. ''I have seen that you care for me, that you enjoy our time spent together, and that you want me too,'' he continued, getting hot in the face as he so openly spoke about it. ''We can work on anything that comes after.'' The tense muscles relaxed minimally. Harry took that opportunity to slip under a thin arm and rest his face on the silk-clad chest. After only a few seconds, Voldemort responded wordlessly by tightening the grip.

The teen hesitated for a moment. Surely, the Dark Lord knew the full extent of Harry's feelings as well by now, but he still felt the need to speak it out. ''I can love plenty for the both of us,'' he whispered, smiling as a pleasant hum of agreement vibrated through the bony chest he awkwardly lay upon.

Although the man didn't verbally respond, Harry was infinitely thankful that Voldemort had been receptive to the words. They remained like that for a good while, both tired and having spoken about most pressing matters beforehand. The teen thoroughly enjoyed every minute, although his spine certainly didn't agree with that sentiment.

The clock struck again, and to Harry's shock, it had jumped two hours from when he'd last noticed it. ''I don't have long anymore,'' he reluctantly commented. ''I think I can only stay about an hour more or so. Dinner is served at six and I still have to walk back to the castle from my Portkey spot, hide my invisibility cloak and change into something that doesn't look like I crawled through a dirty tunnel twice.''

''Tunnels?''

Harry sat up and gave the Dark Lord an odd look. ''True, I did wonder why you never used those. There are several tunnels from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. Only two usable ones at the moment, but there used to be more. Regulus mentioned in his writing as well that he'd used one of those to go to you.''

Mentioning Voldemort's previous lover maybe hadn't been a smart move, as the Dark Lord grimaced at the name. ''I found only two secret ways that led out of the castle when I was at Hogwarts,'' Voldemort frowned. ''Both were collapsed and unusable, I figured that at one point in time, one of the Headmasters deemed it too much of a security risk and blocked all ways out. I didn't spend time searching for more exits afterwards.''

''Well, one of them hadn't been built yet back then, I suppose,'' Harry frowned. ''And most are indeed blocked or highly unstable. There's only a single passage that is safe to use at the moment, which is accessible from a quiet part of the castle and has to be opened with a password.''

''Good to know, although I doubt it would be usable to me personally. The wards of Hogwarts don't just reach to the ground, they go much deeper. You can go through as you are accepted by the wards in general, but intruders without permission to be on the grounds can't sneak in through there.''

Probably better, Harry thought to himself. Waking up to Death Eaters storming the castle wasn't something he could use in addition to everything else going on.

To Harry's slight dismay, Voldemort picked up the Necromancy book and started flipping through it, marking several pages by turning the corners.

''You know, if Hermione would see that, you'd suddenly have a new arch-nemesis,'' he commented.

Voldemort chuckled lightly. ''I adore books, but they are still nothing more than useful tools to transfer knowledge,'' he stated. ''As long as the creases don't run through the actual text, it won't do any damage to the purpose of the book.''

''That's a good summary of the argument Ron tried to use in an hour-long debate against her. He lost.''

Voldemort showed teeth when he smiled and said: ''I do hope that my debating skills are on a higher plane of existence than those of Ronald Weasley.'' He finished marking the book and handed it to Harry, who slipped it into his school bag.

''You could say that. So, how would you like to spend this last hour? Are there still any topics that you want to speak about?''

''Always,'' the Dark Lord spoke. With slow movements, he drew Harry to his side again, who did not protest in the slightest. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening, and he would bet his Firebolt that the other didn't either. Instead of their previous silence however, Voldemort started asking questions about ways to improve their tutoring sessions and which topics Harry was interested in most. Hands found their way into his hair as they talked, at which Harry sighed in utter content. During the middle of a talk about illusionary magic, Nagini woke up briefly and slithered over, wedging her massive body between the two of them, continuing her nap there. Harry was struck by the thought of how much he felt at home here, talking to Voldemort and petting Nagini. Hopefully, he'd be able to indulge in this far more often in the future. If the Malfoys would really apply for custody and win, it would probably be much easier to convince them to let him stay here instead.

''Oh, one more thing,'' Voldemort spoke as Harry's last minutes arrived. Out of thin air, he procured an envelope. ''Open this when you are back at school. No, it's not cursed,'' he added at Harry's look. The teen tucked it in his bag, taking out the invisibility cloak instead. After once forgetting it at the Astronomy tower and once in the same tunnel he'd come through now, Harry always made sure to put it on in advance. Nothing would be worse than Umbridge catching him right now.

''Thank you. For the talks and… everything,'' Harry spoke while carefully untangling himself from Nagini. He stood and hesitated for a moment, then plucked a single flower from the bouquet, wiping the stalk dry and putting it in his bag as well. ''While I appreciate you wanting to send it through a dream, the whole bouquet might soak my bed,'' he commented cheerily. Before being able to change his mind, he acted on a whim and leaned down, reciprocating Voldemort's forehead kiss of which the memory had fuelled many a daydream. The cold skin was smooth and dry under his lips, and made him want to plant many more, yet Harry restrained himself. ''See you next time,'' he managed to choke out, feeling light-headed even before activating the Portkey.

* * *

The dizziness didn't stop even after he'd long arrived at Hogwarts and changed clothing. Just as he went down to the common room, the Quidditch team trudged in, looking chagrined. Harry avoided Ron, who brusquely stormed past. The Twins just shook their heads and headed over to Lee Jordan, while the rest of the team dissolved. Ginny was one of the few who didn't let her frustration over the day-long training session get to her.

''Hey Harry,'' she said, clapping him on the shoulder. ''Hope that your Valentine's day was better than mine?''

Harry was silent for a second, then looked at her with pure horror. ''Valentine's?'' he croaked. ''What do you mean, Valentine's?''

The girl swung her broom over her shoulder and gave him a look with raised eyebrows. ''It's the fourteenth of February. Valentine's day. Oh right, you weren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade, right? I heard there were so many dates set up… be glad that you could avoid that.''

''But… but where are all the decorations? The pink hearts and whatnot?'' he exclaimed. Although the amount of enthusiasm around the holiday had dwindled ever since Lockhart's singing dwarves, there had always been something! He'd been in the Great Hall at breakfast and had not seen a single shred of confetti or heart-shapes.

She cocked her head. ''Err… Umbridge hates fun? And everyone else hates pink because of her? Not a great combination if you ask me. Harry, are you alright? Don't tell me that you forgot to buy gifts or something.''

''Not only that,'' he moaned, burying his head in his hands in despair. ''I'm such a fudging idiot!''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I uploaded this chapter earlier, as it was supposed to belong to the previous one originally.  
Thanks a bunch for all your lovely comments, speculations and constructive critique :)
> 
> I hope the wait was worth it! Please tell me if you liked their date. (Sorry, Not a date.)  
The next chapter will be posted on Sunday, the 8th of November, so roughly three weeks from now. You can look forward to a Barty POV and Umbridge shenanigans.
> 
> Please read and leave a comment!  
xx GeMerope


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